His eyes sharpen with understanding, and a thirst for vengeance. “Take them to the king’s audience room. He is in attendance there.”
I give a brusque nod and drop my hands back to my side. “That is all we wished for.”
I bite back a humorless smile of triumph when his jaw clenches in irritation at the thought that he is doing precisely what we wanted.
Chapter 57
Genevieve
Alarm snakes along my shoulders. I have made a bold move, but the door I thought open is not. With no other choice, I begin heading back to the castle, my heart thudding as loudly as the blacksmith’s hammer.
Maraud did not come. Only something dire would keep him from his word. Unless—my steps slow—he had planned this from the beginning, a setup to even the score between us.
I try the idea on much as I might a hair shirt, and though it itches and scratches painfully, I find myself hoping that it is the case. Better that this be some well-thought-out retaliation rather than some new misfortune that has befallen him.
I am halfway across the courtyard when my dismay at Maraud’s failure to appear shifts to panic. The note!
I must get back to my room and get the letter to the king before others find it. I look up at the sky. I have not been gone that long. Surely their meeting has not adjourned.
I have just resumed walking when a loud commotion erupts over by the stables. I stop near one of the wells and glance up. A cluster of a half dozen king’s guard, led by General Cassel, strides toward the castle. The guard’s bodies block my view of who they have in custody. The crowd rapidly parts for them, and it is not until they veer around one of the wine stalls that I catch a glimpse of a deep red gown and a woman’s black hair. Sybella.
A fresh wave of panic slams into my chest. What is Cassel doing with her? Why is she under guard? I take two steps in their direction before I realize there is nothing I can do to help her. Not like this. I whirl back around, intending to enter the palace through the servants’ entrance near the chapel, but am stopped by something hard pressing into my back.
“What have you done with Maraud?”
I recognize Valine’s voice immediately. Is that who the man with Sybella was?
“I’ve done nothing to Maraud. I’ve been out here looking for him for over an hour.”
The knife against my back eases. “Why are you looking for him?”
“Because we had planned to meet. Over at the fletcher’s hut. But when I got there, he was nowhere to be found. I’ve waited, thinking he’d been delayed or something had come up.” I do not tell her my fear that it was his plan all along to humiliate me. The fact that she is here does much to allay that concern.
“He left to meet you over three hours ago, wanting to arrive early to ensure the fletcher’s hut was safe. I have not seen him since.”
I shift my gaze to the general, who has almost reached the palace. “Do you think General Cassel saw him? Is that who he is escorting?”
She glances over her shoulder. “That is not Maraud.”
The guards step back just then, to make room for the others to pass over the causeway. The man with Sybella is taller than Maraud, nearly half again as broad, and dressed in a peasant costume. Beast.
“I must go,” I tell Valine. “Send word if you learn anything of Maraud.”
* * *
Slipping back into the palace is nearly as easy as it was to slip out, although this time I take the back stairs to my chamber. I open my door, step into the room, and toss my small sack onto the bed, then freeze. My note to the king is gone. But there is no time to think upon that now. I cross to my cupboard, toss my traveling bag inside and strip out of my servant’s garb. Once I am dressed in my court finery, I lift the silver necklace from the bed and wind it around my neck. It is not the same as getting the note back, but it is as close to normal as I can make myself.
I take a moment to steady my breathing, then head to the king’s audience chamber to see if there is anything I can do to help Sybella.
Chapter 58
Sybella
The king’s audience chamber is only half full. With the exception of the regent, all my least favorite advisors are here. The king looks up as we enter the room. When we are close enough, Cassel gives a deep bow, as do we all.
“What is this?”
“Your Majesty, I found this man lurking in the stable. Trespasser at best, traitor at worst.”
The king’s gaze lands on Beast. “That is no traitor or trespasser, but the captain of the queen’s guard. Although I am uncertain why he is dressed as a peasant.”
I want to chortle in victory when annoyance spasms across the general’s face.
“If that is the case, why have I not seen him before now? Why has he not been guarding the queen?”
The king waves his hand. “It was what was agreed upon. The captain and his guard would attend the queen only when she and I were not traveling together.”
“Yes,” Cassel says patiently, as if to a small child. “But where has he been all this time? Why has he not been training in the yard with the other men? I have not seen him riding with the rest of the guard. Indeed, he claims to have only just returned. Did you know they were gone?”
The king frowns at this, and I want to shake him for shifting faster than a weathervane in a storm. “No. I did not.” He looks at Beast. “Where have you been?”
Beast bows deeply before speaking. “The queen sent me on her business, sire. I would not do her dishonor and speak of it without her permission.”
Cassel’s chest puffs even larger with belligerence, and the king’s nostrils flare in irritation before he speaks. “Well, then,” he drawls, his voice laced with barely concealed vexation. “We had best send for the queen.”
* * *
The queen arrives escorted by four of her ladies. She does not look in my direction or Beast’s but goes directly to the smaller throne that sits to the king’s right. She curtsies deeply—“Your Majesty”—then takes her seat.
