by M. J. Scott
Marriage. He had not contemplated ever doing such a thing as long as he was in the Red Guard. A third son was of little interest to the matchmaking mothers of the court, particularly with Alec already producing children to put even more distance between him and any chance of the title. There was little incentive for him to marry, and with Eloisa willing to allow him into her bed, he hadn’t had eyes for any other ladies.
Until Sophie had touched him.
Guilt twisted his gut again. “I—” he began, but the Domina held up a hand, cutting him off.
“She should be married to a powerful lord,” the Domina said. “Her power should seal the loyalty of someone other than a lieutenant in the Red Guard.”
“Cameron is now the brother of the Erl of Inglewood. Not just a third son. If I remember correctly, Liam is yet to have any children. And we are somewhat short of eligible lords, if the casualty reports I’ve been given are truthful. No one will blink if Liam chooses to gift his brother with one of his minor titles and increase his landholdings now that he himself is the erl. That will increase his eligibility.” For a moment her expression softened. “Our condolences on the loss of your father, Lieutenant Mackenzie. He was a good and faithful servant of the court.”
Not a good man, Cameron noted. Just a good servant. A good tool to be deployed as the court and the Crown wished. As, or so it appeared, was he. He gritted his teeth but bowed and murmured, “Thank you.”
“Your father would have had someone in mind for the girl. Someone other than a minor lordling.” the Domina protested. “She’s strong. You can use that to your advantage.”
He noticed she didn’t look at Sophie when she said this. And that the sting of angry power in the air wasn’t Eloisa’s alone. The Domina was not pleased by this situation. What that might mean in the future, he did not know. But the Domina had to bow to the will of the monarch when it came to the marriages of royal witches. He knew that much. So it was Eloisa he needed to be most concerned about right now. He could avoid the Domina easily enough. He went to temple on eighth day as part of the Red Guard, but as a battle mage, he had rites and obeisances of a different nature to honor the source of his magic.
Sophie wouldn’t be so lucky. But once she was married—married as directed by Eloisa—then surely the Domina would have to move on.
Eloisa’s mouth thinned. “If my father had a husband in mind for Sophie, then he didn’t choose to share that choice with me. And he is no longer in a position to make that decision. I am.” The last two words cracked into the silence.
A reminder that she was no longer a princess but a queen-to-be. Eloisa and her father had not always seen eye to eye, but he had raised her as his heir. He had not been a teacher who would accept less than excellence in his pupils. Eloisa had been prepared to wield Anglion’s power. It seemed she intended to do so, no matter what the wishes of the temple might be.
“You are forgetting that the two of them are most likely bound. Which means she cannot be bound to another. Even if we try to pass her power off as a lesser one, it would be difficult to explain to her potential husband why his marriage rites can’t be completed. And if Sophie ever slipped up and revealed the extent of her power, then we would have a problem. So we need a solution that will prevent any scandal. The court cannot afford any further disruption right now. We need a husband for Sophie who doesn’t need marriage rites and whose interests are best served if the truth of the situation stays a secret. If Cameron marries her, then the problem is solved. People will assume that Sophie is not strong in magic because we are marrying her to a lesser lord. He will keep quiet because if the court finds out he deflowered a royal witch, he could lose everything.”
“That doesn’t solve the problem of her being unbound to the goddess,” the Domina said.
“No,” Eloisa agreed. “But you will school her to manage her power so she doesn’t get into any more trouble and so that we know what power she has should we need to call on her. As Cameron has said, Sophie is loyal to me. And has given us no reason to think otherwise.”
Cameron looked at Sophie again. Her skin was very pale, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as though she were running rather than standing still. He wondered if the same desire to try to awaken from a dream that was not a dream that filled him filled her.
But she had not voiced a rejection of Eloisa’s proposed solution. So perhaps she was as loyal as Eloisa thought and would do precisely as she was bidden.
