This was his first view of the monster behind that sweet face. Perhaps there was a chance of winning him over as well. Matthias opened his mouth to goad her further when the council doors opened and the first pair of palace guards came in dragging a maidservant.
Margot glared at the trio. “That is not Patriarch Reniel.”
“Sorry, milady. We found her wandering the halls,” one of the guards said, bowing to Margot. “We thought you’d want to see her.”
“Why in the world would I want to—”
The servant lifted her head, revealing a sun-kissed Hellene complexion. Matthias’s gut went cold. “Danaë,” he whispered. “No.”
His beautiful bride, his witch queen, shrugged off the guards’ hands. She raised one eyebrow in icy disdain at Margot. “Good morning, Lady Pauwels. I’ve come to reclaim my king.”
A wealth of expressions tumbled across Margot’s porcelain face, settling on amused disbelief. “Queen Danaë,” she said, tilting her head in greeting. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“It’s one of my many charms,” Danaë replied. “Now, I order you to dissolve your regency and return control of the country back to King Matthias.”
All heads in the room turned back to Margot. His sister-in-law’s eyebrows had risen to her hairline. “You have no power here,” she said, as if correcting a slow child. “In fact, you do not have permission to enter the country, the city, or my palace. As such, I’m within my rights to consider this an enemy invasion and retaliate.”
“But you’re not,” Danaë said. “By right of treaty and marriage, I am Queen of Ypres. By your own declaration of regency, Matthias, and only Matthias, is incapacitated and unable to rule. Which leaves me as the sole ruler of Ypres.” She flashed a smile at Matthias. “It’s temporary, of course. You’ll get your throne back, I promise.”
“I have complete faith in you, my love,” Matthias said, even as his heart pounded. What the hell are you doing, little bird? And where are your men?
“So I’m giving you one last chance, Lady Pauwels.” All humor had died from Danaë’s voice, and her blue eyes were cold as winter. “Surrender your regency and turn yourself over to the palace guard, or suffer the consequences.”
Margot folded her arms, studying the woman across from her. Pursing her lips, she turned to the guards. “Kill her.”
****
“No!” Matthias jumped from his seat. A grim-faced guard in Pauwels livery leapt forward and grabbed him.
There was no more time. Danaë pulled the little silvered perfume bottle from her pocket. The stopper had been sealed with wax to keep it in place and prevent the contents from escaping. A firm twist and it popped free.
She held up the bottle. “Lady Margot Pauwels, I accuse you of the murder of your sister, Queen Hanne of Ypres,” she said. “You were the one who supplied her son with the demon mirror that killed her. Now reap what you have sown.”
The air above the bottle’s neck shimmered as if with heat haze, and then a dull pewter mist boiled out into the air. It hung there for a moment, twisting and billowing outward until it took the form of a spectral woman. The ghost was colored in tones of grey, with long pale hair streaming out from her head like bleached seaweed. Danaë could only see the spirit from the back, but knew Margot, Verheyen, and Matthias recognized its face from the horrified expressions on their own.
The revenant spirit of Queen Hanne threw her head back and howled, the sound clawing over long bones and sending cold shudders down spines. Her long, bony fingers, stretched in a painful bend from the palms, sprouted silvery talons.
“Murderess!” she cried. “Foul sister, to do me to death in such a way!”
“No!” Margot screamed, cowering back on the throne. “I didn’t, I didn’t, it was Lukas! Mercy, Hanne, I beg you!”
“I know nothing of mercy, murderess.” The voice was inhuman, icy and pitiless. “Only vengeance, only punishment, only wrath!”
She shot forward and hovered over Margot. Cruel talons came down and the regent of Ypres screamed, high and gabbling like a rabbit caught by a hawk. A spray of garnet red flew into the air, spattering against the stone wall.
The Pauwels guard grappling with Matthias let go, rushing to his mistress to pull the revenant off her. It turned from Margot long enough to rake its hands over his face. He fell back screaming, face torn to shreds and leaking gore. The other liveried guards shrank back along the walls, and more than a few fled the room.
