The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

I nodded.

“He’s not going to like it.”

“I know, but he will have to deal with it.” Taking a deep breath, I turned as my father entered the receiving hall along with Lord Sven, his helmet he wouldn’t need tucked under his arm.

“You called for me?” my father asked, and the lines at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper than they had been even the day before.

It was a surreal feeling to be the one summoning my father.

Kieran turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with me as I said, “There’s something that I didn’t discuss with you yesterday.”

My father inclined his head, but the sudden narrowing of Sven’s eyes told me the damn man had a good idea what I was about to say. His jaw tightened, but he gave a quick, curt nod that my father didn’t see.

“The Queen and I…” I started, and my father immediately tensed at the formal use of our titles. Being King for so long, he knew that what I was about to say brooked little room for argument. “Have decided that with Netta remaining in Padonia as regent, she will need strong leadership to stand beside her.”

Two red splotches appeared on his cheeks. “Cas—”

“Someone the remaining armies and the people of Atlantia trust,” I continued, my voice hardening as I held his stare. “And that the regent can lean on for support if neither the Queen nor I is able to rule.”

My father sucked in a sharp breath, those splotches rapidly disappearing.

“You know that’s possible,” I said. Something I hated to even acknowledge, but it was a harsh reality, nonetheless. Poppy hadn’t completed her Culling. Technically, she was still a god, and gods were easier to kill than Primals. If she were struck down, Kieran and I would go down with her.

Hell, I would go down, even if we weren’t Joined.

“Of course, it is a possibility,” my father stated. “But there’s Jasper.”

“Jasper has never led any of the armies,” Sven intervened. “Yes, he has the trust of the people of Atlantia, but he’s not in a position to lead any armies that remain.”

A muscle ticked in my father’s temple. “And you think I’m worthy of that trust?” he asked me.

I stiffened. “I believe you would guide the regent toward what is best for the kingdom and wouldn’t be foolish enough to repeat your mistakes.”

He glanced at Kieran. “Your advisor should remain—”

“If our failure on the field occurs, Kieran won’t be able to support the regent,” I cut him off.

Understanding flared in his eyes, as did a bit of relief. He knew what I’d meant, and he also knew that I, along with Kieran, would be afforded more protection than anyone on that battlefield. “I am to remain while both my sons ride into battle?”

“Yes,” I said. “As it should be.”

He was quiet for a long moment, and then he exhaled a ragged breath. “If this is an order, then I will obey.”

My head tilted. “You don’t really have a choice.”

His shoulders tensed. “Answer one thing, as a son to his father. Is it only the trust of the people and my experience that has guided this decision?”

My father and I needed to discuss a lot of things once we saw this war to the end. And even though we planned for the possibility that we wouldn’t succeed, we did so only because that was what a responsible Queen and King did. However, no part of me didn’t believe there would be an after. Still, I said what I needed to say anyway. “You’re the one who taught me that I cannot save everyone,” I began. “But I can save those I love.”

Poppy entered with Tawny and Vonetta not long after the meeting with my father, but I only became aware of her because my heart stuttered. I wasn’t sure if that came from Kieran or me. Because he too stared as I did.

Her thick braid, the color of wine, lay over the armor fitted from the shoulders to the hips. Greaves protected her thighs and shins. The hilt of a sword was visible, resting above her left hip. Nothing was different about her armor or the white mantle draped across her back. No special embellishments or marks outside of the golden Atlantian Crest painted upon the breastplate of all our armor. But no one looked as regal as she did—or as strong.

Poppy looked like a Goddess of War—no, a Primal of War.

A dart of pure, unadulterated, and red-hot lust clenched my stomach at the sight of her crossing before the windows lining the hall. The feeling was almost as powerful as the wave of respect. Every step she took was steeped not in the confidence of a Queen but that of a soldier, one who, like her soldiers, was prepared to fight to the death.