Still, he would rather know that she was not unwilling. He had always known that perhaps he would marry for duty. But that did not mean he wanted a bride who hated the very thought of marrying him. He turned to her, once again schooling himself against the urge to touch her—to take her hand so that she might know she had an ally in this disaster. “Lady Sophia? Do you have something to say about this?”
The Domina bristled. “I think she forfeited her right to complain about her wedding when she—”
“I was speaking to my wife-to-be. I would know her mind on this matter,” Cameron said shortly. Normally he wouldn’t cut the Domina off, but there was nothing normal about this situation, and it was already clear that he was in disgrace. It didn’t seem like determining whether Sophie hated him or not was likely to worsen the situation.
Sophie’s head turned slowly toward him. Her eyes were very dark and very wide. “I have a question. No, two questions.”
He nodded. “That seems fair.”
Sophie turned back to Eloisa. He saw her hands gripping her skirts so tightly her knuckles were stark white in the golden skin. “Your Highness,” she said, voice quavering ever so slightly. “I wish to know if my parents are alive.”
Goddess wept, had no one told her that yet? He almost reached for her hand but stopped himself.
“They were coming here for my birthday celebration,” Sophie continued. “They were supposed to arrive the day of the attack.”
Eloisa was frowning again. “I remember. They were coming by sea, were they not?”
“Yes, my lady. On the Salt Blessed.”
“I am told the port was closed as soon the attack occurred,” Eloisa said. “It has not been reopened. At least, I have given no such orders. Lieutenant, were you brought up to speed on the current situation when you returned to the barracks?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The port remains closed. There is a defensive blockade. Some ships that were making for Kingswell put to anchor beyond the heads; others would have gone to Skydown or Aislight Rock, I suppose.” Those were the nearest ports to Kingswell.
Eloisa nodded. “Very well. We will get the Illusioners to send messages to the port masters and locate your family, Sophie.”
“Thank you, my lady.” She bobbed a curtsy.
“You said you had two questions,” Cameron said gently.
Sophie looked at him, seemingly startled. Then she nodded. “My second question is easier. When are we to be wed?”
CHAPTER NINE
It seemed, however, that the question of exactly when her wedding was to take place was not so simple. When Cameron suggested three days hence, the Domina, somewhat to Sophie’s surprise, put her foot down.
“It cannot be too hasty,” she said. “That will draw attention.”
“Not to mention,” Eloisa interjected, “there is the small matter of my father’s funeral and a coronation to be held first. After all, the law requires a royal proclamation for a royal witch to marry. There cannot be a royal proclamation with no monarch.”
That statement had diverted the Domina’s attention from any thought of weddings. She and Eloisa proceeded to argue about when the queen-to-be would be well enough for such things.
Under tradition, King Stefan should be buried within a week, his body safely stored in salt until he could be laid to rest in the royal vault. The Domina was in favor of giving Eloisa more time to recover before the funeral took place. Eloisa was not.
Sophie and Cameron stood like statues as the two of them argued, learning in th
e process that the question of the preservation of the king’s body was somewhat moot as he had been killed by the fire from the explosion. Charred bones didn’t spoil.
Sophie thought she might finally throw up when she heard that little tidbit come out of the Domina’s mouth. She bit down, clenching her jaw tightly and swallowing. Cameron must have noticed something because he stepped closer. “Are you quite well, milady?” he asked in a tone just above a whisper.
Milady. They were to be married and he was sticking to that? The irritation pushed back the queasiness in her stomach, and she managed a nod.
But the movement caught Eloisa’s attention as well.
“Lady Sophia, you are dismissed. Attend me in the morning. Lieutenant, you may also leave. Please do not speak of this to anyone yet.”
“I must inform my brother, the erl, Your Highness,” Cameron objected.
Eloisa considered. “Very well. But charge him to keep his counsel until the betrothal is announced. The Erl of Inglewood does not need to start his tenure with our disfavor.”
