“Show him in.”
Benjamin Hollis entered with the quiet assurance of a man who had walked these halls longer than she had been alive. His silver hair, combed neatly back, and the careful precision of his movements spoke of a lifetime spent keeping order. Ledger books, staff rosters, menus, and supply inventories all lived in his head, yet he still carried a small leather-bound notebook at his side. To Cassandra, he had always been there—her father’s steward before hers, the steady hand who made sure her household ran as smoothly as the clocks he wound each week.
He bowed. “I beg your pardon for interrupting tea. Captain Moreau.” Steward Hollis bowed again, lingering as a tall, rugged officer strode in and kneeled before her chair.
“Lady Cade,” he addressed with a roguish smile. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She extended a ringed hand, nails polished, and assessed him. Moreau took her hand gently, kissing its back as was customary. His musky scent was not unpleasant.
“Yes, well, you’re interrupting my tea,” she answered impatiently. The captain leaned back and handed her a sealed envelope.
“My apologies.” He rose to stand, displaying an impressively athletic build. Cassandra banished the thought. Wasn’t she constantly surrounded by muscular soldiers? She’d never see this fellow again anyway.
Before she could compose a response, he asked, “Would you like me to stay in the lobby and wait to carry a reply to Queen Frost?”
Supposing it would be most efficient, she answered, “Yes, thank you. That would be satisfactory. Mr. Hollis, please show Captain Moreau where to wait, and serve him a refreshment.”
“Yes, my lady.” With a click of his heels and a slight bow, the formally dressed steward showed their guest out.
Cassandra tapped the envelope on her palm as she walked across the room to an antique roll-top desk. She sat down and opened the letter, laying it beside a recent correspondence from Lord Calder of Stonevale.
Dear Lady Cade, I hope you are in excellent health and spirits. I have sent two truckloads of newly acquired supplies to Marchland Fortress, including malaria pills and medical supplies. I was distressed to learn my earlier shipment was destroyed by raiders. The capital intended to have these necessities for you sooner. The cross-country highway is becoming increasingly dangerous. May I suggest Marchland send out regular patrols as far as the Mulberry and Oakmulgee Forests, and I will do the same from Nelanta westward. We can afford no more lost shipments.
I regret burdening you with the most urgent news, but I must. General Stark has received intelligence that the Iron Army is making invasion plans. We don’t know when the attack will come, but, as our first and best line of defense, it is imperative that Marchland be ready. I suggest calling up your militia for preparatory drills—not to join the ranks full-time, but so they will know what to do when the time comes. I’ve sent this same report to General Longstreet.
Although the timing may be poor, I also wish to invite you and your attendants to join us in Nelanta for the Kingdom Day Festival in a few weeks. Lord Calder and Lord Whitfield have also been invited. It would be nice to enjoy a day of merriment amid the stressful times we must endure.
Faithfully yours,
Azaleen Frost
P.S. Lord Whitfield has promised our army five thousand additional troops. General Stark and I are calculating where they are most needed. Because of your strong position atop the bluffs, and because you command the largest force in Verdancia, we will probably station them elsewhere.
“Well, well,” she sighed, and glanced back over Calder’s missive. It was several pages long: the first filled with flattery, the second alluding to Queen Frost’s shortcomings, and the third proposing an alliance between House Calder and House Cade. She’d yet to reply.
A flicker of ambition rippled over her emerald eyes, a self-important smile tugging at her lips.So, I am an important player after all. Support Calder, and Frost might lose her crown. Support Frost, and Calder remains a minority voice. I could ask any price and get it.
A cheerful shout arose from outside her window. Curious, Cassandra rushed to peer out. A troop of soldiers who’d been marching by abandoned their formation, some throwing their hats in the air. “Beer!” sounded the cry. “Hail to the queen!” chanted others.
Cassandra’s mind tallied the score.Frost sends my fortress supplies and my troops beer. What has Calder delivered? I should attend the function, observe them both, and determine which would best promote and protect my family’s legacy in Marchland.
Returning to her desk, Cassandra dug into a back drawer and removed a tiny wooden box. From within, she retrieved a pigeon tube, emptied the rolled paper.
Irons is coming. He has no mercy. But if you surrender Marchland upon our arrival, I can ensure your safety and that of your citizens. This benefits us both.—Crane
Lark burst awake in the middle of the night, panting and sweating. Wide-eyed, she glanced around the women’s barracks. Everyone else slept soundly, soft snores echoing through the room. Her heart raced, and she pressed a hand to it, hoping to slow the stampede.
The day spent with her dad had been magical, as if no time had passed in his absence. He gave her charge of his archers to teach them to hit their targets. Then they’d gone for a walk, reminisced about her and Leif’s childhood, treasured moments with their mother before she was gone. Lark told him about her work with VERT, and he expressed pride in her decision to follow in his footsteps. Luke excused her from the group to have dinner with her dad, and then he’d shown her the docks, the moonlight reflecting off the river while its steady gurgle passed by, a reminder that some things endure the tests of time.
So where did this terrifying dream come from? True, she no longer believed Queen Frost was a heartless ogre who enjoyed torturing her subjects, but to dream of her naked, standing under a waterfall, the clear liquid cascading over her sumptuous body? Ridiculous. Then Lark was in the scene, lying on a towel on the bank beside the mythical falls—nude, of course—while the queen massaged her back with fragrant oils and tender kisses. The most disturbing part was how real it felt—Frost’s fingers kneading her muscles, the scent of lavender and almond oil, the taste of strawberry lips.
Fantasy! It was pure fantasy. Lark was certain Queen Frost hadn’t given her a second thought, and why would she? She was the queen, for ruin’s sake, and Lark was just a swamp rat with a bow who could do flips.
Her breathing steady once more, Lark peered around the dark room of snoozing women. Why didn’t she dream about one of them, or Skye, even? How could her subconscious mind betray her with visions of something that would never be?
She lay back on her pillow, trying to banish the dream.Two days, one maybe, and we’ll be back in Nelanta. I wonder what Queen Frost will want us to do next? Damn it. Don’t think about her.The more Lark willed herself not to think of the beautiful, azure-eyed, platinum blonde woman with more curves than Mother River, and, no doubt, a soft side she never showed in public, the more she couldn’t stop.
Chapter thirty-one
