Page 102 of Winds and Whispers

Two guards were on him in an instant, blades drawn, points inches from the messenger’s neck. Edmund did not move from his seat at the table’s head. He raised a single finger, and the guards froze. The message hovered in the air, quivering.

“Bring it,” Edmund said.

A guard retrieved the letter and delivered it to the king with a flourish that bordered on theatrical, then returned to position, sword never sheathed. Edmund turned the letter in his hands, examining the broken wax and the unfamiliar sigil impressed there—a leaping fox, stylized and aggressive.

He cracked the seal and read. The council watched his face for clues, but the king’s expression was a study in restraint. Only at the last line did something change: the left corner of his mouth twitched, curving upward in a smile that was more a baring of teeth than a gesture of pleasure.

He folded the letter, slid it into his breast pocket, and addressed the room.

“Gentlemen,” he said, ignoring the female presence, “our mission has just become so much more fun. Let's rethink our plans.”

Rowan, nearest, cleared his throat. “The sender, Your Majesty?”

Edmund let the question linger a moment, enjoying the anticipation. “Someone I have had my eyes on for a long time.”

“Who, your Majesty?

“Finn Redbrook.”