The Ivory Rite

Chapter 33

The next morning I make my way down to breakfast, convinced Adair will be sitting in his usual seat. Dillon will have sent word that Toryn has officially accepted the rebuild, and Adair will have gotten on his horse and ridden here as fast as he can, ready to make my life as difficult as possible with those beautiful eyes of his.

My own thought catches me off guard.

Watchful eyes, I correct. Stifling, controlling eyes.

I shake my head, refusing to admit even to myself that any part of me has missed having him around.

I round the corner and pass under the ice arch, leaving my detail in the hallway. The dining room is empty save for Sophie; I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed to find Adair's seat vacant. I deflate a little, slumping down in my chair in a manner unbefitting of a crowned queen.

Sophie's smile is uncertain. I return it with a similar one. "Good morning, Sophie."

"Your Majesty," she bows, setting down a plate of food that could feed ten of me. She exits before I have a chance at any friendly conversation. My sigh is loud, echoing around the empty room.

I am so bored of being alone.

Then I hear them—the same heavy footfalls that have belonged to my shadow since yesterday afternoon. "Liefteanant, you may as well come in the room if you insist upon lurking in the hallway like some kind of prowler." I glance back over my shoulder to find Dillon eyeing me from the doorway. He trailed me for the rest of the day yesterday, and I assume today will be no different.

"Your Majesty." He greets me, bending to one knee. "Is there something I can do for you?" He stays by the door and falls into military rest, his hands clasped behind his back, feet shoulder width apart.

"Have you eaten this morning?" I'm satisfied by his look of surprise.

"Yes," he says, the uncertainty associated with why I would ask such a thing drawing out the word. "Several hours ago, before dawn."

"Then you must be getting hungry again." I motion to the empty chair beside me, the one reserved for my highest ranking guest. "Sit down. Help me with some of this." I incline my head toward the food.

"No, thank you, Majesty." He doesn't move.

"You don't wish to dine with me?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

"The Dara wouldn't like it." His tone is unreadable, but his gaze is steady. I make sure mine is as well.

"The Dara isn't here, and I'm tired of eating alone." I push the chair I've indicated away from the table with my foot. "Sit down."

"You aren't afraid of him." I think the look he gives me is one of approval, but I'm not sure. "Or the Laoch," he adds, walking over to the table.

"I outrank both of them, last I checked," I point out, taking a demure sip of tea, as I eye him over the rim of my cup. "Why? Are you?"

"Please don't ask me that," he says, looking uncomfortable. "You know there is no right answer to that question."

"How do you mean?"

"A soldier is not supposed to show fear." He avoids my gaze as he picks up a fork and begins to serve himself.

"Then I suspect the answer is no."

He hesitates. "A soldier is also supposed to show proper respect to his commanding officers," he answers, still not looking at me.

"Liefteanant, respect and fear are two different things." I watch as he struggles to respond, already knowing what he's going to say.