Sir William didn’t even look at Jade. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said. “It shall be done.”
He bowed and strode off to address the men. Alassa allowed herself a smile, then turned and strode towards the door. Servants and lesser nobility scrambled to get out of her way, the latter trying to attract her attention without making it too obvious they were trying to catch her eye. Word of her arrival had clearly spread. Someone in the watchtower had probably seen her convoy pass through the city gates and alerted everyone who’d bribed him to keep an eye out for her. She wondered, as she pretended not to hear any of the unsubtle requests for her attention, just how many people had bribed him. The watchtower position was a great one to earn enough money to live comfortably, as long as one didn’t get too greedy.
She listened, trying hard to show no reaction. There were men who wanted audiences with her father, men important enough to stay at the castle but too unimportant to be granted a royal audience immediately; there were women who wanted their lands and titles confirmed, or their proposed marriages confirmed; there were even a couple of heiresses petitioning to have their wardships handled by the king himself, instead of their male relatives. Alassa made a mental note to see to them herself, rather than trouble her father. The king wouldn’t be interested in stripping minor estates of everything they owned before their rightful inheritors came of age, but he’d definitely arrange their marriages to suit himself. An heiress made a great reward for a junior nobleman – or even a soldier – who’d served the king well. And no one would really care if the heiress was happy or not.
The crowd thinned out as she reached the bottom of the stairs and walked up. Jade followed, probably glaring nastily at a handful of particularly determined petitioners. Alassa smirked inwardly at their discomfort, although she knew it was a mistake. A powerful nobleman had plenty of ways to keep his juniors from appealing to the king, even though it was their legal right. Allowing the petitioners to speak to the king – or his daughter – as they walked through the halls might be the only way to be sure they knew what was going on. Who knew? A lord who had taken direct possession of his ward’s lands – regardless of her legal rights – might be up to something unpleasant.
Something else unpleasant, she thought, sourly.
Her stomach churned, a grim reminder that there might be a new life growing inside her. She was all too aware of just how easily wardships and guardianships could be abused. The Duchess of Iron had intended to ensure that her uncle would become regent, after King Randor’s death, and literally rewrite Alassa’s brain to suit himself. Not that he would have had to work too hard, she admitted privately. The nobility wouldn’t automatically rise in defense of a female ruler, particularly one with her reputation. Who knew? They might even expect her uncle to seek special dispensation to put his wife aside and marry his niece himself. It wouldn’t be the first time a nobleman had committed incest to keep power within the family.
It wouldn’t have gone that far, she told herself, as her stomach heaved. The Duchess was pulling his strings.
They reached the top of the stairs and headed down the corridor, wards flickering into existence long enough to check their identities – again – before fading back into the background magic and allowing them to pass. She felt, more than heard, Jade tensing behind her as the wards probed at his magic. He was, technically, the court wizard, but King Randor had a whole stable of magicians working for him. The task of warding the entire castle was too much for Jade to do alone, yet she knew he wouldn’t be happy at the thought of other magicians adding their modifications. And yet, they’d started to update and tighten the wards again. She’d been in magical homes that had less intrusive wards.
She wanted to glance back at him, or squeeze his hand, but she knew they were being watched. The guards lining the walls, the servants brushing the statues or sweeping the floors … they were never alone, not outside their private rooms. It was odd, she reflected, how she could be naked in front of the servants without a qualm, but not show any hint of affection to her husband. And yet, nakedness was natural. Affection, on the other hand, was weakness.
The large wooden doors opened as they approached, allowing them entry into the antechamber. Alassa looked around, her mood darkening as she spotted Viscount Nightingale kneeling in the middle of the chamber, his blue eyes firmly fixed on the marble floor. There were few people she detested more than Nightingale and fewer still she intended to have executed the moment she took the throne. Nightingale might be one of her father’s most loyal and trusted servants – and he had to be loyal, because he had no power base of his own – but she disliked him. The only person who seemed to respect Nightingale was the king …
No, Alassa corrected herself. Father doesn’t respect him any more than anyone else. He just finds the man useful.
“Your Highness,” Nightingale said. His oily voice had always grated on her nerves, particularly when he’d been the Master of the Princess’s Bedroom. Her bedroom. Now, as Master of the King’s Bedchamber, he had a surprising amount of power that he knew better than to abuse in any great way. He’d take bribes, of course, but he wouldn’t dare work against his king. “May I say what a great pleasure it is to have you return to your father’s castle?”
“You can take your tongue off my … boot,” Alassa snapped. She’d almost said ass. Her father would have heard – of course – and given her yet another lecture on proper behavior for a Crown Princess that would be spoilt by him trying not to laugh. “Stand.”
Nightingale stood, keeping his eyes lowered. Alassa studied him for a long moment, half-hoping it would get on his nerves. He’d grown fatter in the last few months, despite the best efforts of his tailors to disguise his growing paunch. His face was as pudgy and unformed as ever, characterless in a way that made her feel sick. He was little more than a parasite, serving her father because he had nowhere else to go. She had more respect for the stableboys than she had for the aristocrat in front of her.
“You will inform my father that we need to speak with him,” she said, firmly. “Now.”
