DAUGHTER OF THE ASHES

(two) no real threat.

Roslyn found her way to the throne room, clinging to the shadows. She wasn't sure if Kyan was still in conference with the ambassadors, but if he was, he would not appreciate Roslyn lurking outside like a street urchin.

She paused at the sight of the guards stationed outside the throne room and ducked behind a statue of a god with curly hair. He is still with the ambassadors. Roslyn considered her options.

She wished to speak with her husband, and if she was being completely honest, she is more than a little curious as to what the men are discussing.

But if caught... her husband is a reasonable man, but even reasonable men lose their temper when it comes to eavesdroppers. And in this time of war, paranoia has been running higher than usual.

No, the decision has been made. Roslyn braced herself and walked towards the guards. The guards tensed at the sight of her cloaked figure and reached for their swords.

As she approached, however, recognition brightened their eyes and they relaxed and the elder even smiled a small smile. He, the older with tanned skin, rewarded Roslyn a quick, low bow. "Your Grace."

"Do not mind me," she said. Roslyn massaged her ivory skin, causing the corners of her lids go up and down, out and in. She had expected sleep deprivation to come with having a baby, but this? She would wake and go back to sleep, toss and sleep again. "Sleep is harder and harder to come by."

The guards nodded sympathetically. Roslyn continued, smiling, innocent. She walked away.

A flash of white cloth caught her eye. She glanced back at the guards; they turned away, muttering to each other. Quickly, before they realized she was still there, Roslyn retraced her steps and twisted open the door to the servant's entrance and slipped inside the throne room.

The door revealed a dark corner of the room. From her view, she could see her husband lounging on the throne and three men clad in pale silk, a serpent emblazoned on their armor, sitting at the table in front of the dais.

"Bartholomew is dead." His words echoed loudly in the cavernous room. Kyan's had his hands clasped together in front of his face. He glanced at the men in front of him, unsurprised.

Bartholomew Dayne, dead? Relief swelled in her chest at the news. Her hatred toward him for so many years was now set to rest. His only child dead. His granddaughter presumed dead. "They've found her," Kyan continued, as if reading her thoughts.

"We will have the girl within the week," one of the men assured.

"If it pleases you," his companion added, "We can send our own envoy to capture the usurper, in case she proves to be difficult or has guards. Our soldiers are trained to handle—"

"Quite unnecessary," Kyan interrupted. He waved his hand in Echo's direction. Her husband's Captain of the Guard stood by his side, stern and grim, almost expressionless. Numerous individuals claimed that he lived only to kill on the King's word, and enjoyed punishments given to him by the King or would find other ways to sadistically add insult to injury towards the person he was about to either kill or maim. "My Captain is more than capable of apprehending her. All I ask is that you concentrate on deploying your armies as quickly as possible. Once it is discovered she's alive, the kingdoms will be at war with each other. Your soldiers must be ready for battle in a fortnight."

"Of course, your Majesty. Before your majesty departs..."

Roslyn couldn't bring herself to focus on the conversation any longer. She almost felt sorry for this girl, Leta... why must innocents suffer the most in war?

Kyan entered their room with haste. He didn't notice her at first. He was too preoccupied with thoughts and changing out of his doublet before tossing them on the ground.

Roslyn sighed, not enjoying being ignored, and cleared her throat to gain his attention. It worked. He turned to face her and stared at her warily. He looked worse for wear, she has to admit, and not nearly as vibrant as this morning.

"Roslyn." His wife raised a brow at him. "My love."

His creased brow softened; he grabbed Roslyn's hand in his and pressed a kiss to her palm. And he pulled his wife to her feet and twirled her around the room, making the skirts of her dress billow around like sails in the wind, before he dipped her so low that her head almost touched the floor.

She was very dizzy, and her ribs ached from laughter when Kyan finally released her. "You're forgiven. For now," she added, and jabs his chest with her finger.

"I'm only human, and my heart is weak." He pulled her against him— as close as he can considering her swollen belly. Kyan lowered his head so that his nose barely brushed against hers, and Roslyn returned the gesture.

He noticed a bit of mischief twinkling in her green eyes. He lowered his head even more to close the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, but she stops him, hand on his chest. "What will you do to her?"

"She's the last of them," he said.

"She is the last of you," Roslyn countered. "You are family."

"We're not. She'll be imprisoned or killed and we will be done with it."

"You'll do no such thing!" Roslyn stepped away from her husband to sit on the bed. "Has enough blood not been shed?"

"As long as she is alive, she remains a threat to my claim," he growled. "Tell me, why should I let her live?"

"She will no longer be a threat," she suggested, "once she is wed."

"And who would you see her wed to?" he scoffed.

"Perhaps your brother." That twinkle of mischief returned. "After wed, he can return to Havenhall with the girl. There, she will be kept as a ward of the crown, under the watchful eye and influence of this family and will no longer present a threat to your reign."

Kyan frowned, and Roslyn studied him. She tried to find any hint of a decision, but he revealed nothing in his otherwise blank expression.

"What could you possibly have to fear from a child?" she asked. "And a girl, at that? She poses no real threat to us. Not yet."