38
Kiria
At breakfast the next day, Kiria didn’t touch her food. She couldn’t eat if she wanted to. Even the sweet scent of the laird flowers along the center of the table stuck in the back of her throat.
It was the same group that had eaten merrily together before her coronation tour—Keepers, family, advisors, a few others—but this time was different. Cúron didn’t look at her, busy instead with his wife, Atty, and the Amir.
Chetana didn’t avoid her gaze, but any time their eyes met, an electric current of challenge ran between them. Kiria felt it in her bones. The challenge wasn’t loud or harsh, but constant and undeniable. Chetana could vote as she saw fit, it said. But you cost him his life! Kiria wanted to scream. They hadn’t spoken since the vote. Kiria felt too hideously bitter.
