“You have something to add?” King Gorvenal asked, and Destrian drew a deep breath.
“Merek has my support, Your Highness, as does the princess,” he said, bowing slightly in their direction.
“Mine also,” King Cedric added, though his brow was furrowed.
King Gorvenal, flushed in the face and with his legs failing him, slumped back in his chair. He looked from face to face before settling on Merek. After a long moment, he mimicked his daughter’s earlier response and gave his own, decisive, nod. “Very well then. The matter is settled. Now let’s clear this rabble from the room, as we’ve wedding preparations to discuss and no time to waste.”
“First things first,” King Cedric said, before stepping to the edge of the dais and addressing the crowd. “You were called here to witness the dissolution of my eldest son’s marriage, a mistake on my part, and one for which I apologise unreservedly. Motivated by anger that had been fuelled by lies, I was doubly wrong to have made this a public event. The perpetrators of the deception, which I now see was a blatant attempt to manipulate my decision making, will be punished—all of them.”
The king looked to Rulf and Festerly, then shifted to land on several others. A ripple of noise travelled through the crowd, as worried expressions appeared on numerous faces. Eloise recalled Rulf’s taunts about Cedric’s reign being short and how easy his son would be to control when he was king. With everything that had happened, she had forgotten to tell Destrian about the man’s threats.
Seeing the frown on her face, Destrian bent his head close to her ear and murmured, “Don’t worry. You are safe now.”
It wasn’t her safety she was worried about, but before Eloise could explain, Mr Festerly began to struggle against his captors.
“You’ve no right to detain me,” he shouted. “There was nothing illegal about my contracting to marry the girl. I’m the wronged party here and within my rights to demand recompense.”
Eloise flinched, and she was grateful when Destrian tugged her behind him, protecting her from the hulking man’s angry glare. Destrian would never allow him to get to her, but she couldn’t stop shaking as images of what her life could have been like with Mr Festerly for a husband flooded her thoughts. Eloise pitied whichever poor girl he took for a wife in her stead, and she tensed in anticipation of the king ordering his release.
“Not so fast,” Lord Winterfold called out from his place to the side of the dais. Striding down the central aisle, he met another man, one dressed as a knight, who had only just arrived. They spoke for a moment, then Lord Winterfold returned to where the king waited. “I have reason to believe the prisoner’s intended marriage to Lady Eloise was a means to gain access to the court of Varianda.”
“So?” Festerly said with a snarl. “I made no secret of my desire to do business with the palace.”
Lord Winterfold smiled and lifted the scroll he was holding into the air. “Yes, but you failed to mention you were an enemy spy. I have proof, Your Majesty.”
Festerly began to argue, and Rulf paled. Eloise doubted he had known, as he was desperate to see an alliance formed and Carac defeated. But it wouldn’t auger well for the man who had betrayed Destrian if he was also found to have been in league with the enemy.
The king ordered both men removed for interrogation later, and Eloise sagged against Destrian’s side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and she managed a shaky nod.
“Returning to more pleasant matters.” King Cedric’s sonorous voice filled the Great Hall, as he raised his hands to draw the crowds’ attention. “I would like to call on all present to witness my son, Prince Merek’s, betrothal to Princess Seraphina, an unexpected outcome of today’s gathering but one that has both King Gorvenal’s and my blessing. With our two kingdoms united, the hope of finding a lasting peace is greatly advanced. I ask you to join me in offering the young couple our congratulations.”
Merek took hold of Seraphina’s hand, and together they stepped to the edge of the dais. His expression was uncharacteristically grim, hers inscrutable once more, and they were met by only tentative applause. Murmurs rose from the crowd, and Eloise flinched to hear the court members questioning how Cedric’s younger, wastrel, son could expect to be taken seriously as a ruler, and what, if anything, would thaw the ‘Ice Princess.’
“I would also like to offer my congratulations to my son, Crown Prince Destrian, on his recent nuptials,” the king continued. “But first, I want to offer my heartfelt apology to the principle victim of today’s proceedings, my new daughter-in-law, who I welcome wholeheartedly into my family. A brave young lady, she rescued Destrian when he was shot and left for dead in the forest by Carac’s men. Daughter of Sir Charles Sommerville, she shall, henceforth, be known as Princess Eloise . . . and will one day be your queen.”
Destrian and Eloise stepped forward to be met by much louder applause from the crowd that now overflowed the great hall, their numbers swelled by the household staff who had come to be a part of the momentous events. When the noise eventually quieted, Destrian turned to Eloise. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles then said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “My beloved wife. You saved my life in more ways than one.”
“As you saved mine.” She returned his smile, relief swamping her at the realisation that the obstacles to their being together had all been overcome.
The future wasn’t entirely certain, as she imagined it would take time for Destrian and his father to adjust to the new parameters of their relationship. Somehow, she doubted her husband would be as compliant as he had been in the past, and she looked forward to seeing him prove the naysayers wrong.
Merek and Seraphina’s path was sure to be tumultuous, and Eloise hoped she would have the opportunity to offer her support . . . such as it was. She would need to find her own footing before she could be much help to anyone else.
