Page 54 of The Queen's Line

I cleared my throat and resisted the urge to scrub my hand over my eyes. The woman in front of me was far too opportunistic to be trusted that far. "Yes. That was convenient. But she knows perfectly well I am not her Chosen."Not that she has need of them, I thought, although I didn't want to say it out loud. I didn't know if it was important to Bryony that the kingdom generally still believed her to possess the Hunger, but I wasn't in the habit of giving away other people's secrets. "I may be technically eligible for the ceremony, but we both know I am not fit."

Griffin blinked, and her head turned with an avian tip, eyes landing immediately on the portrait of Charlotte in the corner. Black hair, ice blue eyes, skin a little too dark for this far North. The most beautiful and dangerous woman I'd known in all my life. My wife.

"I think Charlotte would have a good laugh to see you set up in a palace."

"I think Charlotte would spit in my eye for bedding a girl so young."

"She's notsoyoung. She's the elder of the two," Griffin said with a shrug.

I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to decide if she was goading me to embarrass me. "I love my wife, Griffin. And I love my court."

Griffin's teasing expression faltered, and I winced away from the look in her eyes. "I loved Charlotte too, Aric. But she is gone now. And your court will falter soon unless you point in the direction of an heir."

Loved.

I understood what Griffin meant. Charlotte was dead, we spoke of her in past tense now. But Charlotte's absence—from my court, my bed, my house—didn't alter my love for her.

"I will manage the succession when it's time," I said instead.

"See that you do, or the vultures will circle and I'd hate to see them cut you down," Griffin murmured, pushing back in her chair and pocketing a few stray coins as she rose, as if I didn't notice.

"You would make a good king," I said. It wasn't the first time I'd thought as much. Griffin had the hardness and the strength in her to rule a pack of thieves disinclined to taking orders and accepting punishment.

"I would make a dead king," Griffin corrected. "Most of the court hates me. Find someone more likable."

“They tell me Emory is likeable," I said, thinking of the young man who'd been gathering his own court of thieves on the other end of the city. They played nicely with us, but by setting themselves apart there was always cause for concern.

"Is he?" Griffin asked, eyes narrowing at me. "I'm not so sure of that."

My eyebrows bounced. "No? Do you have proof?"

"Not yet," Griffin said, swinging her cloak back onto her shoulders. "I'll let you know when I do."

When, not if. Griffin had suspicions about the young man who charmed our community. I trusted her judgement a little better than my own.

"In the meantime," she continued, coy and slow as she retreated down the passage. "You should consider an alliance with that princess. Sheissoft for you, Aric."

I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the flurry of denial and insult that rose to my tongue. It would only prove Griffin right.The red hawk has suspicions about you too, I thought. And she wasn't wrong. Bryony did have some kind of girlish favor for me, I'd been aware of it since the journey north. Or at least since her visit to the Wing and Rook.

And sheissoft, a wicked voice reminded me, conjuring a buried memory of a crumpled young woman weeping against my chest.She won't be tremulous and terrified of sex forever, and if her passion for her kingdom is any indication of her fire…

I scowled and turned back to organizing the collection of coins in front of me, irritated with Griffin for picking at the subject and myself for bearing it as a weak spot in the first place. A new set of steps echoed in the passage and I shook my head.

"Whatever it is, I'm not in the mood."

"Not even if it's very curious?"

I looked up, my frown quirking up in one corner as I watched Scrapper slouch his way into my office, fingers deftly turning a fold of paper over one digit and then another, like a street magician's coin.

"If this conversation ends with you pocketing anything at all, I'll drag you out of here by your collar," I said.

Scrapper's grin was practically sideways, his head tilted strangely on his neck as he moved closer, bracing himself against the chair Griffin had just abandoned.

"What did that two-face want?" Scrapper asked.

"That's not a very curious question, and it's none of your business. What do you want, Scrapper?"

"Stole this off of Sir Hubert's man on his way out of Rumsbrooke," Scrapper said, holding up the note. No, a letter, folded and sealed. "It's to Lord Roderick."