Nightingale looked paler, somehow. “Your father is in a very important meeting …”
Alassa glared. “You will inform my father that we need to speak with him,” she repeated, allowing her voice to harden. “Now.”
“Your father specifically requested no interruptions,” Nightingale said, nervously. “I can take a message.”
Alassa gritted her teeth in annoyance. Nightingale might delay her, slightly, but he’d never dare keep her away from her father without specific orders from his king. And that meant that her father really didn’t want to be disturbed. Crown Princess or not, there were some meetings that even she wasn’t allowed to attend. She could force her way past Nightingale – he’d never dare lay a finger on her, or order the guards to keep her out – but there would be consequences.
“You will inform my father that I need to speak with him as soon as possible,” Alassa ordered, flatly. It would be tomorrow, at the very earliest. Her body was reminding her just how hard she’d been riding over the past few days. “A breakfast appointment will be suitable.”
Something – annoyance, perhaps – flickered in Nightingale’s eyes. But his voice remained level. “As you command, Your Highness,” he said. “I will inform your father personally.”
Alassa turned and strode towards the door to the Royal Apartments, Jade following at her heels. He hadn’t said anything, but she could sense his silent disapproval. She kept her thoughts to herself as they walked down the corridor, passing yet another set of complicated wards, and entered the Princess’s Antechamber. Lady Lye was already there, waiting for her. She performed a hasty curtsy as Alassa entered, keeping her eyes down. Alassa wasn’t fooled for a moment. Lady Lye wasn’t pleased her mistress had returned.
“Your Highness,” Lady Lye said. She was a stout woman of noble blood, but one without land or monies of her own. Like Nightingale, she was loyal to her king because she had now
here else to go. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a small meal in your dining rooms …”
“Good,” Alassa said, cutting her off. Lady Lye would not have prepared the meal with her own two hands, of course. “I require privacy for the remainder of the night. You are not to disturb me for anything short of a genuine emergency.”
She held Lady Lye’s eyes until she nodded in submission. The older woman was more likeable than Nightingale, but she was still more interested in feathering her own nest than supporting her mistress. The Master – or Mistress – of the Queen’s Bedchamber was in a position to distribute a remarkable amount of patronage, for which they would be rewarded with a sizable fortune and a vast number of clients who owed her a favor. It wouldn’t have been so bad, Alassa thought, if she’d been allowed to choose her own candidate for the post, but her father had appointed Lady Lye. Alassa had no doubt that the older woman kept an eye on her mistress for the king. The wretched woman even kept track of her monthlies …
And she may realize I’m pregnant soon, Alassa thought. If, of course, I am pregnant.
She stepped forward. Lady Lye hastily stumbled to the side, allowing Alassa and her husband to pass through the final set of wards. She’d warded the chambers herself, back when she’d first returned from Whitehall; Jade had added his own improvements, as husbands were wont to do, but the wards were still hers. She could feel her magic running through the walls. It felt like home in a way nowhere else, even her bedchamber at Whitehall, did.
The door closed behind them as she looked around. Their bedchamber was massive, dominated by a giant bed, a huge fireplace and a table for midnight snacks. Three doors led to the bathroom, the dining room and Jade’s private bedchamber … one he rarely used. There were times when Alassa couldn’t help thinking that the reason her parents had only had one child – one legitimate child – was because they didn’t share a bed. Her father’s visits to her mother had taken on a formalized pattern that couldn’t have been conducive to getting pregnant. But then, Jade and she made love nearly every night and she still wasn’t sure she was pregnant. They’d had enough false alarms to make her wary about making any declarations.
And what will we do, she asked herself as she turned to face Jade, if I can’t get pregnant?
Jade met her eyes. “You shouldn’t have ridden off like that.”
Alassa looked back at him, evenly. “We won, didn’t we?”
“We might not have won,” Jade pointed out. “They were trying to capture you, not kill you.”
“I know.” Alassa grinned. “Which gave me the chance to fight back, didn’t it?”
She sighed, resting her hands on her hips. Jade was concerned about her. She knew he was concerned about her. Hell, he was the only person in the castle she could allow to see any signs of weakness. He was her husband, not her subordinate … and yet, in so many ways, he was her subordinate. It was sheer luck he’d been schooled at Whitehall, where men and women were de facto equals. She knew she’d have many more fights – and nastier ones – with a man who’d been raised traditionally.
“You took a major risk,” Jade reminded her, sharply. “What if they had captured you?”
“But they didn’t,” Alassa said. Emily or Imaiqah might have pulled back, concentrating on evading rather than fighting, but she was made of sterner stuff. Besides, the prudent thing to do was also the thing that would be taken for womanish weakness. “I won.”
She allowed her smile to widen. “I won!”
Jade opened his mouth, but she leaned forward and kissed him – hard – before he could say a word. Their quarters were heavily warded, so heavily warded that no one – not even her father – could spy on them. They could be themselves in their bedchamber, rather than the masks they were forced to wear outside. And she wanted – she needed – to celebrate. He kissed her back, his strong arms wrapping around her. His hands reached for her shirt and started to unbuckle it.
