Of course, she also had her inner circle of Favorites, the small knot of courtiers selected as her confidants for their wit, shrewdness, political connections, and loyalty. Chief among her current circle was the delicious, sultry-eyed Ser Vale, a breathtakingly handsome nobleman whose palpable aura of sensuality made Annoura envy ladies for whom infidelity was not an act of treason.He’d joined her court as a Dazzle late last fall, but his entertaining wit and keen intelligence had raised him swiftly to her inner circle.
He walked beside her now, elegant as always, his hair powdered the same pale blue as his form-fitting silk breeches and matching gold-and-silk-embroidered velvet doublet. He wore an alluring scent today, something deep and mysterious, teasing Annoura with hints of wicked, forbidden pleasure.
He was not at all impressed with the news of the Tairen Soul’s truemate. “A woodcarver’s daughter, My Queen? A commoner?”
“The Fey do not share our appreciation for the purity of noble bloodlines, Ser Vale, you know that. The Tairen Soul claims she is his truemate, and he will not give her up.” She kept her voice low, her words private between them. “The girl is betrothed to another and bound by a claiming mark, yet he insists we set aside her lawful marriage contract.”
“It is an outrage against Celierian sovereignty. The king will, of course, refuse.” There was earnest surety in his voice and in his thickly lashed blue-green eyes.
“No,” she said. “I doubt that he will.”
“You cannot mean it!” Vale stopped in his tracks, drawing the attention of the surrounding courtiers. “Surely His Majesty would not truly allow this... this Fey sorcerer to install a peasant—one of your own subjects, no less—as his queen? To raise up a common woodcarver’s daughter as the equal of you, Queen Annoura of Celieria, in whose veins flows the world’s most noble royal blood?”
“You go too far, lordling,” Annoura snapped. “It seems I erred in raising you from Dazzle to Favorite so quickly if you think she could ever be my equal.” Her skirts snapped as she resumed her walk at a brisk pace.
“My Queen!” Vale hurried to catch up with her. “Your Majesty, forgive me.”
She glared at him. “He may call her his queen and seat her on the Tairen Throne, but there is much more to beingmyequal than the mere possession of a crown and a title.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I did not mean to suggest that I would ever believe otherwise. You are the Moon of Celieria, a Brilliant who outshines the Mother herself. And I hear this Celierian girl isn’t even a Gem. Little more than a Drab.”
Annoura arched a haughty brow. “Now you imply I am threatened by her looks?”
“Never, My Queen. You know my devotion belongs to you alone.”
His hand brushed hers. An onlooker might believe it was an accidental touch, but Annoura knew otherwise. Her eyes narrowed.
“I am pleased to hear that at least.” She brought the hand he had touched to her waist, out of further reach. “I am not benevolent to Favorites who betray my trust in them, nor am I a queen who shares the devotions due her.”
“Your Majesty, it is not I who would claim her to be your equal. I but think how others outside of Celieria might view these unprecedented events.”
Annoura kept her expression blank, but she was troubled by the suggestion that anyone might consider this upstart soon-to-be queen of the Fey equal in power and stature to Annoura of Celieria. She had spent the last two and a half decades building renown for the elegance of her court and the power of her husband’s kingdom. She would not lightly share or lessen her position in the world. Especially not for some Drab of a woodcarver’s daughter.
“The girl’s fate is out of my hands. The king will not deny Rain Tairen Soul his truemate.” There was more. The girl’s betrothed had petitioned the King’s clerk for a special license to wed her immediately. The Feyreisen had been in a rage when he’d found out. He’d actually threatened war if Dorian did not revoke the license and dissolve the betrothal. The arrogance of Rain Tairen Soul’s demands still infuriated Annoura. Celieria was a sovereign nation, its laws inviolable. But Dorian—ever the coward when dealing with his magical kin—would not stand firm.
Another time, Annoura might have confessed some of the details to Vale, but he had irritated her with his insinuations, so she said merely, “The House of Torreval has long supported the traditions of both Celierians and Fey.” She turned back to the palace. “I believe I have walked long enough this morning. I shall return to the palace.” When he made to follow her, she stopped and leveled a hard, cold glance upon his handsome face. “Your attendance is not required today, Ser Vale.” She lifted a hand and gestured to one of her newest young Dazzles, an exquisite blond lordling who’d been vying for her attention these last few months. “Ser Nilas. You may escort me back to the palace.”
“My Queen!” The young Ser bowed so low, his golden forelock brushed the ground.
Vale bowed as well, but his eyes, vibrant and burning, held her gaze with a boldness that belied his calm acceptance of her dismissal.
At a quarter before ten bells, the Baristani family, clad in their best clothes, arrived at the royal palace. At least eighty Fey surrounded the carriage that conveyed them, with Ellie’s quintet running alongside the conveyance as it rolled through the palace gates and up to the wide steps of the palace’s grand entrance.
Though she had vowed never to do so, Ellie had once again donned her green dress and her mother’s bridal chemise, hoping that it would bring more luck this time than it had the last. Her mother had helped her put up her hair in a soft, flattering style of curls and intricate plaits, held down by a set of long-toothed ivory combs. She wore no jewelry. She had none. But Kieran of the Fey had presented her with a girdle of delicate gold links and a sheath for Belliard’s knife, decorated with six small, lovely jewels that shone red, blue, green, white, black, and lavender. The knife fit the sheath perfectly and now rested snugly on her right hip, pressed against the folds of her green gown. Belliard had said nothing when he saw it, but his eyes had flickered for a moment and she knew he was pleased.
An important-looking little man in elegant clothes met them at the top of the palace stairs. He greeted them with a gracious bow and introduced himself as the Right Honorable Ser Taneth Marcet, Undersecretary to the Minister of State. “If you and your family will follow me, please, Master Baristani.”
He led them into the palace, down several marble-floored hallways, and into a luxurious antechamber. Ellie had never seen such wealth. Massive portraits of royal Celierian ancestors adorned the walls, their painted eyes looking down with imperious detachment. Gorgeous ivory brocade chairs overflowed with tasseled ice-blue and deep rose pillows. A rich, exquisitely carved sideboard of solid burlwood rested against one wall, its lustrous top covered with silver trays bearing all manner of fruits, comfits, tiny finger sandwiches, and delicate pastries. On a nearby cart rested a three-legged silver urn with eggshell-thin porcelain cups, tiny silver spoons, and a selection of sugars and creams elegantly presented around it.
After a brief investigation of the antechamber, the Fey settled themselves into the four corners of the room, and Belliard stood beside Ellie.
The Undersecretary gestured to the food and drink. “The refreshments are yours to enjoy,” he told them, and he backed out of the room.
“Ser! Wait! Can you please tell us—” Sol’s voice died off as the doors closed.
Lillis and Lorelle made a beeline for the comfits and had already jammed three or four of the delicate candies in their mouths before Lauriana noticed and rapped out a sharp order to desist.
“But, Mama,” Lorelle objected around the mass of sweets in her mouth, “the man said we could help ourselves.”
