Azaleen studied him—his calloused hands, faint scars, the lean strength coiled beneath his dark skin.
“Do you have references?” Vera asked, brows narrowing at Desmond.
“Indeed.” He produced a folded packet of papers.
“Chief Fontaine,” Azaleen requested. “Please take Mr. Shaw’s papers and follow up with his references.”
“Yes, my queen.”
As Sabine walked around the circle to collect the papers, Desmond continued. “I’ve fought the glowing-eyed warg, the senseless, albino mutants, and gangs of ruthless raiders. I’ve crossed rivers, avoided red zones—even crossedthrough a few when necessary. I can operate a small craft, a hot-air balloon, and ride a motorcycle or horse with equal ease. What’s more important, I know where to find things. Useful things. Things our kingdom needs. Now, I know you might think I’m a spy, sent here by the Ministry to learn your weaknesses,” he admitted casually. “But who plays a game that long? Would I wait twenty years just to stroll into the Capitol Building? Check my references, my former employers. Appalachia might have been the land of my birth, but Verdancia granted me freedom.”
“I will do that, Mr. Shaw,” Azaleen proclaimed. “Leave directions on where to find you with my chief of staff, and we’ll get back to you. Guards,” she directed with a flick of her wrist. “See our guest out. And Mr. Shaw. The next time you break into this building, you’ll be put under arrest. Is that clear?”
“Abundantly.” With a gallant bow, Desmond swept his hat back onto his head and swaggered out.
“Can you believe that man?” Vera was incensed.
“I don’t know,” Camille countered thoughtfully. “What he said lines up with what I’ve heard of Appalachia. It makes perfect sense that he’d flee.”
“Historically, governmental regimes have frequently used religion to manipulate their populace,” Rosalind confirmed. “When King Frost and his advisors were drawing up our constitution, one thing I fervently insisted upon was that Verdancia uphold freedom of religion.”
Azaleen recalled the stressful time. King Edric was under pressure from various groups to name a state religion for unification purposes. But her mother and a much younger Rosalind remained in lockstep in favor of religious freedom. As a child, she’d asked her frail but beautiful mother which religion was the right one. “All and none.” As a child, Azaleen hadn’t understood her mother’s answer; as a queen, she now did.
“We’ll find out what Desmond Shaw is really about,” Azaleen concluded with a flick of her hand. “Meeting dismissed.”
Chapter four
Beneath the Frost
Brooding over the missing secretary, the Iron Menace, and the interruption of her council session, Azaleen walked briskly across the street to her residence, Sabine close at her side for company.
“I’ll vet him thoroughly,” Sabine vowed, “along with the short list I’d already made.”
“He has a rogue’s arrogance,” the queen grumbled. Her shoulders ached. Her temples throbbed. A bath might help.
“And a rogue’s charm,” Sabine added, half-teasing. “Azaleen, dear,” she addressed once the door to the world had closed. “I’ve noticed your mood of late, and there’s no shame in needing some release. I can arrange a discreet evening for you with a partner sworn to secrecy.”
“What are you suggesting?” Azaleen rounded on Sabine, her face flushed with embarrassment. “That I use somebody like a prostitute?”
“Not at all,” Sabine swore as they moved deeper into the Frost family home.
Clean lines and artistic flourishes whispered of old elegance, now tempered by survival. While not as enormous and opulent as the building that served as the fledgling nation’s capital, the architecture was similar, characterized by red brick, white columns, a grand staircase, tall windows, balconies, and fireplaces.
The city had a safe water supply—at last—and pumping stations powered by windmills assured water reached homes and businesses. They did not guarantee steady pressure, but the toilets, bathtubs, and sinks worked most of the time. Adelicious aroma floated in through an open window from the outdoor kitchen, filling Azaleen with a sense of home.
“Azaleen, do you know how many admirers you have, people who would be honored to assist you, relieve a small amount of tension that the demands of your office thrust upon you?” Sabine stopped, peering at her with compassion. “I can count at least a dozen who I’ve already vetted, who’ve pre-signed nondisclosure agreements, both men and women eager to please you.”
Azaleen leaned against an ivory-colored wall, taking in a deep breath. She rubbed her neck, moving it slowly from side to side. “That might be, but I can’t afford the risk. Maybe a masseuse. It’s more important for you to research Desmond Shaw and compare his qualifications to the other candidates. Foolish Pickett! I still can’t believe it.”
“Mom!”
Two excited boys burst through the front door, each with a backpack and a cheerful grin.
“Caelen, Eldrin.” Allowing a smile, Azaleen greeted her sons with hugs. Eldrin, the sixteen-year-old tow-headed boy as tall as she was, rolled his eyes and groaned, but didn’t push her away. Younger sweet Caelen, blooming with light brown curls, kissed her cheek.
“Look what I made, Mom!” he exclaimed. Taking a step back, he pulled a fine-looking hand axe from his belt. “We made them in crafting today. We took old, rusty hatchet heads and soaked them in acid. Our instructor showed us how to use the flywheel lathe that we pumped with a foot to turn a planed chunk of wood into this nice handle. We sanded them, coated them with varnish, and, when they dried, we secured the heads and sharpened them on a big wheel. Look!” He thrust the top end of the weapon/tool into Azaleen’s face, forcing her to retreat a step. “First, we glued the heads on, then we hammered in a nail with this metal disk to ensure it won’t come off. See?” He made a few chopping motions to demonstrate.
“And your teacher wasn’t concerned about students cutting their legs off?” She quirked a brow at her enthusiastic boy.