Horrified, Danaë rushed to Matthias’s side, forcing herself to watch as the revenant clawed at the flailing, shrieking Margot. On the other side Verheyen had collapsed to the floor and was crawling away from the carnage. A heavy, iron-salt stench now permeated the air, the scent of blood, flesh, and death. Gagging, Danaë pressed a fist against her mouth, willing herself not to vomit.
The screams ceased and Margot’s body went limp under the revenant’s slicing talons. The revenant paused in mid-butchery, staring down at the dead form of her sister. Then she turned.
Not a drop of blood had stained the ghost, not even on its wicked talons. But Danaë could see translucent tears, silvery in the morning light, running down Hanne’s hollow cheeks. “Why?” she moaned. “Why, Matthias? Why did she do this to us?”
Danaë heard Matthias suck in a shuddering gulp of air as he stared at the spirit of his first wife. “She wanted the throne,” he said, his voice thick. “She didn’t care who suffered in the process.”
Hanne spared the corpse of her sister a last look, then closed her eyes, head drooping. The grey tones began to leach from her body, turning her transparent. “My vengeance is done,” she whispered. Her eyes opened again, still silver but somehow more human. “Now I can go.”
Danaë felt Matthias’s chest vibrate as he muffled a sob, reaching out to her lightening form. “I loved you,” he said, choked. “Gods, Hanne, I loved you.”
“And I loved you.” Those silver eyes fell on Danaë, and there was a plea in their depths. “Take care of him, child of Cresus. For me.”
Tears rising, Danaë nodded. “I will. I promise.”
Satisfied, the ghost of Hanne Pauwels, Queen of Ypres, spread her arms. A beam of sunlight fell on her glassy form, reflecting a spray of rainbow color that dazzled all eyes in the council chamber.
When it cleared, she was gone.
Turning, Matthias pulled Danaë into his embrace, his grip just this side of painful as he buried his face in her hair. He muttered something too soft to hear, but she understood it.
Hanne.
She shifted just the tiniest bit, shielding him from the rest of the room so that no one could see their king mourn for his lost queen.
****
It was almost dawn the next day when the Hellaspont Master of Ceremonies retired to his study with a large jug of his favorite wine and strict instructions to his servants that he wasn’t to be disturbed. After a day like the one he’d just endured, he felt he deserved a bit of private indulgence.
Not that the royal wedding of King Matthias and Queen Danaë had been a failure. Far from it. Despite their inexplicable destruction of his original schedule (and oh, the uproar he’d had to manage from the Matriarch on down over that), the couple had finally made their promised appearance at the Cathedral of Lis just as the sun began to set. Miraculously, the cheering populace lining the roads hadn’t minding waiting a few extra hours for a glimpse of the newlyweds, although a quick distribution of wine, beer, and cakes had helped with that.
As for the ceremony itself, it had been note perfect. If the queen seemed pale and the king bore a haunted look, well, that wasn’t his fault. At least their attire was perfect and the ceremony conducted by Matriarch Elisabet Veterli was both uplifting and romantic. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the cathedral as the Matriarch linked their queen and the King of Ypres in holy matrimony, signaling a new era for both countries.
And, he was proud to say, the grand reception at the palace afterwards had been splendid. Taking advant
age of the delay, his team had hauled couches and other seating out to the now-cool balconies and patios of the palace, allowing the guests to drink and dine under a starry sky. The banquet tables inside groaned with an astonishing variety of Hellene and Ypresian delicacies, and an equally impressive array of wines flowed from pitchers carried by an army of beautiful young serving girls, each one charged with making sure that no guest’s goblet ever went empty.
The meal appeared to perk up the happy couple at last, and they held hands and laughed when Prince Darius made a hilarious and inappropriate toast to their marriage, setting the rest of the honored guests roaring with laughter. The old Ghobian mage who had sat with the prince (really, the Master of Ceremonies had no idea where the queen found these people) watched the goings on with weary but approving eyes, saluting the queen with a raised goblet at the end. And when the musicians struck up a tune, her majesty had even lured her king out for a dance.
