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January 23, 1195
It was only a couple of hours before Dea would leave the castle to attend her uncle's funeral. Everyone in the kingdom knew that the funeral was today, as the death of the queen's uncle, the former queen consort's half-brother--the baron's son, and the son of the beloved late Princess Holladrin of Dovia--could not possibly have escaped the notice of the public, especially when it was such a sudden death at such a young age. And even if someone hadn't known... well, it was morning, and early enough in the morning that many had yet to wake. On this day, at this hour, she had not expected a knock on her study door.
"Willott?" Even when her grandfather had been king, she'd known the steward's knock like she knew her own voice.
"My apologies, your majesty. I realize this is bad timing, but your betrothed has arrived."
Dea's spine jerked. In light of her Uncle Farilon's accident, it had slipped her mind completely that he was to arrive so soon. "Oh! Ah, yes, of course."
"Shall I put him up at the nearest inn until tomorrow, or...?"
"No, that won't be necessary. He couldn't have predicted any of this." Who could have? Her Uncle Farilon had been a healthy man of twenty-four! Dea rose from her desk chair and braced herself. "Bring him in."
Willott opened the door and entered, followed by a dark-haired, bearded young man in a winter coat. The coat wasn't anything special, but she found little disappointment in the man who wore it--handsome and casually regal, a grim look of sympathy befitting the news Willott had surely just told him, but not without a playful twinkle in his eye as he first spotted her. Dea mustered up all the queenly composure she could; she was used to many things, but such direct male attention was not one of them.
"Her Royal Majesty, Queen Medea the First of Naroni. Your majesty, may I present Henry of Stirling, son of David of Scotland, Earl of Huntingdon."
"My lord," Dea greeted the man for lack of a better title as he stepped forward. His father was heir presumptive to the Scottish throne (a fact that left a vile fog in Dea's mind, as his brother the king did have a young daughter) but Henry himself was excluded from succession as a natural son. But he was well-connected, available, and--though she hadn't known it prior to his arrival--quite attractive. As far as prince consorts went, she could have found a worse candidate.
"Your majesty." He took to one knee and kissed her hand. The softness of his fingers was matched only by that of his lips. "My sincerest condolences to you and your family."
"Your condolences are appreciated, and I see no need to keep to the formality of 'majesties'. You may rise." He did, though she kept hold of his hand. It may not have a been queenly or maidenly gesture, but there was something in his skin that made her stronger, more prepared for the trials of the day. She did not want to let go. "Welcome to my country."
"Thank you. If it isn't too bold, I was told that the Queen of Naroni was even more brilliant than she was beautiful; having now laid eyes on you, I must surmise you to be the pinnacle of brilliance."
"It isn't too bold, though I daresay poetic compliments are wasted on someone so literal-minded as myself."
"Ah, lass--there is no such thing as a wasted compliment, so long as it comes from the heart as well as the lips."
Dea felt her cheeks warm. Not once in her life had anyone called her 'lass', but there was a charming duality in his pretty sentiments and the occasional bit of Scottish slang.
Behind Henry, Willott cleared his throat. "Shall I leave the two of you in peace, your majesty?"
"If you so prefer." If she were honest with herself, Dea had nearly forgotten that the steward was there. "Take the rest of the day, Willott. Go home to your wife and children."
Willott bowed, then turned and left. At least, that's what Dea figured he must have done after she'd dismissed him.
"I must apologize for my poor timing. If you would prefer I seek lodging elsewhere while you mourn, I understand."
"That won't be necessary. Our official mourning ends with the funeral here; the Dovians have long believed that any soul worth mourning would much prefer for their loved ones to focus on life."
That said, the funeral had not yet occurred. "Though, I must ask that you remain here while I attend the funeral, and warn you that I may overnight at my grandfather's."
"Of course. I should hate to start our acquaintance by imposing myself in your family's time of grief."
And that was good of him--but, so to would Dea hate to start their acquaintance by abandoning him for the day in a strange castle, even if she told the servants to cater to his every whim. "Then you'll be pleased to know that our acquaintance will instead begin with a tour of my home--unless you'd rather rest first, of course."
