"Kneel, dear."
"Ah. Yes. Obviously." Duke Zaren of Duskmere knelt to his queen with visible relief, beaming up at her. "Duskmere declines, Your Majesty. Wholeheartedly."
Calienne sank down beside him toward her baby sister in a reverence of flawless elegance, and only her father, watching from the dais, caught the grin she aimed at the marble on the way down.
And then one duke remained.
Duke Harland of Thornhollow stood alone in the middle of the great hall of Vraven, every eye in the kingdom on his weathered face. The one thing his house had wanted for its entire recorded history lay at his feet, free for the taking.
Thornhollow had been a kingdom once.
He could be a king.
"He's going to take it," somebody whispered in the middle rows. "Look at him. He's going to take it."
The word had weight on his tongue, actual weight, handed down with the deeds and the vault keys.
His eyes moved without his permission.
