War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,137

from my mind.

His fingers hold firm, unwavering, his grip tight on the adorned hilt of the ceremonial blade. Where it came from, I don’t know. It isn’t the sword Elara made him kill his father with, but it looks close enough. And I’m sure he remembers it now, as he stands above another man begging for his life. It must pain him, to do this to someone else. And of his own volition this time.

Tiberias looks paler than usual, cheeks drained of color. But in shame or fear, I can’t tell. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Or pain. In spite of it, he is every inch a king. His armor cleaned, his crown donned. The angled lines of his jaw and cheekbones look sharper somehow, honed by the sudden weight on his shoulders. It’s a mask, all of it. A brave face he must wear. His other hand is empty, fingers bare without flame. No fire but the one burning in his eyes.

“The city is yours,” Rhambos says, his head bowed and hands raised.

Queen Anabel steps close to her grandson’s shoulder, fingers curled like talons. She might be the only person on earth who can seem royal without her finery. “You will address him properly, Lord Rhambos.”

He is quick to acquiesce, dipping further, almost kissing his lips to the carpeted floor. “Your Majesty, King Tiberias,” he offers without hesitation. He spreads his hands wide in open faith. “The city of Harbor Bay, and the entirety of the Beacon region, is rightfully yours. Returned to the true king of Norta.”

Tiberias looks down his straight nose, turning the blade. The edge catches the light. The lord flinches, squinting against the sudden glare. “And what of House Rhambos?” he asks.

Next to me, Evangeline snorts into her hand. “What a performance.”

“We are yours as well, to do with as you wish,” the lord murmurs, his voice broken. For all he knows, Tiberias could execute his entire family. Pull them out at the root. Wipe their name and their blood from the face of the earth. Silver kings have done worse for less. “Our soldiers, our money, our resources are at your disposal,” he adds, listing off all his house can give. All his living house can give.

A beat of silence stretches, taut as a pulled wire. Threatening to snap apart. Tiberias surveys Lord Rhambos without blinking, without feeling, his face blank and unreadable. Then he bears a smile. It bleeds warmth and understanding. I can’t tell if it’s real.

“I thank you for it,” he says, inclining his head a fraction. Beneath him, Lord Rhambos all but shudders in relief. “Just as I will thank every member of your house when they follow your example and pledge an oath of loyalty to me. Forsaking the false king who sits on my father’s throne.”

At his side, Anabel beams. If she coached him, she did it well.

“Yes—yes, of course,” Rhambos stammers. He all but falls over himself to agree. I notice Tiberias edging his toes away, lest the fallen lord try to kiss them. “That will be arranged as soon as possible. Our strength is yours.”

Tiberias’s face tightens. “By tomorrow, my lord.” Leaving no room for argument.

“By tomorrow, Your Majesty,” Rhambos replies, bobbing his head. Still kneeling, he clenches both meaty fists. “All hail Tiberias the Seventh, King of Norta and true Flame of the North!” he shouts, his voice stronger by the second.

The crowd of advisers and soldiers, both Silver and Red, responds in kind, repeating the obnoxious titles. A bit of color returns to Tiberias’s cheeks as he flushes. His eyes dart back and forth, trying to note who cries his name and who doesn’t. His eyes land on me and my unmoving lips. I hold his gaze, feeling a thrill as I keep my mouth resolutely shut.

Farley does too, examining her nails instead of the unfolding pageantry.

Anabel basks in it, one hand on her grandson’s shoulder. Her left hand, laid just so to display an old wedding ring set with a black gemstone. The only jewelry on her, and the only one she ever needs.

“All hail,” she murmurs, her eyes shining as she looks up at Tiberias. At some flicker in his face, she springs into action, moving in front of him. She clasps her lethal hands together, ring still exposed. “The king thanks you for your loyalty, as do I. We have much to discuss in the coming hours.”

It’s as good as a dismissal. Tiberias turns, putting his back to the room, and I realize