That was a blunt enough warning. Sophie dropped into a curtsy and then made for the door, Cameron at her heels. They stepped out into a semicircle of curious ladies-in-waiting, faces expectant above the black dresses they wore, for all the world like a row of crows waiting for carrion to feed upon.
“Lady Sophia,” Lady Beata said. “We assume felicitations are due upon the happy day of your Ais-Seann?”
Sophie suddenly remembered the sigils on her palms. None of Eloisa’s ladies were witches, so presumably they would not know the significance of the symbols, but still she curled her palms in to her dress as she bobbed a much shallower curtsy to Beata. “Yes. Thank you for your care. The queen-to-be has asked that I attend her in the morning. I think I will retire. It has been a difficult few days. As it has been for all of you, I would imagine.”
Behind Beata, Lady Aria’s face looked stricken. She was the lady-in-waiting closest to Sophie’s age. And the most friendly. She stepped forward and whispered something in Beata’s ear.
Beata nodded, a flash of weariness revealed for a moment under her careful court expression. “Sophie, the ladies’ quarters were damaged. Those of us not with the queen-to-be have been staying with family or other connections, as can be arranged. I’m afraid the rooms assigned to your family for your birthday were also damaged. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
Her family, unlike Cameron’s, didn’t have a permanent apartment in the palace. Until she knew her parents’ whereabouts, she couldn’t join them in whatever lodgings they had managed to secure. If, indeed, they had secured somewhere.
“I was told that the Lord of Inglewood’s suite is intact,” Cameron said. “I’m sure my brother will have room for Lady Sophia.”
That raised almost every pair of eyebrows in the room. But Sophie couldn’t bring herself to protest to Cameron. If she denied his offer and had to beg to share a bed or sleep on a cot in a room with one of the other ladies, there was no way she would avoid being relentlessly interrogated about her time away from the palace or hide the sigils on her hands. Which would not please the queen-to-be.
She turned to Cameron and curtsied again. “Your kindness does you credit, Lieutenant. I would be most grateful for your family’s hospitality.”
Relief flashed in his eyes. Apparently his thoughts had been traveling similar paths to hers.
He extended an arm. “In that case, milady, let us depart. I have to return to the barracks as soon as possible.”
Sophie kept her hands pressed against the sides of her skirts as they walked, wishing she had gloves to hide her hands or that women’s clothes had useful things like pockets, as men’s did. The route they took was, of necessity, a little convoluted.
The Erl of Inglewood’s apartments were a large set of rooms that lay between the Salt Spire—the oldest of the rearward palace towers—and the western wing of the palace on the third floor. As much of the western wing was blocked off due to the damage to the west tower, which had extended to part of the wing itself, they had to cut through the middle of the palace. Working their way through the center of the palace, a maze of rooms and passageways designed to confuse anyone who wasn’t familiar with the routes, took time.
King Stefan’s great-grandfather had built most of the central palace after he’d come to power in the wake of the last true Illvyan incursion. He’d been deadly serious about wanting a palace that was strongly defended. He was the one who’d added the moat—fed by a labyrinthine system of aqueducts and pumps with seawater from the harbor—that circled the palace itself with nearly fifteen feet of salt water and sent a narrower tendril through the stone channels outside the walls of the grounds as well.
As he’d won his way to power after defeating an Illvyan wizard and his demon sanctii leading an army bent on conquest, a bit of well-placed paranoia could be forgiven.
If it was the Illvyans who had attacked the palace, then presumably blowing up the east and west towers had been partly an attempt to form a bridge of rubble over the moat. One that a demon could have crossed. But no demons had been detected that she knew of. Or had they? Surely the palace would be deserted if a sanctii had gotten inside. Besides which, it seemed unlikely that Eloisa or Margaretta would still be alive if a demon had been present. Wiping out the royal family would have to be a primary goal of any Illvyan plot.