“My lady.” He returns the greeting amicably enough, but whether it is for show or his quicksilver temperament is once again at peace with her, I cannot begin to guess. “Did you know your captain had been gone from court?”
“Why of course, my lord. I sent him.”
The king’s cordiality slips from his face like wine from a drunkard’s cup. “Without informing me?”
The queen’s forehead creases in confusion. “He is captain of my queen’s guard, sent on my own business. I did not know I needed permission.”
The king shifts in his chair, unsure of whether she should need his permission or not.
“Your Majesty.” General Cassel’s deep voice calls everyone’s attention. “What personal business would a new bride have that required such an absence?” As quickly as a serpent injects venom into its victim, so does the general undermine the queen’s authority.
“Where did you send him?” The king’s tone is carefully neutral, as if he is working to keep his irritation in check.
The queen meets his gaze squarely. “To Brittany.”
A long, charged moment of silence greets the queen’s words.
“You did what?”
General Cassel places his arms behind his back, lifting his chin in victory. The queen does not so much as flinch. “I sent him to Brittany. I had reason to believe that all might not be as it seemed there, and wished to have a firsthand account.”
“That is not personal business, Your Majesty,” General Cassel points out, “but the crown’s.”
Anger pinches the corners of the king’s eyes as he stares at the queen. “We have talked about this,” he says in a low voice.
“No, actually.” Her words ring out loud and clear. “We have not. I have tried, mind you, but you have been too busy to have the conversation. Besides, I would not risk giving you false information, so I needed to send someone to ascertain what was true before bringing it to your attention.”
“And what did you learn?�
�
“The motives of Viscount Rohan.”
The king grips the arms of his throne. “You are questioning my choice for governor?”
“Sire, may I remind you that before you left Brittany, we had already decided upon a governor.”
“I changed my mind.” His words are those of a defiant child who knows he has cheated.
“And I have learned from painful experience that Viscount Rohan cannot be trusted and sent the captain to report back on his activities. It is a good thing, too. It appears I was right.”
The king’s face flushes with anger. “I did not give you leave to do so.”
To her credit, the queen merely meets his gaze steadily. “Our marriage contract did.”
The silence in the room crystallizes into something brittle. “That same contract binds you to me as wife, binds you to my orders, my decisions. It gives you no power to act as your own sovereign power.”
“Then tell me, Your Majesty, what was I to do? Every time I tried to speak to you of Brittany, you turned your back. You did not want to discuss politics or governing with your wife, a wife who has been involved in politics since she was four. A wife who has governed since she was twelve. A wife who brought one of the most valuable dowries in Europe. I could not sit by and risk that some pompous noble’s scheming would take that from us. So I sent someone I trusted to scout out the situation and report back. And here he is.”
The king shakes his head, still trying to dislodge his disbelief. “I gave you no leave.”
“Sire, if I suspected a noble to be working against his king, how could I not act? What loyal subject could stand by and let such a thing happen?”
This, finally, gets through, and the king’s face grows less fraught. I want to cheer for the queen’s wit at finding this one small crack to slip inside.
“Your Majesty.” General Cassel’s voice rumbles into the silence of the room, breaking the fragile truce the queen’s words have wrought. “While it is true that the queen, being a woman, did not know the enormous disservice she did you by overruling your wishes, of a certainty, her captain did.” His cold blue eyes fix upon Beast as he slowly walks toward him. “You knew you did not have the king’s permission, else you would not have snuck into the stables like a thief in the night.”
Beast keeps his stony gaze affixed to the wall, refusing to look into the face of the man—his father—who is accusing him of treason. “I am captain of the queen’s guard and serve at her pleasure, by permission of His Majesty himself.”
General Cassel whips his head back around to the king. “You gave him such permission?”
The king is scowling in memory. “I gave him permission to lead the queen’s guard, but only when my own was not available.”
“And they were not available for this.” Beast’s voice is deeper than Cassel’s, and even though it has a rougher edge, his words are more polished.
Cassel’s face grows red. “You are playing word games. You know your authority comes direct from the king, not his lady wife.”
Beast does look at Cassel then. “My lord,” he rumbles, the threat in his voice clear to all. “You will address our queen with respect.”
Cassel takes a step closer. “Or what?”
Beast doesn’t move, but somehow seems to grow even larger, taking up more space in the room. “Or you will dishonor both her and our king and be forced to make amends.”
Cassel clenches his jaw so tightly that I feel my hand begin to drift to my knives, unsure what he intends to do. Unsure if the king will—or can—stop him, I take a step forward. “Your Majesty, mayhap it would help the queen understand what is happening in Brittany if you would share with her your reasons for appointing Viscount Rohan as governor.”
General Cassel shifts his attention from Beast to me. “Are you suggesting the king needs to explain himself to anyone?”
“Not anyone. His queen, who was granted a certain amount of autonomy in overseeing her former duchy.” I smile playfully. “Are you married, general? If so, you would understand that the surest way to a harmonious marriage is trust.”
“No,” he grinds out. “I am not married.”
