Page 106 of War Queen
Phillip’s face grimaced slightly, and he nodded. “So, you understand. You understand the need.”
Soren’s fingers tightened around the knife beside his plate. “I understand.”
The king nodded again and picked up his chalice of wine. “Did you lose them in the war?”
Everything within Soren tightened and coiled to strike. “I lost them when you gave the North King an army to take Bahoul.”
Phillip paused, then set his chalice down. His face paled. They locked in their stare, frozen. Then his eyes moved to Soren’s grip on his knife.
“Is this why you’re truly here?” Phillip challenged.
Soren didn’t want to think about why he was truly here. He didn’t want to think about his obligations, his duty. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he hissed.
The king sat, unmoving, and then shook his head. “I didn’t know about your family, but that’s not an excuse. The truth is I would’ve done whatever Aamon asked of me.”
Aamon.The North King. Soren clutched the knife tighter.
“I’m sorry for your family. I am. But if you’d have me recant my course, I won’t.”
“You continue this charade of loyalty to the North.” This fakery.
Phillip’s brow dipped. “Charade?” He straightened. “My father didn’t prepare me for the crown. I was never meant to wear it. He saw what Gregor was becoming, the evil inside him, and decided to split the empire in his final days. He thought he’d given me enough to stand on my own, with Aleon and the smaller kingdoms. But I had no idea how to be king.” He swallowed as he looked down at his plate, then back to Soren. “Aston… Well, Gregor went for him first. He didn’t even make it to his coronation. I would have fallen, too, if not for King Aamon.”
Phillip paused, and a quiet fell over the room. “Aamon spent a lot of time in Aleon,” he continued. “And I in Mercia. He looked after me, became like a second father. He taught me things I should’ve learned early on, but never did. I thought I was a man at the time, but I was just a boy. He stood by my side against Gregor. Aamon taught me how to survive, how to lead a kingdom. I know you’ve seen devastation at his hand, but he was a good king, and he made me the man—the king—I am today. And I’m loyal to him still.”
Soren didn’t want to believe him. “Then why didn’t you help Salara when the council took her throne?”
Phillip clasped his hands in front of him and rested them on the table. “It’s a great regret, one I’ll always live with. I would have harbored her, protected her, kept her safe, but she fled to the Shadowlands before I’d even learned what had happened. And then I was torn. I couldn’t march against Mercia. It felt so wrong.”
“So you did nothing.”
“And I regret that now.” He drew in a long breath and let it out. “If I could go back, change the past, I would.” He finally took a drink of his chalice. “The council wrote to me. They wanted to reestablish the alliance. They offered me her cousin’s hand.”
Of course they had. Soren would forever be grateful he’d been able to see them hang. “What did you say to them?”
“Nothing. I didn’t respond. Evangeline’s a child, for gods’ sakes, and she wasn’t Mercia’s true queen. Of course I wouldn’t have agreed to that. But I said nothing. It’s the only time in my life I felt like a coward. And then Norah’s letter came. She didn’t even ask me for help, she only asked if I knew how the people she cared about fared.” Phillip’s eyes welled. “But I said nothing.” His face twisted in self-loathing. “To this day, I’m ashamed. I’m grateful to your king for stepping up in my failing. Grateful to you.”
The room grew quiet again, and Phillip straightened. His eyes met Soren’s. “And I’m grateful you’re here now, Lord Commander.”
Soren shifted back in his chair. He knew lies when he saw them, but this king carried no lies. This was perhaps the realest anyone had ever been with him, other than Salara and Salar. And not under threat of death or pain. This king laid himself open, willingly, and Soren didn’t know what to do with him.
Slowly, he reached up and pulled down the wrap from his face. Then he stabbed a chunk of meat with his knife and pulled it to his plate and took a bite.
Curse the North gods. The food was delicious.
Chapter twenty-seven
Mikaelstrippedoffhistunic. Yes, it was winter, but Salara had a fire lit in every room of the castle. For a North queen, she certainly liked the warmth. He stared at their bed for a moment, with its heaping mounds of quilts and furs. When he’d been alone, he’d only used a sheet. This woman would sweat him out of his own castle. It was a small price, though.
The truth was, he’d give anything to make her happy, would pay any price. He’d burn his castle to the ground for her.
Yet he was losing her.
He could feel it—this distance between them, her grief and her pain; she was spiraling further away from him. Even in death, the Bear had the power to take her from him, regardless of whether this ghost was real or not. And the more Mikael fought against it, the more he pushed her away.
She was the furthest from him she’d ever been, even when she was right beside him. Mikael had used the blood, and it had upset her. He’d tried to call the ghost to him, to see what Salara had seen. She had seensomething.
The blood only needed to touch Salara’s skin for her to call the Bear, Soren had said. Mikael had poured it into his hand and waited. But no one came. He felt nothing, saw nothing. He went so far as to smear it up his arms and across his chest. All of it.