Looking out over the sea of noble faces, a wave of anxiety washed over her. Then Destrian squeezed her hand, and the warmth of his smile boosted her faltering courage. Come what may, they would face it together.
Chapter 22
“Allow me?”
Eloise’s arm froze, her hairbrush held aloft. She had not long been out of her bath, the warmth of the nearby fire helping to dry her hair as she brushed out the tangles. Her new lady’s maid had begun the task, but less than three days since Eloise had taken up residence in the palace, and the servants already knew to make themselves scarce when her husband entered her bedchamber.
As she met his gaze in the mirror of her dressing table, an impish smile twisted Eloise’s lips. “Do we have time?”
“For me to brush your hair?” His green eyes sparkling, he straddled the velvet padded bench from the side, his thighs pressing snug against her. “I thought you liked it slow, but I can make it quick if need be.”
After taking the brush from her suddenly limp fingers, he began brushing her waist length locks with slow, steady strokes. Eloise relaxed against the wall of his chest, a contented sigh whispering from her lips as tingles shivered down her spine.
Hard muscles and a soft touch were a potent combination.
“You and I both know it’s not how long you take to brush my hair that I am worried about,” she murmured, entranced by the intensity of his gaze. “It is what it invariably leads to.”
Destrian smirked, the half-smile drawing her attention to the enticing curve of his lips.
“It’s not my fault you have such beautiful hair . . . that it smells so good and feels like silk.” He brought the locks bunched in his hand to his nose and breathed deep. “I fell in love with it the first time I saw you wearing it loose at the cabin.”
“Oh?” It was Eloise’s turn to quirk a brow, as their gazes met in the mirror. “And when did you fall in love with the rest of me?”
“Hmm . . . let me see.” Destrian swept her hair over one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck above her loose robe. “I do believe this part here—” he n
uzzled the exposed flesh, before kissing all the way up to the sensitive skin below her ear, “—first came to my attention when your nightgown slipped off your shoulder the first night we shared a bed.”
“A gentleman would have looked away.” Eloise’s attempt at outrage was belied by her quickened breath. Unable to resist, she bent her head to the side, allowing his lips greater access.
Destrian chuckled then nipped lightly at her skin. “I believe my gentlemanly capacity was stretched to its limit not taking advantage when I woke up with my delectable rescuer sprawled across my body.”
“Delectable?” She giggled then covered her mouth with her hand. Eloise had been scolded so harshly for giggling by her stepmother when she was younger that she had almost entirely stifled the urge to laugh. Not that there had been much cause after her father’s death. In the days since she had wed Destrian, it was as if a bottle had been uncorked, and she couldn’t contain the girlish giggles that kept erupting. It felt so good to laugh, to feel such unconditional happiness, but she worried about appearing gauche.
“Why do you do that?” Destrian paused in his feasting upon her neck and raised his head. When she didn’t immediately meet his gaze, he cupped her cheek, gently directing her to face him. “Why do you cut off your laughter? Don’t you know how much I love to hear it?”
“But I’m a princess now. I am supposed to act with decorum.”
“Oh, pfft. You’re my wife, and you are supposed to be giddy with joy, like me. I am positively drunk with it.”
Eloise giggled again, but as soon as her hand began to rise to her mouth—an automatic gesture—Destrian captured it with one of his own. His smile faded as he studied her fingers.
“The wounds are healing, and the rash is almost gone.” Eloise gave a little shrug, but she couldn’t hide her insecurity. “I am using a salve, and the scars will lessen with time, but they shall never be the hands of a lady.”
Destrian pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles, taking the time to kiss each finger in turn. When he was finished, he turned her hand over and brushed his lips to the pads of each finger before placing a lingering kiss on her palm. The knot that had begun to form in her belly unravelled to be replaced by an altogether different sensation, and a series of soft, breathy whimpers escaped her lips. Destrian hummed in reply, but he didn’t raise his head until he had given her other hand the same attention, his dark-eyed gaze captivating her as effectively as if she had been mesmerised by a travelling conjurer.
“Your hands are the hands of a princess, one who owns my heart and will one day be my queen—the finest queen the three realms have ever seen. I love these hands, as I love you. I hate that you suffered, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”
Eloise fought the overwhelming urge to cry, another suppressed emotional response that seemed determined to find expression as the reality of her changed circumstance slowly dismantled her defences. More often than not, the tears welled in response to her husband’s tenderness. His unrelenting kindness was her undoing, although she had also shed tears of relief. Destrian didn’t seem to mind. Twice now, he had held her close and murmured reassurances when she had succumbed to a bout of weeping, but she quickly blinked these away, focusing on her hands.
“I suppose their battered appearance was helpful as evidence. If I didn’t have scars to prove my claim, your father would have accepted Gloria’s word over mine.”
“It might have seemed that was the way things were going.” Destrian wrapped his arms around her, tucking Eloise’s head beneath his chin. “But for all his faults, he wouldn’t have let the matter lie, not after we offered a plausible defence. My father and I don’t always see eye to eye, but he is not Althelos . . . or even Gorvenal, for that matter. He would have insisted on exploring all avenues to uncover the truth, including accepting the word of witnesses from the lower classes.”
