“Is our meeting a secret?”
She sends me a scathing look over her shoulder. “No. I want to sneak up on the herald before I have him announce our arrival.”
I open my mouth to shoot back a retort but am cut off when she stops walking and shoves me against the wall. Seconds later, a cluster of servants bearing buckets hurries by. Sybella swears, then glances around once more before resuming. “This way.”
Stepping softly, I follow her, hugging the wall like she does so that we are not immediately visible to any passersby. All too soon, we arrive at the double doors of the queen’s apartments. “Stay hidden, then follow once I give the signal,” Sybella whispers. As the sentries open the door to let her in, she twitches her fingers at me, and I slip in close on her heels. I barely have time to take in the sumptuousness of the queen’s solar—the sunlight spilling in from the large oriel windows, the ornately carved wooden legs of the chairs, the gold and red wall hangings—before Sybella urges me along. “Hurry. The regent-appointed attendants will be here any moment.”
I step smartly to keep up with Sybella. When she knocks once on the door, a short, dark-haired woman opens it. She gives me a curious look before slipping out. Sybella takes my arm and pulls me into the queen’s bedchamber.
As soon as we are inside, Sybella dips a curtsy. “Genevieve is here, Your Majesty.”
I sink into a curtsy as well. Sybella quietly removes herself, closing the door behind her.
The queen says nothing for a long time. When she finally speaks, her voice is low with cold fury. “How dare you? You—the convent—serve me. My interests.”
Still in a curtsy, I say, “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we serve the interest of Mortain and those of Brittany.”
There is a sharp intake of breath. “Are you saying I do not serve the interests of either of those?”
“Most assuredly not, Your Majesty. I am only saying that throughout the history of the country, they have not always been one and the same, which is why the convent made certain we understood the distinction.”
“You may stand,” she says with a sniff. “It is too hard to hear you when you talk to the floor.”
I straighten, but keep my eyes downcast, catching only the faintest glimpse of her pale face and dark hair. She is small, I realize. Smaller than I had expected.
“How did bedding my lord husband serve Mortain, pray tell? Or Brittany, if that was your intent.”
Slowly, I raise my gaze to hers, which is filled with deep intelligence, keen wit, and grievous displeasure. “Please know that while my reasoning will sound faulty in the retelling, it seemed solid at the time.”
This causes her finely arched eyebrows to rise—whether in displeasure or surprise at my frankness, I do not know. “However,” I go on to explain, “serving the interests of both Mortain and Brittany was precisely what I was trying to do. There had been rumors that you had been abducted, or perhaps forced into this union. That it was so sudden only served to make those rumors seem likely. I was making plans to come to court to offer my services to you when I was told that the convent was being disbanded. That news seemed to point to the rumors of your coercion being true, and it appeared the worst was coming to pass—you had been taken by the French crown, and they intended to crush the very things that Brittany holds most sacred. How could I not act?”
She inhales deeply and looks away to the fire for a moment. “And how was sleeping with my lord husband to help with any of that?”
“Such is the nature of men, Your Majesty. They will promise you anything once they take a fancy to you. I thought to collect on an old promise.”
Her slim white fingers grip the arms of her chair. “That is not how things work in my world. Indeed, it is I who have always been promised to men as reward for their political support. Or who must make promises and concessions to them once they have shown interest in me. Or my lands.”
Rutting hell. But of course she has been a pawn in men’s games of politics and power. With the sort of men she was expected to marry, she could never, under any circumstances, think to exercise her own choice in any of these matters. “Forgive me. Our circumstances are very different, and my words were poorly chosen.”
“It was not the only poorly chosen part of this entire enterprise.”
“Knowing what I know now, I cannot help but agree with you.”
She blinks, as if not expecting my quick agreement.
“I am doing everything in my power to correct my error, Your Majesty.” I wince, as error seems such a mild word for all that I have thrown into disarray. “I have downplayed the role of the convent in Brittany’s politics and told the king I did not know if you had knowledge of its existence. And while I will always serve as his loyal subject, I will no longer warm his bed. At least, not willingly.” I pause. “Unless you’d like me to?” It is an unwelcome thought, and not an offer made lightly, but if it would serve her in some way, it seems the least I could do.
She stares at me, agog, her cheeks bright pink. “Whyever would I want you to do such a thing?”
I shrug. “There are many reasons. If you are not fond of the marriage bed, you can know that his needs are being met by someone who is loyal to you. Or if you would like to enjoy the marriage bed more, I can teach him better ways to please you.”
The queen’s hands fly to her face, which is a vivid shade of scarlet. “Demoiselle, stop!”
My stomach grows queasy. Am I destined to always misstep with her? “I did not mean to distress you! I thought only to offer my services to make amends any way I can.”
“Well, you may rest assured you have offered me something no one else ever has before,” she says wryly. “Nor will I require that particular service as a path to atonement.”
Her words give me hope that there will be some path to atonement.
“Tell me of this letter you received.”
I tell her of the letter, of how the handwriting looked right, and that the official convent seal was affixed upon it. When I have finished, she stares off into the distance, tapping her finger on her chin. “What could Count Angoulême have to gain from this?”
“I have spent hours pondering that very question and have yet to arrive at an answer.”
“Well, if one occurs to you, please inform me at once.”
That tiny bud of hope inside me unfurls a bit more. “But of course, Your Majesty.” It is hard to tell, but I think she holds less animosity toward me than when I first arrived. Saints, please let it be so!
I want, more than anything, to prove my loyalty to her. To prove that it is still she and the convent I serve. “Your Majesty, there is something else you should know.”
She stares at me quizzically. “Yes?”
“The regent was glad that I had come back to court and thought to use me in a scheme of her own.”
The queen frowns. “What sort of scheme?”
It is all I can do not to squirm, not for my own sake but because it is still so hard to believe it of the regent. “She wished to install me in her brother’s bed. Only instead of asking clemency for the convent, she wished me to report everything I learned directly to her.”
The queen looks as if she will be sick. “She was the one who placed you in my husband’s bed?”