Henry smiled. "There'll be plenty of time for resting when you're away, lass. No sense in not getting my fill of you while I can."
NEXT CHAPTER:
April 14, 1192
"I'm not leaving without my children!" The queen dug her heels into the ground as Willott shut the castle door, no mind to the hem of her gown and the dirt beneath it. The king had barged into the study mere minutes ago with a grip on the queen's arm, demanding that Willott clear the servants from the halls while he personally escorted his wife to the convent. Willott had obeyed that order, though he hadn't seen the point of it--enough had overheard him screaming about the truth about their youngest, enough had heard about another man's bastard growing in the queen's womb.
King Ietrin was a proud man. But his pride was that of a usurper, not that of a king, fragile and easily insulted rather than confident and dignified. It blinded him rather than strengthened him. What should have been armor was a self-inflicted wound.
"You'll be damned lucky if I let you see any of them again! I've half a mind to send them all to the far corners of the world purely out of spite for you--and don't think that excludes your bastard. And as soon as I've taken all you hold dear, I'll divorce you for a queen who will give me a son and banish you from this kingdom!"
"A queen who will give you a son! I told you: it's you who can't give her a son! If I managed three children with you, I must be the most fertile women who ever lived!"
"Silence! How can I trust the girls are even mine?"
Anyone who'd ever seen Princess Medea's eyes knew the answer to that. The queen had another answer. "Because I've only ever been with another man once. How does that feel, Ietrin? Just once with another man was enough for another child!"
Privately, Willott liked the fact--and he'd tell the queen that later.
But, rather than whatever curse the king replied with, his ear was drawn more keenly to a steady beating of the wind, which brought his eye to a shadow in the clouds. "Your majesties..."
"Never call her that again, Lowan!" the king snapped. "This whore is no 'majesty' of yours! Now, if she won't go willingly, fetch some guards to make her!"
"Not without Gennie and Hollie!"
A panicked scream rang from the streets outside the walls. The black shadow swooped downward. Something in its grasp glinted.
"Don't think I won't sell the both of them at auction!"
More screams. More beating.
"I'll sell them both, and Medea too! They can rot in a harem for all I--"
The sun went black. And Willott's true loyalties came to light.
"My lady!"
He pulled her back just in time to spare her the worst of the splatter.
Neither of them were spared the sight.
NEXT CHAPTER:
August 4, 1187
"I should warn you that he's... unreasonable." Willott's eyes darted to the door, as if he could see through it to an eavesdropping, insulted employer. Having already been warned--more than once--Melria didn't blame him. Her stepsister had married a nobleman. Her brother-in-law was reeve in Veldorashire. Her mother-in-law had made dresses for Queen Laralita, and for Queen Jedaline. Not one of them had a good thing to say about King Ietrin, and when Melria had received his summons, none of them had been shy with their opinions.
Her brother the steward had his suspicions about what the king wanted, and he'd told Melria he'd help her if she refused--and that he'd make damn sure that no one judged her if she didn't. She knew Willott to be sincere, but she had not made up her mind. If he was right, then she wanted to know what the king planned to offer her in turn. She was a widow, after all. She had a young daughter, and very few employable skills, and she had not so many assets and prospects that she could have her pick of second husbands from off the street. Her in-laws, since deciding to try to send as many of their children to university as possible, would be in a better state if they didn't have to support her and Ivy, even if they were too kind to say so. Her step-family would help her if she asked, but she did not wish to burden them either. If King Ietrin made a worthy offer, then she would take it.
But if not, then why should she waste her reputation on such a man? Never mind her time?
"If I'm right, and you do tell him no, you and Ivy are welcome to live with me if you feel that badly about staying with Kenvir and Ivilia."
Melria shook her head. "I couldn't, Willott. You work for the man. If he's as awful as everyone says he is, your job could be in jeopardy."
"Nedur and Aldara will take you, then."