Eloise nodded, having come to the same conclusion, though she was glad it hadn’t been necessary to question Ayleth or anyone else from the village. King Cedric, who insisted she call him ‘Father’, was determined to prove himself different to his predecessor who was renowned for his secrecy. In hindsight, he realised he had gone about it the wrong way, apologising to Eloise several times now for subjecting Destrian and her to a public spectacle rather than meeting with them in private. Eloise was more than happy to put the awful experience behind them, and to her surprise, she was actually looking forward to attending the ball being held that evening to commemorate Merek and Seraphina’s betrothal.
While it was difficult to imagine ever feeling truly accepted by the privileged members of Varianda’s nobility, those same lords and ladies who had looked upon her in judgement seemed determined to win her favour now that she was married to the heir to the throne. Ignoring the part of her that wished she could hide away, Eloise was equally determined to make Destrian proud . . . or at least not regret his choice of bride. Doing so would, amongst other things, require making wise alliances. If there was one thing she had learned during her years of servitude it was how to gauge a person’s character by how they treated others and by trusting the instincts that had been honed through adversity.
To Eloise’s joy, she noted that while naturally commanding, Destrian treated people respectfully, regardless of their station. As for the way he treated her . . . she had absolutely no complaints.
“If you have finished brushing my hair,” she murmured, slipping a hand beneath Destrian’s robe and teasing the soft curls that formed a vee in the middle of his chest, “I should continue with my preparations and let you depart and attend to yours.”
Mimicking her actions, Destrian’s fingers slid between the satin folds of her robe. His fingers teasingly caressed one of her nipples, the bud instantly taut, before curving around the underside of her breast. Nuzzling her ear with his lips, he practically growled. “I, for one, can think of no better preparation for having to face the rabid hoards than spending time enjoying the, er . . . company of my darling wife.”
Eloise’s giggle made another appearance, but she didn’t try to stifle it this time. “I am equally partial to your company, dear husband, but if we dally much longer, we shall scandalise the servants who are waiting to attend us.”
Destrian lifted his head from its place nestled in the crook of Eloise’s neck. The return of his smirk assured her he was unconcerned. “It’s a bit late to be worrying about that, I’m afraid.”
Eloise’s cheeks heated in acknowledgement, the warmth spreading to her chest when he parted her robe, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.
“Yes, but I would rather not add fuel to the fire just before the ball,” she managed to say between panted breaths. “Servants gossip. What if word of our antics reaches members of the court?”
“You don’t think it has already?”
Destrian’s soft kisses trailed along her collarbone, but she refused to be distracted.
“We shall be held in ill-repute,” she whispered.
“For being happily married?”
“No.” Eloise attempted a firm tone, but she couldn’t resist arching her breast into his hand. “For lying together during daylight hours and more often than is acceptable. A lot more often than is acceptable. We’re breaking the rules, Destrian,” she added with a whimper when his kisses travelled lower while his fingers teased and tweaked her nipples.
“Some rules are made to be broken,” he murmured against the soft skin in the valley between her breasts.
“But the church—”
“Can mind its own business.” At Eloise’s shocked gasp, he raised his head. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this. The church is made up of men—men who like to make rules for others to follow—whereas the holy scriptures say—”
“That the marriage bed is undefiled,” Eloise finished for him. His knowledge was impressive and his arguments persuasive, but she wasn’t used to being in a position to flout any sort of authority. “Aren’t you worried about what the b
ishop might say?”
Unlike the kindly Father Benedict who had married them, the bishop who presided over the palace chapel wore a perpetually dour expression she found intimidating.
“That old goat?” Destrian made a face, and Eloise felt another giggle bubbling to the surface. “Even if some mealy-mouthed whiner does try to convince him we’re taking too much enjoyment from fulfilling our marital obligations, I highly doubt he will challenge us on it. He’s too busy toadying up to Father in hopes of saving his position.”
It was an unlikely outcome now that many more of Althelos’ victims were finding the courage to come forward and catalogue the abuses they had suffered under his reign, many condoned by the church.
“I doubt he’ll remain bishop for much longer.”
Eloise nodded. She had heard similar tales from the ladies vying for her attention in hopes of being selected as one of her attendants. Having gone most of her life without friends, the two she now had felt like an abundance: Ayleth, who she had insisted be invited to the ball and couldn’t wait to share all her news with, and Destrian, the person she felt closest to in the entire world. The idea of a formal coterie of ladies-in-waiting, whose sole purpose was to keep her company and amused, was daunting. It was also part and parcel of her new role. While she imagined the occasional afternoon spent reading or indulging a hobby—once she had acquired one—might be pleasant, spending her days embroidering cushions or discussing the latest fashions was not something to which Eloise aspired.
Determined to spend her time in more gainful, albeit radical, pursuits, Eloise had ideas for improving the lot of the working classes of whom she had recently been a member. Education was an issue close to her heart, as was improving the health and general well-being of the populace. Decocting herbal tonics and salves and opening her own apothecary was no longer the extent of Eloise’s aspirations, and she was thrilled that Destrian hadn’t scoffed when she had shared her expanded dream of using her new-found position to make a genuine difference.
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