“You murdered my wife, you wounded my future wife, and you tried to kill me,” he accused, lethal menace rising within him, threatening to overtake him.
“I would do it all again in the name of the one true king,” Rodrigo said defiantly.
The urge to do him violence, to thrash him to within an inch of his life, was strong. Perhaps the greatest temptation Maxim had ever known. But he knew that the worst punishment he could inflict upon Rodrigo was to suffer. To live the rest of his days caged like an animal, never again seeing daylight. Going mad in the bowels of the palace, existing on gruel and water and nothing else.
“The only thing you will do in the name of the pretender king is stay chained up in this dungeon for the rest of your miserable days,” he told the other man dispassionately. “You will be tried for your crimes, and I’ll turn over every rock in this kingdom to find the rest of your traitors and to send them here to hell along with you. That’s not a threat, Rodrigo. That’s a promise.”
With that, Maxim left the cell, closing his ears to the obscenities and hatred Rodrigo called after him. He’d just made one promise, and now he had another to break.
“My sisters have arrived safely,”Theodoric St. George told Maxim after performing a perfunctory greeting. “I’m indebted to you. If anything had happened to Annalise or Emmaline, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself, and yet I was in no position to retrieve them.”
They were seated in Maxim’s formal study, a decanter of Scotch whisky laid out on a table before them, fortification he feared might prove necessary, given the information he intended to impart.
He nodded anyway, pleased to hear the news. “Excellent. I know you wished for their removal from Boritania before we press our advantage, and now we have one less obstacle in our path.”
St. George raised a brow, his look turning questioning. “You speak heavily, as if there is something weighing on your heart.”
“Because there is.” Maxim reached for the whisky, pouring a measure into his glass before taking a healthy sip. “There is the matter of my marriage to your sister, Princess Anastasia.”
The other man’s countenance turned guarded. “Oh?”
“My intention in forming such a union was to solidify an alliance between Varros and Boritania,” he elaborated carefully. “With you on the throne, our particular corner of the world will be much more stable. Meanwhile, I’ve still been fighting an ever-smaller group of traitors who remain loyal to my father’s half brother. I need all the stability I can achieve for the sake of my people.”
St. George passed a hand over his jaw. “I understand the need. Stasia has already explained as much to me.”
He took another swift sip of his whisky. “Did she also tell you that she is in love with another man?”
St. George appeared stunned. “Stasia? Of course not.”
“As it happens, I’m also in love with another woman,” he continued. “Lady Tansy Francis, the princess’s lady-in-waiting.”
“Lady Tansy,” St. George repeated.
“Yes.” He held the other man’s stare, refusing to change his mind or relent. “It’s my most sincere wish to make her my wife.”
“I cannot imagine Stasia has any objections to the match.”
How odd it was to hear Princess Anastasia referred to so informally. Maxim had never been on such intimate terms with her, and now he hoped he never would.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.
“Forgive me for being blunt, Your Majesty,” St. George said, “but my sister has made it more than plain to me that she considers a marriage between the two of you an obligation. She is sacrificing herself so that you will aid us in securing Boritania and the removal of Gustavson from the throne.”
“And what of you?” he asked, for although the answer would not alter his decision, it was best to know where he stood. “Would you have objections to a match between myself and Lady Tansy instead?”
“If it is what Lady Tansy wishes, I would be well pleased.” St. George smiled. “She has been like a sister to Stasia these years,strong and true. Varros will always have the support of Boritania when I am king. This, I vow.”
Relief washed over him, along with a new, freeing rush. A lightness in his chest. A rightness in his heart.
Happiness.
He raised his glass in salute. “To Boritania.”
The other man followed suit. “To Varros and the forging of a true friendship.”
They clinked glasses. “Now, all we have to do is win the war.”
And all he had to do was convince Tansy to become his wife.
