Page 2 of War Queen
As if that weren’t enough cause for concern, Kharav’s alliance with Mercia had crumbled—an alliance the nobles had always doubted. If Mercia united once again with their old ally, Aleon, they’d have the advantage if they attacked.
With no allies, Kharav stood alone.
And now another had a claim to the Kharavian throne—one who held the respect and loyalty of their great armies as much as Mikael did, one that no longer stood by Mikael’s side. Soren. After learning he was Mikael’s half brother, he’d disappeared, and his absence was a gaping void.
Mikael was alone.
Norah glanced at him as he set his eyes on the heavy ashen doors, all traces of play now gone from his face. He wasn’t Mikael now. He was salar. And this was the fight for his throne.
On her right, her Crest guard Bhastian stepped between their thrones, his spear in one hand and his other hand resting on the hilt of the sword around his waist. The Crest protected the king and royal family. Bhastian’s place was to Mikael’s right, on the side of the dais, but Mikael had wanted him closer to Norah. She caught movement to her left out of the corner of her eye and looked to see Adrian beside her as well. She hadn’t noticed when either of them had entered, but she was glad they were there now. Her stomach turned at the thought that she might need them.
The doors swung open with a deep boom, startling her, and she forced herself to settle. She always forgot they did that—another reason she hated this room.
The nobles filed in. She lost count as they came through the doors. There were perhaps a hundred. Or a little less? And although they were nobles, they still embodied every aspect of Kharav’s essence. These weren’t like the nobles of Mercia—elevated and fattened solely on the backs of others. They were warriors, protectors of their people. Some of them were warlords with vast lands and armies of their own.
They had called for an audience to show their continued concern over the increasing threats to Kharav and press for Soren’s return—neither of which Mikael had control over. She folded her clammy hands in her lap to keep from wringing them together. She wanted to look at Mikael, to draw in some of the power that radiated from him as he sat so calmly looking out across the nobles, but she didn’t dare look away. Instead, she did her best to fake the same.
“Salar,” Lord Narsing greeted, polite yet cold. “This is an unfortunate state in which we continue to find ourselves.”
Norah hated this man. He reminded her of Edward, the elder Mercian councilman who’d no doubt been the one to orchestrate the coup against her—only he was a larger, more intimidating version of Edward. Unlike the other Kharavian nobles, there was an air of scheming about him, and when he spoke, he spoke only in challenge.
“It is,” Mikael replied.
The noble’s eyes narrowed. “We’d like to understand your plans to salvage the alliance with Japheth.”
“There isn’t one,” Mikael replied, matter-of-factly.
Murmurs rippled through the nobles. Narsing puffed a small breath of incredulity.
Another noble stepped forward. Unlike most of the nobles, he covered his face like a warrior. But Norah knew who he was. Lord Jarik. This was a man who could plant seeds of fear in even the bravest of men. He was an influential lord, not just in status but by his pure embodiment of blood and battle. Jarik was a man of war, and the markings of his bravery covered almost his whole body. He was one of the few nobles to lead battle charges from the front. And he looked like he might lead a charge against Mikael now. “You plan for Kharav to stand alone?” he asked.
But Mikael wasn’t shaken. “And what would you propose otherwise?”
“Gregor—”
Mikael cut him off. “Gregor is now an enemy of Kharav and has allied himself with Rael’s King Cyrus.”
“Is he an enemy of Kharav, or an enemy of Salara?” Narsing pressed.
Gregor. Norah tried to hold her repulsive shudder at the sound of his name. She knew they’d use her previous confrontation with Japheth’s king against Mikael. They saw it as a deliberate attempt by her to fracture the alliance between Japheth and Kharav, with Mikael doing nothing to mend it. Heat radiated from Mikael, and her pulse quickened. He couldn’t let his anger drive him. Not here. Not now. But she was too far to touch him, too far to pull him back.
“When will the lord commander be returning?” Narsing asked—a question with an indirect threat.
Mikael continued to sit on his throne, calm on the outside. “Why?”
“Would you not expect Kharavian nobles to want to keep track of those with a claim to the throne?” Jarik said.
“We must continue to assess options for Kharav,” Narsing added, clearly emboldened by Jarik. A direct threat.
Another ripple of whispers moved through the crowd.
Mikael rose, and the murmurs in the room fell silent. He slowly stepped down the stairs.
Bhastian and Adrian shifted even closer to Norah. Her other Crest guard, Kiran, made his presence known as well. She gripped the arms of her chair, her fingernails biting into the ornately carved wood.
Mikael stopped in the center of the hall, in the center of what looked like a potential battlefield, only a few paces from Narsing. It was a move of challenge, daring them to act against him. Norah’s heart pounded in her chest. She breathed prayers to every god she could remember for Mikael not to react with blood. The Crest and Adrian would be focused on her protection and wouldn’t be able to help him, not with the nobles now surrounding him.
Salara-Mae stood to the right of the dais like a statue, but Norah knew she was beside herself. Soren’s bloodline had been a secret the woman had harbored for so long, and in her moment of anger, she’d released it. Salara-Mae had brought this added threat to Mikael, and no doubt she blamed herself. As she should.
