The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge by Cheryl Koevoet

there, leaning agains t it.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, apologizing. “Things went over a bit with the baroness. She was telling me a nice story about my mom.”
    He smiled gently. “There is no need to apologize. People are accustomed to waiting for you.”
    “Yeah, but my dad always said not to keep people wai ting.”
    “You are so thoughtful—always thinking of ot hers.”
    Flashing his signature grin, he cupped a hand over her cheek and leaned down to kiss her. His other hand slid around her back, pulling her tightly against him and making her forget why they were there. She exhaled a sigh as he released her and offered her his arm.
    “Shall we go in, Your High ness?”
    A groan escaped her lips. “If we must.”
    Following him into the massive Knight’s Hall, Marisa’s eyes roamed the dim, cathedral-like space with its indigo ceiling and gold trim, dark wooden beams and crystal chandeliers with hundreds of candles. The cold bareness of the space seemed to be in stark contrast to the lively dinners and enchanting balls that they had hosted over the past few mo nths.
    Spotting the circles of swords and coats-of-arms covering the pale stone walls, she searched until her eyes finally stopped on the Fiore wheel of weapons high above them.
    “Wondering where yours will be placed?” he a sked.
    “No, I’m just amazed at the wide range of styles represented up on that wall.” She pointed at different blades within the same circle. “Look at those two, for example. Each one has its own unique characteristics that say something about the owner. It makes me wonder what each of these kings and queens were like.”
    “Indeed,” he said, following her gaze. “And what will your sword say about you? When future generations look back on the reign of Queen Maraya, what do you wish for them to see?”
    “Hmm, I haven’t decided that yet.”
    “Well, hopefully you shall have many more years for history to decide.” He steered her toward the large wooden door framed by a carved stone archway. “Come; the men are wai ting.”
    As he opened the door for her, several knights in rich tunics and heavy cloaks rose to their feet, bowing solemnly to her. Tino shut the door behind them, sealing it with a loud clang. Marisa glanced around the chamber and noticed that there were several empty ch airs.
    Taking her place at the head of the table, she banged the wooden gavel on the sound block, exchanging worried glances with Darian. “I hereby call this session of the Crimson Court to order,” she said in her very best Crocine. “All those present shall sound off for the ro ster.”
    One by one, the men seated around the table stood and announced their n ames.
    “Count Dur ante—”
    “Lord Ar royo—”
    “Lord Dome nico—”
    “Lord E nnio—”
    “—Baron Por firo”
    “Lord Qui rino—”
    “Count Vit tore—”
    “Lord D rago—”
    “Lord Br izio—”
    “—Lord El iseo”
    “—Baron Ru fino”
    “Sir Nes tore—”
    “Lord Aur elio—”
    “—Count Lea ndro”
    “Baron Mac ario—”
    “Lord Mac ario—”
    “Lord Patr izio—”
    “Prince F iore—”
    “Princess F iore—”
    “So shall it be entered in the records that the previously-mentioned men are hereby present and accounted for.”
    “So shall it be noted,” Tino answ ered.
    “May I ask why seven men are absent from this mee ting?”
    The men exchanged puzzled glances across the table, but no one spoke. Finally, Lord Patrizio stoo d up.
    “Your Royal Highnesses, I humbly submit that we must assume these men have defected in favor of Count Savino da Rocha. They have not been seen in Crocetta since the last session of the Crimson Court more than a week ago.”
    “Thank you, Lord Patrizio. Everyone, be se ated.”
    Darian remained standing. “The first order of business is to discuss the continued threats of the Count Savino da Rocha against this Court, against me and against Her Royal Highness the Princess Regent, Maraya Fiore.