“If that is not enough to harden my heart, I’ve also come to learn that your treasuries are nearly void of coin. Your kingdom is built on sticks that will come crashing down in a strong wind. We will hold out against you. Dundrennan may fall. But I have the power to take my king elsewhere. And you will be forced to chase us from one corner of his realm to the other. You’ve bribed your way to victory thus far. But King Andrew will not yield the hollow crown. It was given to him by the Fountain. He is the rightful ruler. Not you.”

She swallowed, bolstering her courage. She looked him steadfastly in the eye, squeezing her fists until they hurt. “If you will kneel and swear fealty to him, to Andrew Argentine, as your rightful king and ruler, then I will marry you and help you repair the ruin you have nearly brought on yourself.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE The Uncrowned King

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Uncrowned King

Gahalatine endured her words with shocked silence. She had broken his perception of himself as a wise and benevolent ruler. She was also demanding him to surrender his ambition, to kneel before a man whom he felt was his inferior, to admit defeat. It was obvious her words had struck him to his core. He stared at her, measuring what she had told him, his eyes flashing from one emotion to another in rapid succession. His cheeks flushed. Would he fly into a rage? Would he challenge what she had said?

“I need some time to think,” he said, his voice shaking. “Your words have cut me deeper than any sword.”

Then he turned and strode out of the compartment, the curtain rustling as he vanished beyond it. Exhaustion settled over her. She went to the enormous pile of fur blankets and rugs and nestled amidst the softness to wait. They smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood, and as her muscles finally began to relax, she succumbed to sleep.

Trynne did not know how long she slept, but her dreams were peaceful. She was walking along the shore of the Glass Beach, hand in hand with Fallon. They spoke of childhood and their adventures together in Ploemeur. He reminded her of the magnolia trees and how he had caught her around the waist and twirled her around. His words brought back the memory and the dizziness, and her heart throbbed with love.

They sat down on the beach together, listening to the crashing of the surf. She loved that sound, loved everything about that place—the salty smell of sea air, the noise of gulls, the long wings of pelicans, and the little pips of sandpipers. She looked over at Fallon, but Gahalatine was sitting there in his stead, arms crossed around his knees, the wind tousling his hair. She was confused by the transformation.