“I love you,” she whispered. She was lucky. She knew she was lucky. A husband she actually loved … as opposed to someone she married out of duty to her father and her kingdom. Yes, she was lucky. “Jade …”
“I know.” Jade picked her up and carried her to the bed. “I love you too.”
Chapter Three
ALASSA SMILED AS SHE WOKE, THE world slowly coming into focus as she opened her eyes. Her body ached, but in a good way: a reminder of everything – good and bad –they’d been doing yesterday. Jade snored next to her, one arm thrown over her. She felt her smile widen as she snuggled up to him, feeling his warmth flowing into her body. It was funny just how nice it felt to share a bed with someone she loved. Somehow, no one had mentioned that during night-time talks about boys …
The wards twitched, slightly. Alassa tensed, even though she knew no one could get through her wards without permission. The door opened a moment later, the faint sound of footsteps echoing through the air. A maid, then. Alassa would know the sound of household slippers anywhere. They were designed to be quiet, just to keep the maids from waking their masters and mistresses when they came to light the fire.
Alassa sat upright and peered into the gloom. The nightlight had faded, even though it was supposed to be drawing power off the wards. She made a mental note to check it as the maid jumped, spinning around in alarm. Alassa cast a light-spell, holding up one hand to keep the maid from panicking. The younger girl – she looked too young to go to Whitehall – stared at her in shock. Alassa was rather amused to note that the girl’s eyes were flickering between her eyes and the light-globe, rather than her bare chest. And yet, the maid’s reddening face made it clear she’d realized that the princess was naked.
“Ah … Your Highness,” the maid stammered. She dropped into a curtsy, then half-fell to her knees. “I … I …”
“You didn’t wake me,” Alassa said, as reassuringly as she could. Her ten-year-old self would have ordered the maid whipped, but … but she’d grown up. “Light the fire first, if you please.”
The maid hesitated, then turned back to the grate. She was a small girl, Alassa noted, with straggly brown hair and a thin body barely concealed behind her uniform. Probably common-born, then. Either the daughter of a commoner who’d been raised to the nobility or someone who’d been taken on as a scullery maid and then promoted. She made a silent bet with herself that it was the former. The maid might well have annoyed Lady Lye – it was probably why such an unprepared girl had been sent into Alassa’s bedchamber – but she wouldn’t have been given the job in the first place unless there was something in it for the older woman. A scullery maid would have nothing to bargain with, nothing to trade for a better job. But then, serving the princess might not be considered a better job.
Alassa swung her legs over the bed and stood, looking down at herself. The bumps and bruises had already faded, leaving her body as pearly-white as always. She touched her abdomen gently, wondering if she dared use a spell to determine if she was truly pregnant or not. Her cycle had always been strikingly irregular, even before she’d started to use potions at Whitehall to blunt the worst of her periods. It was quite possible that she was simply a couple of weeks late.
She heard a scratching sound and glanced at the maid. The younger girl was fiddling with a firelighter, trying to light the fire. Alassa reached for her magic, an instant before a spark finally caught and the flames started to spread to the logs. The maid looked up, her mousy face pleased. She caught sight of Alassa and reddened, sharply. Definitely not someone used to the noble life, then. Who cared if a low-born servant saw an aristocrat naked?
“You can relax,” Alassa said, as the maid prostrated herself. “What’s your name?”
“Mouse, Your Majesty,” the maid said. “I … ah …”
“It’s Your Highness, technically,” Alassa said, amused despite herself. Mouse would be a nickname, of course. But if the girl had accepted it … who was she to question? “What did you do to annoy Lye?”
Mouse flushed. “I’d sooner not
say, Your … ah … Your Highness.”
Alassa eyed her for a long moment, wondering if she should press the matter. Lye could hardly blame Mouse for answering Alassa’s questions, but that might not stop her from punishing the younger girl anyway. It must have been something pretty bad, although Alassa’s imagination failed to suggest any answers. Lye had full authority to beat her subordinates, if she wished, or unceremoniously fire them if they failed to meet her exacting standards. What had Mouse done to deserve such a sadistic punishment?
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Mouse stammered. She kept her face firmly pressed into the floor. “Please don’t turn me into a toad.”
“I won’t turn you into a toad,” Alassa said. She wanted, just for a second, to go back in time and give her past self a kick up the backside. Her past self had turned servants into toads, just for giggles. “Did Lye send a message for me?”
Mouse started to look up, then stopped herself. “I …”
“Stand up,” Alassa said, irritated. “And tell me what Lye said. Calmly, if possible.”
The maid stood, glancing around as if she was unsure where to rest her eyes. “She says that your royal father will see you for breakfast, alone.”
No Jade, Alassa translated, silently. Maybe Mouse wasn’t being punished for anything other than being the lowest girl on the totem pole. That message would have annoyed someone a great deal more placid than Alassa. Jade was her husband. He should be invited. Did Lye hope to spare herself my anger?
She shrugged. There was no point in beheading the messenger – or turning her into a toad. It was a lesson Emily had taught her, years ago. And it was one she had no intention of forgetting.
Alassa's Tale: a Schooled in Magic novella Page 3