Forbidden Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 1)

by R. J. Vickers

  “We could agree to the deal only if King’s Port and its outlying settlements officially join Itrea and begin paying taxes like the rest of the kingdom,” Olleack said. “I don’t know how they got away with it for so long.”

  “The emissary does raise a good point, though,” Mother said. “If he were to refuse our terms, and Larkhaven left Itrea, we would be out of options. We are hardly in a good position to drive a bargain.”

  “I bet you Larkhaven won’t actually leave,” Leoth said. Though he was slouched back in his chair with casual grace, his eyes had been tracking the conversation intently. “They need us as much as we need them. They hardly have any farmland, and almost all of the Weavers in Itrea come to Baylore to join the Guild. I think it’s just a ploy to get something out of us.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Olleack said.

  Mother folded her hands on the table. “That decides it. We leave the offer on the table until the king returns with word from Larkhaven. At that point we can decide how to approach negotiations with King’s Port based on how much we stand to lose if they withdraw their offer.”

  “Unless I’m king by then,” Leoth said. “I don’t care what it takes—I won’t let Larkhaven split from Itrea. My first act as king will be to start building up an army in case we need to keep our country together by force.”

  “That would be a terrible idea,” Mother snapped. “I hope I never live to see that day.” She stood and pushed in her chair with a scrape. “That concludes our meeting.”

  As I followed Mother out the door, I heard Leoth saying, “They’ll come around someday. They’re so narrow-minded.”

  Mother’s grip on my elbow was fierce as we swept up the stairs toward our chambers.

  “We must do everything we can to keep that arrogant bastard off the throne,” she hissed. “I don’t care if we have to resort to bribery and blackmail.”

  “Mother!”

  She gave me a grim smile. “I do not want to see our Golden Age discarded through the careless actions of one young man. We have known peace for so long that most of us could not believe anything would ever change, but if you read the histories of the Kinship Thrones, you will see endless annals of war. You must become queen. We need you to stop this madness.”

  15

  Chaos in the Streets

  W ith so much occupying my mind, I nearly forgot about the scheduled Varseday meeting with the Truthbringers that Leoth was sure to attend. The emissary from King’s Port was staying in the palace as our guest until the king returned, and he was followed everywhere by a gaggle of young noblewomen who lacked good marriage prospects. They must have heard of the fabled riches of King’s Port, and dreamed of moving to the warm southern land to live like queens.

  The date of the meeting only occurred to me when I saw Leoth on the way to breakfast. He was wearing the same cloak he had donned for his previous excursion into the city.

  I had hoped to procure a ring convincing enough that I would be able to attend the meeting myself, but my plan to get a close look at Leoth’s ring had been unsuccessful. I had glimpsed it during our meeting after the emissary’s arrival, though at a distance, so I knew only that it was gold.

  Without that, my only remaining option was to arrive before the meeting and sneak into the warehouse before the doors were guarded. I slipped down to the basement without telling anyone where I was headed, and changed quickly into the servant girl’s dress. As I started jogging through the tunnels, freer now without my heels and constricting bodice, I wrinkled my nose—the girl’s dress was beginning to reek. It needed a good washing before I returned it to her.

  “You’ve been away a while,” the guard at the gate remarked when I emerged, winded and red-faced, onto the narrow stretch of paving stones outside the palace.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said. “Princess Kalleah didn’t want my help at first, but she realized after a bit that she couldn’t tame her hair properly without help.” That much was true—I had been struggling to look decent ever since Jallera’s death, as no new lady-in-waiting had been assigned to me yet.

  The guard chuckled. “And I suppose she’s given you leave to abandon her today?”

  “I’ve got one day off a quarter, sir.” I gave him a clumsy curtsey.

  “Count yourself lucky, then.” The guard selected the right key from his ring and unlocked the gate. “Maybe it’s not so bad to work for a demon after all.”

  I hurried through the gates before the man could see my expression. When had I become a demon? Wasn’t my forbidden blood enough of a mark against me?

  It was easy enough to follow the now-familiar Market Street to the end and turn down the narrow alley leading to the warehouse. Though the streets were busy as always, it was nothing compared to Sullimsday, and the market stalls that had constricted the flow of traffic were gone.

  When I came within sight of the door to the Coachman’s Bar, I could smell chocolate and woodsmoke drifting from the doorway. No one stood outside, so I must have arrived early enough to enter unnoticed.

  The warehouse within yawned cavernous and empty, and the Coachman’s Bar had only attempted to fill one tiny corner of that vast area. Strings of lights hung over the seating area, and a low stone wall surrounding the bar gave the impression that it was set in a picturesque garden rather than an abandoned building. The tables were all tiny and round, with spindly legs, and the chairs were made from weathered wood that might have been salvaged from an old building.

  Several plainly-dressed men nursed mugs at the small tables, each drinking in silence; I guessed they were either workers in the Warehouse District pausing for a morning refreshment or traders stopping in the city after delivering wagonloads of goods. As far as I could see, none wore gold rings, which meant the meeting was still a while away.