“Oh?” I ask, feigning coyness. “Is that why you followed me into the stable, then?”
Beast grows rigid even as the general looks discomfited.
“How did you come to choose Viscount Rohan, my lord?” The queen’s question is perfectly timed to reduce the tension in the room.
“He was suggested to me.”
“By whom?”
“Your Majesty.” The regent’s voice comes from the edge of the room as if she has only just arrived.
“Ah, there she is now,” the king mutters.
She is smiling like a barn cat who found the cream, Captain Stuart trailing behind her. As she draws closer to Beast, her eyes sweep over him. “Don’t you see?” Her voice is light, almost gay. “Here is the answer to all the mysteries that have plagued us.”
Panic begins hammering against my ribs as I discern where she is going with this. She raises a finger and points to Beast. “It was he, not Fremin’s men, who stole the girls from their room in the dead of night!”
Chapter 59
The king frowns, his irritation not inclining him to humor her. “Whatever you are trying to say, just say it. Do not force us to tease it out of you.”
Resentment flashes briefly in her eyes. “I am only remarking that his disappearance coincided with that of the two d’Albret girls. If ever a man appeared capable of vile acts, it is he.”
The stricken look in Beast’s eyes is so brief and fleeting that even I almost miss it. Or mayhap it never shows on his face and I simply feel the twist of pain in his heart. I imagine a lifetime of being accused of misdeeds simply because of his looks.
“Impossible.” The queen’s clear voice rings out. “I sent him out myself three days before Monsieur Fremin made his claims.”
My knees weaken with relief, but Beast’s rigidness does not leave him. Nor his fury. It emanates from him like steam from a bubbling pot.
It is there on the tip of the regent’s tongue—her wish to accuse the queen of colluding with Beast in this, except that even she cannot imagine what the motive might be. Madame whirls back to face the king. “Of course he would not announce his true intention to the queen. But the rebellion can only be an excuse to cover his unexplained trip to Brittany.”
The queen leans forward in her chair, bright spots of anger on her cheeks. “That is untrue.”
The regent raises a delicate brow. “If so, then the only other explanation is that this entire incident is a way for you to insert yourself into the king’s prerogative to rule. Is that what you are doing?” She tightens the jaws of the trap she has set, forcing the queen to choose between her own reputation or Beast’s.
The queen stares at her frostily. “Madame, are you suggesting that I am lying?”
“Either you are or he is.”
“Neither of us is lying about this.”
The king stares at his wife as if he has never seen her before. “Is this true? Did he abduct the girls?”
“No,” the queen answers forcefully. “He did no such thing.”
“You cannot believe her, Your Majesty.” The regent’s words are as smooth as glass. “What else would he be doing? How would she have even known such activity was afoot?”
“Answer,” the king orders.
“I received letters from my loyal advisors who still reside in Brittany.” Satisfaction glints in the queen’s eye as she sets a trap of her own.
The regent scoffs. “I have seen no such letters.” It is not until the words are out of her mouth that the regent realizes her mistake.
The queen tilts her head. “Have you been reading my letters?”
Even the king seems shocked. “You’ve done what?”
Madame shrugs, but she is not as indifferent as she would like to appear. “We had to know if she was loyal to her new husband or her old one.” T
he queen’s breath comes hard and fast at this affront to her honor.
“Enough!” The king’s voice lashes out like a whip. His face is stony, his heartbeat rapid. He turns to Beast. “When I agreed to have you serve as queen’s guard, I made it clear that it was to accompany her when I or my guard was not available. I did not authorize you to meddle in affairs of state on her behalf.”
“Your Majesty,” the queen tries again. “Surely you should hear what he has to say before you dismiss my concerns and his report out of hand! I believe he carries vital information.”
But it is too late. The king’s power has been threatened. “And what did you see that was so concerning?” The king’s scorn is so thick I am surprised it doesn’t choke him.
“Viscount Rohan appears to have called all his men-at-arms from his holdings in France to Brittany. Rennes is fully guarded, allowing no one into the city or out of it without the viscount’s permission. Every one of his holdings in Brittany is fully garrisoned, including the western and southern coasts.”
The queen looks at the king, any victory she feels at being right chased away by her concern. “There is no reason for his troops to be there,” she points out.
“There are no reasons for his troops to be there that the king has chosen to share with you,” General Cassel answers for the king, and he allows it. “There are many reasons he would take up such positions.”
“Such as?” the queen asks.
“Such as guarding against possible retaliation from the English for having secured Brittany against their effort to maintain its independence.”
“Then he should have told Her Majesty of such, surely,” I point out.
“Perhaps he did.”
The queen rears, as if struck. She turns to the king, who leans back in his throne, arms folded, watching the general. He does not look at her.
Finding no answer to her unspoken question, she asks Cassel. “But why seal off Rennes?”
“In a city that has recently been besieged, with mercenaries and remnants of opposing troops roaming the countryside, why wouldn’t a responsible leader secure his city in such a manner?”
Igniting Darkness Page 26