Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(134)

“Don’t you dare start,” I warned.

He didn’t seem to care. He just smiled more brightly, pulling me into him as he held me.

“Hey, Jos,” he whispered inside the cave he had created with our bodies.

“Hey, Ry,” I said back as I pulled away. “Or, should I say, Your Majesty.”

His face wrinkled while Thom began to laugh hysterically, folding over as his laughter crippled him.

“It’s been years, Thom, years,” Ryland grumbled, running his hands through his hair as he glared at his brother. “Is this ever going to stop?”

“You are obviously underestimating your brother,” Wyn said, her own laugh finally joining in.

“Even I know better, Ry.”

“This is unfair—”

“Because you are king?” Thom interrupted Ryland.

Ry’s chest puffed out in irritation as Thom smacked his brother on the forearm.

“I am beginning to regret being related to you,” Ryland said with a laugh.

Thom pretended to look affronted before he stepped away, replacing the farce with his signature scowl. “Sorry, bud. You are stuck with me.”

The four of us burst out into laughter, Wyn’s ending with a gasp as her hands went to her abdomen. All eyes went to her as Thom became all business, rushing to his mate, his hands on her belly.

I watched them, a calm moving over the room as I felt their magic swell between them. I was sure Ryland could also feel it with the way he smiled and looked toward the door, knowing Míra was there.

“Do I need to ask if you have a date set yet?” I asked him, pulling his focus from the door and to me, his eyes instantly plunging into guilt.

“Ask what?” He couldn’t make the words sound guiltier if he tried.

The failure of forced innocence made me laugh more, but it was a sound that was silenced when the large entry doors opened with a snap, pulling us from the conversation as Míra rushed into the entry hall, fear on her face.

All four of us turned toward her, the joy sapping from the room due to the urgency that she brought with her.

“Sir,” Míra said directly to Ryland, her voice rattling, “there is a reporter here—”

“A reporter!” Wyn shrieked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oooo … We can have some fun with this one. Come on, Thom!”

Thom eagerly followed his bride toward the door, only to be stopped by one uplifted hand from Míra, her eyes still focused on Ryland in some desperate, silent conversation.

The man himself stepped right up to his guard, leaning toward her as she whispered some instruction that sent his eyes into a wide-eyed shock. Then the shock stayed as he turned back toward us, his wide blue eyes focused right on me.

I stared at him, my heart thundering in my chest as I waited for him to say something, for him to end the stress-filled knot that had suddenly taken control of my gut.

“What?” I asked when I couldn’t take it any longer, finally drifting my eyes from Ryland to Míra, who was grinning like a loon.

That was a bad combo.

“It must be something really traumatizing if Míra is smiling like that,” I continued, hoping to prod Ryland out of his stupor.

His expression remained, and I really started to freak out.

“Come on, Ry; don’t do this to me.”

“How’s your French?” he asked before he turned, opening the door to welcome a lanky man in whose chin was covered with greying stubble, wearing a shabby suit and carrying a very large leather satchel slung over his shoulder. The man was the epitome of a reporter.

“Bonjour!” Ryland announced, guiding the man in as he rattled off in the language I hadn’t quite mastered yet. I supposed, if they spoke slowly, I would be okay. “… This is her,” was all I caught, possibly because he said it while pointing at me.

My stomach sunk more.

The man’s eyes widened as he looked at me as if he recognized me. The look was unnerving.

Without thinking, I took a step back.

“Madame,” he said politely as he nodded once, something I hadn’t seen since I had walked away from Imdalind and left Ryland to rule in my stead almost fifteen years ago now. “You are Joclyn Krul, formerly Despain, of the United States?” he finished in broken English.

“Yes.” I was understandably wary, especially when his face lit up in excitement.

“I can’t believe it,” he began in French as rummaged through the large satchel he carried. “Everyone said I was crazy. No one at the office is going to believe me …”

The rambling continued until the rummaging stopped. A piece of computer paper clutched in his shaking hand, he held it out to me, his eyes wide as he stared.

In one step, Ryland moved beside me, his hand light on my back as if he were trying to support me.

I tried to wiggle away from him, only to freeze at the sight of the paper that was now waving before me. What I had mistaken for a plain white piece of paper was actually a picture. A picture of a man in a hospital bed, his blond hair cut short, blue eyes oddly vacant.

“Ilyan!” I gasped, my legs shifting under me in shock.

Ryland held me in place as I heard Wyn and Thom’s gasp somewhere in the distance. I couldn’t look away from the photo, away from the man I had spent more than a decade mourning.