They disappeared sometime around midnight, by his reckoning. What they did after that was their own affair, although he did send a quiet prayer up to Lis that the queen be fruitful and bear an heir or heiress for the throne soon. After their departure he was free to concentrate on the rest of the party, making sure that everyone enjoyed themselves and there weren’t too many drunken fistfights, couplings in the bushes, or other indelicacies that tended to accompany such celebrations. And if Prince Darius was seen exiting a particularly secluded gazebo with one of the Ypresian officers, both of them mussed and grinning like fools, well, that was no one’s business but theirs.
The eastern sky was showing false dawn by the time his staff poured the last wavering stragglers into chariots or had the servants help them up to guest rooms. Once that was done, the sleepy palace servants set to work dismantling the remnants of Queen Danaë’s wedding celebration, and wasn’t he happy that he didn’t have to oversee that as well.
He disbursed purses to his staff, adding bonuses where they were due, and told them all that they had gone above and beyond the call of duty. With his last task discharged, he collected his horse and rode home through the quiet streets, knowing that he had done his job and looking forward to the cool jug of Fallian red that would be waiting in his study.
Of course, he mused, the reward for a job well done was another job. With any luck (and some effort on the part of King Matthias and Queen Danaë), he would be planning the announcement of a royal pregnancy soon. And the queen’s birthday was only a few months off, and he still had to learn the birth date of King Matthias so that he could add it to his schedule, not to mention the queen’s new foster child (Lana? Lina? Something like that), and then there were the holidays at year’s end, and countless events and celebrations that it was his responsibility to oversee. Really, he was so busy it amazed him that he had time enough to sleep these days.
He drained his wine goblet and gave a soft belch. Royalty. They’ll never know the lengths I go to for them.
13
A WEDDING PRESENT
Danaë turned over in bed, snuggling closer to the warm body that shared the bedclothes with her. She slid her arm across a solid chest, enjoying the rare creature comfort of waking without any real need to rise and attend to duties.
The warm body turned over, shifting so that she could lie on its chest with her head resting on a muscled shoulder. “I don’t want to get up,” she yawned.
“No one says you have to. In fact, I’m sure I made it clear to all the servants last night that we weren’t to be disturbed until we called for them.”
“Mm. I love it when you’re all masterful and kingly.”
Matthias kissed the crown of her head. “Speaking of that, I thought I gave you a direct order to remain in Hellas and protect my grandchild.” His tone was mild, but she could sense the intent under his words. “And we were in Ypres at the time, so you have no excuse of having the higher rank.”
She opened her eyes. “Actually, I did. You were ruled incapacitated by the order of regency, remember? I was the sole ruler of Ypres at the time.”
“Danaë.”
“Besides, I’m a full Aqua magistra now, and your palace sits on a hot spring.”
He pulled back, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t have.”
“Flooded the palace? In a heartbeat if it meant saving your life.”
Flummoxed, Matthias settled back. “Gods. Talk about rising damp.”
“Don’t worry. I would have dried it out once you were safe.” She hitched up to where she could look him in the eye. “My love, if the situation had been reversed, would you have stayed in Hellas?”
He snorted. “Of course not. But I’m a trained warrior.”
“And a king. Just as I’m a trained mage, as well as a queen. I had defensive spells prepared in case I couldn’t talk the palace guard around to supporting me.” She kissed his chest. “Luckily for both of us, they were loyal to you.”
“Unlike my council members.” A gibbering Verheyen had been arrested and sent down to the dungeon, to await trial. The other council members who had supported Margot would be receiving visits from Bardahlson and d’Vrengny today to inform them of their removal from the King’s Council. Schrader had volunteered to lead one of the visiting parties, but the redheaded commander had ordered him to return to Hellas with Matthias and Danaë and attend the wedding reception.
