In Which Laralita Mentions the Letter

July 16, 1203

"It's adorable. They haven't even met yet, but he's already smitten. I swear, whenever he's not writing letters, he's just waiting for her replies!"

Behind her, Laralita's twin brother groaned. "I'm right here!"

"I know--and you can't even protest. Adorable!" But in truth, she did rather envy Roderick. Laralita had nothing against her own betrothed, but... she had met him. And she spent most of their time together... waiting for him to grow on her.

Plus, they'd been a half-random match of similar age and not-inappropriate standing. Not that she didn't think she was the all-around lucky one, not being the perpetual center of their mother's scheming--but a betrothal to Carvalli royalty? That was a not-insignificant perk.

"Don't be embarrassed, Roderick; I had a few classes with Dera's sister, and she says Dera's similarly enamored." Their cousin Holladrin shot a wink over Laralita's shoulder before turning back to her. "For the record, I have no trouble believing it. He's sweet--like his father."

"I guess." Her father was sweet--but it was strange that Holladrin thought so, given that the last few instances of their being in the same room had involved a level of interaction so minimal that it seemed almost choreographed. But, maybe part of her father's sweetness was that he was a perpetual fish out of water? And whatever Holladrin privately thought, she was the type to give the benefit of the doubt until there was no doubt left to be had. "And with all she dotes on him, I will give my dear baby brother credit for not turning out like our mother."

"Baby brother?" Roderick smacked his own forehead with an open palm. "We're twins! And I'm the older twin!"

Laralita sighed. "God, he's so pedantic."

"And Mother doesn't dote on me! At least not since I grew up, she hasn't. She just can't let go of her stupid delusions of my being king one day. I'd love it if she treated me like she treats you."

"She barely even remembers I exist!"

"That would be perfect!"

"Oh, don't fight! You two always get along so well, so long as the topic of your mother never comes up." Holladrin took Laralita by the arm and dragged her over to the empty bench by Roderick, seating herself on the far end and pulling Laralita down beside her. "Can't we all just agree that your mother is a terrible mother to both of you, if just in different ways? Even my mother thinks your mother treats you both horribly, and my mother might be the only person left who even sort of loves your mother."

"I guess." Roderick sniffed. "I'm sorry, Laralita."

"Sorry, Roderick." Laralita curled her toes inward, the silk of her slipper not so soft as a minute prior. They would be sorry, for now. Her brother may well have been her favorite person on the planet, but of course her mother had to ruin him for her too. "For someone so allegedly obsessed with what's best for you, it's alarming that she doesn't know you wouldn't want to be king even if it were more likely."

"And if she took a minute to notice you, she'd realize that you're clever and charming and full of ideas--and not just some accidental twin daughter to be treated as an eternal afterthought."

"I'll say. She didn't even notice me standing there while she was sending out that letter."

Her brother's mouth curled, dragging his brows down with it. He hadn't known? Their mother hadn't told him? "What letter? Who does Mother write to?"

"I'm not sure, but it was strange even for her. She even came down to meet the courier herself rather than sending it with a servant. She had him prove his illiteracy with a note insulting his mother--I guess she thought he'd react if he could read?--then insisted that the note was only ever to be delivered to... I don't know, she showed him a drawing of symbol or something, then burned that on a candle after he left. Oh, and he told her to burn it if he couldn't deliver it for some reason. Even gave him a flint, just in case."

"That almost sounds like--" Holladrin cut herself off with a shake of her head. For the moment, Laralita would take that as another benefit of the doubt, but she'd ponder the end of the sentence later that night as she drifted off to sleep--and she wouldn't know it then, but the answer would cross her mind. "Maybe she mentioned something to my mother? I'll ask her. If she didn't, then... well, my mother would want to know anyway."

"And I think we'd want your mother to know too," Laralita agreed after a quick shared glance with Roderick. "Sometimes I swear that your mother is the only reason ours isn't a serial killer yet."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Farilon Knows What the Commoners Don't

May 8, 1192

"Hello, Mama," the twins chorused as Danthia approached. It was only recently that they had become old enough to attract much interest from their mother, to the point where Farilon was still unused to seeing her in the nursery, and he didn't think he'd have time to adjust. The twins would be in their own bedrooms come the new year.

"Children." She bent down to ruffle Roderick's hair, but quickly returned to full stance. "Don't mind me; I just need a quick word with your father."

"We can talk here, Danthia." This was obviously about the Naronian throne. Having the children around might have made for a conversation somewhat different than the last dozen. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want." He did--to the point where he'd grown paranoid enough to observe the cook as she prepared their food. If he were to succumb to a piece of bad meat, then Danthia could make the claim on Roderick's behalf. Not that there was any chance of the lords accepting a four-year-old as their monarch when the other candidate was a grown, educated woman, but Farilon didn't doubt Danthia's willingness to try it. "Mind if I sit?"

Farilon shrugged. "I won't stop you."

"Good." She did as she'd suggested. There was still a good foot or so between them, but it was the closest they'd come to touching since they'd conceived the twins. At least she left him alone now. "Have you drafted your claim yet?"

Your claim. As if he had a claim, really. Dea was his father's granddaughter by his eldest son. That trumped second son. Certainly daughter trumped brother. "You know I have no intention of doing so."

"But you are a man grown. Your niece is a little girl."

"Nineteen is not little, and she would be a far better ruler than I."

"Not with me by your side." Especially with you by my side, he thought to himself but didn't dare say aloud. "You have an heir, and she doesn't even have a betrothed. You are the son of a king, and your mother was of my noble house. Her mother is the spawn of a madwoman and an eighth son of a mere lord."

"Her father was my brother."

"Half-brother. And his mother was an adulterous whore--as is her mother, I've heard." Danthia's eyes couldn't have been further sparked if she'd walked into a house of diamonds. "Perhaps we ought to take advantage of that. Who's to say how long her mother's unfaithfulness goes back? Little Dea might not be Ietrin's daughter after all."

"Danthia, I know Jeda. She wouldn't have slept with someone else out of sheer spite for Ietrin--and Dea definitely has Ietrin's eyes."

"You may know that," Danthia admitted, "but the commoners don't."

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