  Buying myself a mug of hot chocolate, I settled into one of the tables in the far corner of the bar to wait. I wished I had brought a book to occupy myself with, though that would have made me even more conspicuous in this roomful of tough-looking men.

  Hours passed, and the bar cycled through endless patrons, gradually trading their tea and hot chocolate for millet cakes, meat pies, and stiffer drinks. The barkeeper was beginning to give me a sour look as I continued to linger, even though I returned for several more drinks and bites to eat as the day went on. Eventually he tugged the rag from where it dangled out of his apron pocket, dropped it on the counter, and marched over to me with a frown.

  “I know you’re not causing any trouble, young missus, but why in the blazes are you still here?”

  At this rate, it seemed unlikely the meeting was to be held here after all, so I took a gamble and said, “Are the Truthbringers not coming this afternoon?”

  His frown deepened. “Not here, they aren’t. If you were at their last meeting, they would’ve told you where the next was held.” He tapped the side of his cheek as he peered at me closer than before. “Wait a moment, you look familiar. Have I seen you before?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, dipping my chin to avoid his gaze as I stood. “I was ill and missed the last meeting, so I need to find someone who knows. Thank you for everything. I’ll be leaving now.”

  Just as I stepped through the doorway, the barkeeper called, “Hang on. You’re the princess! The evil one—Princess Kalleah!”

  I broke into a run, cursing the barkeeper under my breath.

  “Stop her!” a deep voice shouted. I looked over my shoulder to see three of the bar’s patrons barreling after me. Though I had drawn enough energy from the rotating set of patrons to keep me going tirelessly for a long time, their legs were longer than mine, and they quickly gained on me.

  When at last I burst onto Market Street, I thought I might be able to lose myself in the crowd; instead, the man who was closest behind me yelled, “That’s Princess Kalleah! She was trying to spy on a meeting with the Truthbringers. Get her!”

  At first the crowd drew away from me with gasps and mutters, as though I carried the
plague.

  Then something hit me in the shoulder with a crack. It was not until I felt the gooey mess sliding down my arm that I realized it was a raw egg.

  It was the signal the crowd had needed. A roar of voices broke over the street, shouting, “Burn her! Burn her!” and “Go back where you came from!” More projectiles were thrown my way, from soggy heads of lettuce to overripe peaches, and people spilled from the side streets to join in the assault.

  I tried to run, hands over my head, but people filled the road ahead of me.

  When a pair of strong hands gripped my elbows, I flinched, sure the patrons of the Coachman’s Bar had caught me at last.

  “We’re palace guards,” one of the men said in my ear. “Just follow our lead, and we can get you out of here safely.”

  He raised his voice and shouted, “Cease this madness! Anyone who harms Princess Kalleah will face a life sentence.”

  A plump woman leaned from an upstairs window and hurled an egg at his head; it hit right on target, dribbling down his ear in a mess of yolk. The next egg hit the back of my head, hard enough that my vision clouded momentarily.

  The attack did not slow in the slightest. These townsfolk knew their safety lay in numbers—we could not arrest the entire city, and if we could not even see the faces of those hurling food at us, we had no way to hold them accountable.

  Two more city guards dressed in civilian clothes came running, and one took up a position in front of us, parting the crowd with his raised sword. We jogged up the street as fast as we could, though it was not fast enough to escape a pummeling.

  The crowd at the main square was more subdued; I didn’t realize why until I saw the line of palace guards standing just outside the palace walls, swords drawn. They closed in around me as I stumbled up to the gates, and shielded me from further attack while the gates swung open. None of the onlookers seemed brave enough to attack a uniformed guard.

  As I fled up the steps, rotten fruit juice and egg whites dripping down my arms, the city resumed its chant.

  “Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!”

  The doors thudded shut, but I could still hear the crowd outside, or perhaps it was just echoes of the chant reverberating in my head.

  We were halfway to the Cheltish wing when Mother came flying toward us, running far more elegantly on heels than I would ever manage. She seemed moments from gathering me into her arms, though she stopped a few paces away, whether from the sight or the smell I did not know.

  “What happened?” she asked anxiously. “I was in my study with the window open, and I heard a commotion outside. When I realized what they were shouting—”

  “I’m fine.” I walked straight past her with a stiff back and raised chin. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Several of the guards followed me all the way back to the Cheltish wing, with Mother hurrying along in their wake. I headed straight for the narrow, dimly-lit bathroom in the hall beneath my tower, where I climbed into the empty tub fully clothed.

  I did not have to wait long before Mother appeared with Lyla, who had fetched a bucketful of steaming water from the kitchens.

  “Oh, my word,” she said, eyes widening at the sight of me. “Are you hurt?”

  “It takes more than a few eggs to injure me,” I said grimly. “Just dump the water right over my head. I don’t care how hot it is.”

  Lyla put a hand in the bucket to test the water before pouring it gently over my head. As the steam billowed around my face and water streamed over my eyelids, I tried to convince myself it would erase everything that had come before. The woman who rose from this bath would be stronger than the girl who had entered it.