She could ask Cameron, of course, but something stayed her questions. She had already caused enough trouble for him. A lifetime’s worth. He was being forced to marry her, for goddess’ sake. An outcome he couldn’t have possibly wanted. Yet he was being nothing but courteous in return. Taking her to stay with his family.
Had he even seen his brother—the new erl—since they had returned to Kingswell? Or had a moment to mourn his father? Did he mourn his father?
She shivered. She knew so little about him. She had grown to trust him during their time together. But she had known him only a few scant days. Days where he had kept her safe, true, but that had been only his duty. She had no idea if he even liked her. And yet they were going to be married. Married. For life.
True, there were far less appealing options for a husband in the court than Cameron Mackenzie, but still, the reality of marrying a stranger was more daunting than she had expected.
She shivered again.
“Milady? Are you cold?” Cameron asked.
What was he going to do? Take off his jacket and give it to her here in the middle of the palace? Unlikely. The Red Guard uniform was a badge of honor. She pulled the black shawl more tightly around her shoulders and shook her head. “No, not cold.” Kingswell was hot in the summer, though the inner rooms of the palace stayed cool. “Just tired, I think. It’s been a long day.” She offered an awkward smile. “I’m sorry—”
“We can talk once we reach the suite.” Cameron glanced around. The gallery they were walking through was deserted—the court was lacking its usual bustling throngs, which only added to the oddness of the day—but sound carried oddly in the palace, and anyone could be approaching around a corner or standing near one of the half-shattered windows on the other side of the outer wall.
Sophie ducked her head and nodded her agreement. Another shiver skimmed through her, and she began to realize she hadn’t been lying. She was exhausted and both hungry and queasy at the same time. She would be equally happy to eat, sleep, or burst into tears, and right now she had no idea which of the three was more likely to happen. Fortunately, they were almost at their destination.
Two guards stood outside the door to the Inglewood suite. Black armbands ringed the gray, blue and silver dress uniforms they wore. They stepped forward as Sophie and Cameron came around the turn in the corridor. The sharp expressions on their faces eased as they recognized Cameron, and they stepped back into place on either side of the door after quick bows.
Inside the suite, the first servant who caught sight of them looked briefly horrified before she bobbed a curtsy, wheeled around, and h
eaded for the nearest doorway, the covered tray she was carrying seemingly forgotten.
She was probably going to fetch whoever the house servitor was. From the opposite direction, through another open door, there was a sound of low voices and clinking china.
Cameron took her arm, though she noticed he was careful not to touch her bare hand.
“This way,” he said, and headed for the doorway the sounds were coming through.
Apparently, they weren’t waiting for the servitor. Which made sense. A son of the household didn’t need to be announced, and he could bring whomever he chose with him.
At least, that’s how it would work in Sophie’s family.
But the Mackenzies, though not of the line direct like the Kendalls, were far grander than Sophie’s family. The Kendall line had a few bends in it. Her father’s mother—the Sophia she was named for—had been one of King Leo’s—Stefan’s father’s—four sisters, the youngest of them, to boot, and one of the two who had not manifested, which had eliminated her chances of ever succeeding her brother. Or rather, of holding the throne if she did. Anglion had had queens, but all of them had been witches.
Because of her lack of power, she’d been married to Anthony Kendall, a favorite of her father’s due to his skill with a sword, though a man of little enough fortune for a noble.
Sophia and Anthony had brought the estate a little more prosperity and three sons. Sophie’s father was the only one who’d survived past six years of age. Without brothers to go out and further the family fortunes, her father had merely solidified the work of his parents, marrying her mother, who was from a similarly low-level noble family. Which left Sophie with a pedigree that had some distinction at surface level but no fortune or hope of actual succession to lend her any true desirability to a court lord.
Until she had come into her power. That changed things a little.
A royal witch should be prize enough for the Mackenzies, who had always been part of first King Leo’s and then King Stefan’s inner circle of councilors.