“I am truly sorry,” he says now, “but we are not children. We must put away our toys.”
He puts a tentative hand on my shoulder, and I force myself to look him in the eye. “Am I as repulsive as all that?” he asks. “I do not ask you to love me. I only ask that we do what is best for the kingdom.”
Close my eyes and think of Renovia, is that it?
And send my lover away.
But I hold my tongue. I slump into a chair. I have no fight left in me. Rhema exhausted me physically during the training session in the courtyard, but this is far, far worse. It’s a malaise sweeping over me, a feeling of powerlessness that I despise. Intensely I wish that I was still Shadow, the girl who grew up in the forest and meadow glade, rather than the fine lady trapped in a castle, hectored about obligations.
My pulse is racing, as though my entire body were in rebellion.
“So,” says Hansen, as though we’d had a chat about new tapestries for the summer residence. “That’s that. The Small Council is planning a special meeting and we should both be there.”
I have no words, and I just stare at my feet. I suspect I look as defeated as I feel. Cal sent away. Hansen in his stead. A child—a child that isn’t Cal’s. How could I love such a child? Maybe I really am a monster.
“I know this is difficult to accept, but it is probably for the best. Holt is of much more use to us out in the field than shackled to court. Your assassin is a man of action. He’s not going to be happy to be some glorified guard or training a slew of fresh recruits. His job is to keep you from danger, and the sooner you bear my child, the safer you will be.” He squeezes my shoulder in a sympathetic manner. His kindness just about kills me.
I stare into the flickering fire, unwilling to meet Hansen’s gaze. “You have said your piece. I shall see you at the council meeting.”
Hansen leaves without another word, pulling the door open himself rather than tapping and waiting for the pages to open it. I’ve never seen him do that before. I always thought he was too lazy, too pampered. Then I realize he does this so that the pages feel they have done their job. It is a privilege to serve the king.
Hansen isn’t as detached and oblivious as I thought. He’s capable of politics. He’s capable of manipulation. And to hear him talk, he’s capable of setting his feelings aside in order to have this heir.
I’ve been deluding myself in these months since our marriage. The rumors are true, after all: My mother’s dream is to unite all four kingdoms of Avantine once more. Hansen and my marrying was the first step. The next step was having children who would grow up to marry the heirs to Argonia and Stavin. A new Dellafiore dynasty, she told me. I listened, but I suppose I didn’t really hear. Or I thought that when the time came, it would be a bearable duty, not something that intruded on my relationship with Cal. My love for Cal, my devotion to him.
I had promised him that my husband would be no true husband to me. I thought I could keep this promise.
The crows outside caw, laughing at me. Everyone knows everything here in this cold, miserable castle. Everyone wins. Everyone but me.
It’s time to grow up, I know. Time to face the Small Council and my husband and accept my fate as queen.
Chapter Seven
Caledon
When Cal is summoned to an emergency meeting of the Small Council, it’s almost dusk, and the day’s training in the yard is winding down. Exhaustion and incompetence have finished off most of the recruits, and Cal can’t help but feel the entire day has been an elaborate waste of time.
The meeting, he assumes, is about the scribe’s belief that an Aphrasian monk stalks the narrow staircase of the tower. Cal has already set a guard outside, and the evening search of the building will begin soon. After all the scribes—and Father Juniper, Lilac’s personal priest—are in their chambers for the night, the tower will be locked, soldiers standing guard until daybreak. Another search will take place then. The captain of the guard has promised a thorough search of the entire castle, in fact, to make sure no gray monk is harbored in any servant’s chamber, or lives secreted in the catacombs or cellars.
The captain of the guard, Cal suspects, believes that Daffran’s sightings are the terror-fueled imaginings of a doddering old man. Given the unreliability of the witness, Cal wasn’t expecting the Small Council to take this matter so seriously, but after what happened in Stur, perhaps they feel an incursion by the Aphrasians is a distinct possibility.
He sprints up the curving stone staircase that links all the floors in the building of royal enclosure. It feels strange to use this grand public thoroughfare, when he’s more accustomed to the narrow stairs from the cellar that lead to the Queen’s Secret.
The Small Council meets in an impressive chamber, wood-paneled, with a decorated ceiling so high, the room requires two large fireplaces to keep it warm. Darkness is settling outside, and the table is ringed by tapers on ornate stands. The place reminds Cal of some kind of Montrician hunting lodge, particularly as King Hansen’s enormous hounds lie sprawled across the floor, their long tongues lolling.
The presence of the dogs means that Hansen’s here—that’s the first surprise. The second surprise is that Lilac is here as well, sitting at the opposite end of the table, facing the door. The sight of her face, beautiful but troubled, knots Cal’s stomach. He wishes he could rush to her and kiss her sweet, soft lips. Instead he merely bows and maintains his usual expression, emotionless and staunch. Lilac doesn’t meet his gaze.
The only member of the Small Council who looks pleased to see him is Daffran. The Duke of Auvigne sprawls in his chair, the usual scowl on his face, his fat fingers twitching because he isn’t holding a tankard of mead. Cal doesn’t trust the duke—not because he suspects him of being an Aphrasian, like Duke Girt before him—he doesn’t believe Duke Auvigne supports or cares about Lilac. She’s a political pawn to him, not a real woman.
Today even the wheezy old chancellor, Lord Burley, has taken his place at the table, though these days he must find it difficult to climb the stairs. He seems uninterested in Cal’s arrival. Cal stands near the high window, waiting to be addressed or summoned forward. When they want to confer with him or dispense an order, they’ll know he’s there.
The stairs aren’t the only reason that Lord Burley isn’t often at these meetings. In the tortured Montrician hierarchy, he outranks the entire Small Council and usually advises the king in private, in the royal audience room near the chancellor’s own apartments. Cal rarely sees him. Lilac barely sees him, either, from what she tells Cal, though occasionally Hansen summons her to these private meetings, so he doesn’t have to pay attention himself. Too occasionally, according to Lilac. She’s told Cal that Lord Burley doesn’t—or won’t—remember that she’s a joint ruler, and not a consort. Apparently they still like to do things the old Montrice way.