  “Tell us what happened, sweetheart,” Mother said, her tone unusually gentle. When I felt fingers in my hair, unraveling my braid and working out the tangles, I guessed they were hers. She had not bathed me since I was very young. “Why were you in the city unsupervised? If you feel trapped in here, we can arrange safe conduct for you to travel wherever you please. Even I have yet to readjust to palace life. But please don’t leave the protection of your guards. That mob sounded like they would have killed you if they had the chance.”

  “I think Leoth had something to do with the assassination attempt,” I murmured, my eyes still closed. Lyla’s footsteps retreated, and I guessed she was fetching more water. “At least indirectly. I saw him meeting with Truthbringers, and there was supposed to be another meeting today. I hoped to listen in and see if his family has anything to do with their schemes.”

  Mother’s hands in my hair froze. “What do you know about Truthbringers?”

  “Not much at all. Do you know anything?”

  “No,” Mother said, “but you must stay far away from them. Whether or not Leoth was involved—and I highly doubt he was—I can say with certainty that the Truthbringers or their followers were behind the assassination attempt.”

  “Unless it was one of the other royal families, trying to discredit our line,” I said. “Or an enemy we know nothing about. Everyone in this city hates me, so we can assume any of them would jump at the chance to finish me off.”

  “And yet you still decided it would be wise to sneak into the city alone, disguised as a servant.” Mother sighed. “Promise me you won’t do that again, or I will have to order a guard to follow your every step.”

  “It would have to be a rotating set of guards,” I said, sinking lower in the tub. “Or they would all be dead within the quarter.”

  When Lyla returned with a second bucket of water, I scrubbed water and muck from my eyes so I could give her a sheepish smile. Once she had dumped the second bucket over my knees, she and Mother turned to leave.

  “Do I have your promise?” Mother asked once more.

  “Of course.” She did not have to force it out of me. As much as the idea of freedom tugged at me, it was not worth facing that mob again.

  16

  Changing Sides

  I had not realized how dirty I was until I climbed from the bath, leaving the servant girl’s dress still soaking, and saw how much filth I had left behind. The dress might not even be salvageable. Wringing it out a few times, I left it hanging on the edge of the tub to dry and crept upstairs in a bathrobe.

  When I caught sight of my reflection, I was mortified to see a few bruises around my neck and face, most obvious of all a purple lump on one temple where an apple had struck me.

  Then I decided I would wear them with pride. I could be the most beautiful woman in Itrea, and my detractors would still see me as a taint in their perfect world. These bruises would at least give them something new to talk about behind my back.

  * * *

  Autumn arrived lazily, the long late-summer afternoons still stretching on beneath a hot sun. In Ambervale, the aspens would have begun to paint patches of the hillside gold and the summer birds would have flown south, but fall came slowly to Baylore.

  A messenger from the king arrived halfway through Annok-span to say negotiations in Larkhaven were taking longer than expected, and the king would return before the end of Harvest-span.

  “I hardly even care at this point,” Mother told me once she dismissed the messenger. “Your father was not pleased to see us again—he may have secretly hoped we had vanished, never to return. Perhaps it’s for the best if he remains safely in Larkhaven, where our presence will not damage his reputation.”

  “But who did he plan to name as his heir before we returned?” I asked. “Surely he wouldn’t have supported Leoth.”

  “I hope not,” Mother said. “I truly do.”

  * * *

  The talk of the palace turned to the upcoming Harvest Ball, which would happen at the beginning of Harvest-span. I was expected to attend, even though my presence would dampen the spirits of the other guests, and Mother commissioned a special red gown with gold embellishments for the occasion.

  I was removed from the excitement, as I spent almost every spare moment working through the pile of requests and proposals
and disputes with Mother. Now that I had grown accustomed to the procedures, I was able to work alone, only rarely seeking Mother’s counsel.

  I wondered from time to time whether the guard at the servants’ gate knew why I had never returned. Likely as not, he had recognized me fleeing the crowd, but I enjoyed imagining the stories he might have invented to explain my absence.

  One day, as I studied a book of law in the downstairs sitting-room, the windows revealing a sky roiling with clouds and a stiff wind setting the banners around the palace snapping wildly, Leoth came and sat before me.

  “What do you want?” I didn’t look up from the book, which was dangerously sleep-inducing.

  “Oh, I just thought—” I risked a glance up and saw an uncharacteristically sheepish smile on his face. “You see, most of the older royals are bringing partners to the Harvest Ball. It’s only the younger ones who trade partners for each dance. I wondered if—maybe—you wanted to go with me?”

  I snorted. “You really know how to win a lady’s heart. Spend quarters insulting her and belittling her and trying to steal her throne, and then assume—of course!—that your disgusting behavior will make her want to spend even more time with you.”

  Leoth pouted, and I had a sudden suspicion this was a prank.

  “Besides, you may count yourself among the ‘older royals’ at court—how old are you, twenty?—but I am merely eighteen. Wouldn’t it be far more amusing to give every eligible man at court a chance to spurn me?”

  This drew a flicker of his usual cruel smile, which he quickly smoothed over. “Maybe that was my hidden motive for asking you,” he said. “To save you from that indignity.”

  “Well, the answer is no, and if you don’t understand why, you’re stupider than I thought. Now don’t you have something more important to do than get in my way?”