“There’s not much I can do to them, at least not legally,” Matthias added. “I’m sure they’ll claim they were duped by Margot and Verheyen.”
“Still, they won’t be on the council anymore, which will bite into their power bases. And it’s always good to know who your enemies are,” Danaë pointed out.
“True.” He paused, one hand stroking her back under the coverlet. “Danaë, how did you … find Hanne?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Ghosts can’t cross running water. I knew she’d be at the harbor where Lukas took ship for the abbey.” She didn’t want to describe the dash to the harbor, the new spell ringing in her head, and how she’d summoned the revenant and forced it into the spirit bottle. Hanne’s enraged screams and struggles would echo in her dreams for months to come. “She didn’t deserve to roam the seafront for eternity. Letting her take her vengeance on Margot was horrible, but it was also the just thing to do. And now Lukas can return to the mainland in safety, if he ever wishes to.”
Matthias shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll leave Atredes. He’s found his peace there. And he knows Luna is safe with us.” His fingers traced circles over the wings of her back. “I’ll have to return to Ypres sooner than I planned. I need to deal with the council, and then there’s the matter of the Earl of Bevaan and his collection of arcana.”
She twined her fingers in his chest hair, admiring the variety of colors from bright brass to sable. “I know.”
“You don’t sound too upset about cutting our honeymoon short.”
It was time to spring her surprise. “Because I’m sending you back with a present. A brand new cheval mirror for our rooms.”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “I don’t think I want to sleep near another one of those, thank you.”
“Oh, this one you will. Because its twin,” she rose on her elbow, pointing across the bedroom, “will stand over there. And both of them will carry my impression.”
He stared down at her, comprehension dawning. “You learned the Morning Road spell.”
“Not yet, but I will have by the time you go,” she promised. “Ife’s right, it’s a difficult one. But I only have to hold it long enough to cross through into our bedroom at Mons.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “Or for you to come through here. We can rule Hellas and Ypres, and still be together whenever we like.”
The unabashed joy in his eyes made her heart swell. “You brilliant,” he murmured, kissing her, “wonderful,” another kiss, “amazing woman, you. If we weren’t already married, I’d throw you over my shoulder and haul you off to the cathedral this minute.”
“And we’ve been ma
rried twice,” she said complacently. “So it’s reinforced.”
“I would certainly hope so.” He kissed her again, but this time it was slow and sweet, filled with promise. They still had the morning, after all, she reasoned, and everyone wanted them to get started with the production of heirs.
She did like to keep her subjects happy.
She shifted until she was on her back, urging him to cover her. He did, kissing her breathless as he made a space for himself between her thighs. She could feel his erection, warm and heavy, pressing into the crease between her thigh and hip.
“I love you, little bird,” he whispered, dropping little kisses down the line of her throat until he reached the swell of her breast. “We were made for each other.”
She ran her hands over the breadth of his shoulders. It was easy to let the maelstrom take her, lost in the sensation of his skin, the scent of his body, the teasing crispness of his chest hair against her nipples. She wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing once just to feel him warm and alive between her thighs.
“Eager wench.”
She nodded, biting her lip in a happy grin as he slid lower and pressed into her. “I love you, my king.”
And then there were no more words. Only the sensation of being filled by him, watching him rock over her, silver blue eyes glowing in the morning light. A wonderful heat began to build inside her, stoked with each slow, deliberate thrust of his hips.
She wrapped her legs around his thighs, socketing her heels in the hollow of his knees. Using her new leverage she thrust back against him, angling her hips until he rubbed against that wonderful spot inside her.
The heat grew, turning into a bonfire that made her nerves sing and her muscles tremble. His thrusts grew faster, and she could see strain on his face now, a delicious kind of torture where he drew out his own pleasure for her sake.
He eased lower, pressing her into the mattress. “Fly with me, little bird,” he said, hoarse. “Please.”
She gave herself over to him, and found joy in the center of the storm.
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