"I'm sure they would. But I wouldn't feel right about it." Never mind that her other brother's farm got the bulk of its business from the royal kitchens! "Let's just see what he wants, and if it could possibly benefit Ivy and me. We'll worry about the rest later."
Her brother sighed. "I suppose that makes the most sense."
"Oh, good. You know how I hate being kept waiting."
Willott bowed, and Melria curtsied. She didn't dare resume her stance until after her brother had resumed his, and only then did she get a look at the king. He was a handsome man, with golden curls and a face like a statue of Apollo, and his eyes were a rare and stunning violet that might have put every other color Melria had seen to shame. His voice was not so beautiful, no doubt largely because of the tone. The way he carried himself too had an off-putting arrogance about it. She knew it was neither gracious nor smart to judge a person so quickly, but she doubted she'd ever like him personally.
But she didn't need to like him. If he could solve her problems, then she just needed to tolerate him.
"Lowan. And this must be your sister."
Melria bowed again, more quickly this time. "Your majesty."
Those pretty eyes swept her over. Unimpressed, if she could guess by his flat mouth--but not repulsed. "Leave us, Lowan. I wish to speak with the Widow Corran alone."
"Yes, your majesty." Willott jerked his head downward in a practiced, almost mechanical motion, then left the room, shutting the door in his wake. His footsteps sounded, but a gut feeling told Melria that they weren't leading him further than the next stretch of wall.
"Melria--might I call you Melria?" She nodded. He strode past her on his way to his desk, grazing her thigh as they met. So Willott had been right. "You may sit."
She did, in case it hadn't been a request. "Your brother tells me you have a daughter."
"Yes. Ivy."
"How old is she?"
"Eight, your majesty. Nine in November."
"So if she is your only child, then your husband has been dead for some time."
"Seven years last May."
"I see. You must be tired of burdening your in-laws. I understand that they have children of their own left at home, and intend on having them educated."
She hoped 'burdening' wouldn't have been the word her in-laws would have used, but she nodded. The king must have drilled Willott before summoning her. "They've been very kind."
"Then you've been lucky. Fortunately, I'm willing to help you if you can help me." The king leaned forward, hands together, elbows to his desk. "I will be honest with you. I am concerned that some members of my household staff may have other loyalties. A risk of being king, of course, but the problem is that my wife and I have no particular taste for one another, so since I parted with my former mistress, I have been... satisfying my needs with various female servants."
Yes--Willott had been right. Any other reason, and he'd have had no business mentioning such a thing. "I see."
"Yes. So you see, I now find myself in need of a mistress. When I found out that Willott had a widowed sister, I asked about you; I found I could not have asked for a more perfect candidate. You have a brother in my employ, and another to whom I am a valued client, so even if we parted on bad terms, you would be unlikely to divulge my secrets to my enemies for fear of retaliation against your family. You're nothing horrible to look at, but you're not among the most beautiful of women either, so I'm unlikely to encounter any rivals for your occupation. You're also in a position to benefit financially from being my mistress, especially considering that you have a child to support."
"And just how might I expect to benefit from you financially?"
"Well, I would put you and your daughter up in a nice new house near the castle. You would have servants and new furniture and pretty dresses, and you'd certainly never go hungry. I would be willing to invest in your daughter's future as well. Does it seem likely that she'd want to attend university?"
"I don't think so." Ivy was not stupid, but school had been a struggle since the day she'd began. Melria's bookseller father-in-law had attempted to help with her reading, the seeming root of her academic issues; he'd found he couldn't help her, and had told Melria he suspected that Ivy didn't process letters like most people did, and it would take a teacher with more skill than he to help her overcome or compensate for it. In any case, it seemed unlikely that Ivy would want to torture herself with four optional years of schooling at an age where other options were available.
"Then I shall make a generous contribution to her dowry, and provide her with steady employment until she marries--and even if our arrangement fails, I will uphold my word where your daughter's future is concerned. The same goes for any children we happen to have, though know that I don't require that of you." The king's back straightened, his violet eyes briefly flung to the mantle before falling back to Melria. "Now, what say you? Are my terms to your taste, or not?"
NEXT CHAPTER:
