She had been capable of sympathy, kindness, and care, even when she hadn’t meant to be.
Right now, her brother needed that from her.
She let her hand fall the rest of the way onto his shoulder. “Dimi.”
He cried harder as he angled his head toward her. “I remember. I remember it, Aveline.” He pointed to the room. “You were there. And I thought…oh, seven gods, I let him convince me…”
“It’s all right,” she whispered over the lump in her throat.
“You tried to tell me. You tried, and I…I ordered you to the dungeon. I condemned you to die.”
“It’s over now.”
He leaned against the doorframe, shoulders slumped. “But then…then I saw your body. You’d died too.” His eyes met hers, and there was a wild quality in them. “You’d died, Aveline. I saw that too. I saw—” He blinked hard several times, his body trembling with convulsions.
Lurel came up beside them while Arther wrung his hands farther down the hall. Lurel’s face was pale as she watched the king. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “I should go. I must tell my father the king is unwell.”
An urgent feeling, a clairsentient warning, had Cora rounding on the girl. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so panicked, until something dawned on her.
Verdian’s threat echoed in her mind.
If Dimetreus’ council deems him incapable of the crown at any point, he will be forced to abdicate at once.
“You will not,” Cora said, pinning the girl with a hard look. “This is a private matter. The king is grieving.”
“But…but my father asked me to report to him if?—”
“I don’t care what he asked of you. You will not embarrass the king in his time of need. You will stay here until he has recovered and speak not a word of this incident.”
Lurel worried her lip. Even through her shields, Cora could feel the girl’s conflict. Lurel desperately wanted Cora to like her but knew better than to disobey her father.
Cora softened her tone. “I’m sure your father only had the king’s best interests in mind when he asked you to report on his actions, but this isn’t the kind of situation he meant. This is simply grief. You don’t understand my brother’s complex past nor the dark history this castle bears, and to spread word of this would be a great dishonor to the king you now serve.”
Lurel sank to her knees, head bowed. “Forgive me, Highness. I didn’t mean to offend you or the king. I’m sure you’re right.”
Cora stalked past Lurel toward the steward. “Master Arther, how about we showyouwhere our rooms are, and if they are not ready for us, then do whatever it takes to have them prepared by the end of the day.” She was surprised at the demand in her voice. It was a tone she hadn’t spoken with since she was a child. Or perhaps the few times she’d argued with Teryn.
Master Arther straightened and gave her a nod. “It will be done, Your Highness.”
Satisfied that she had the situation under control, she returned to her brother. Doing nothing more than resting her hand on his shoulder, she let him cry. Let him grieve the memories that pained him and rail against the ones he’d lost. She kept her eyes dry, her composure strong.
Later, she told herself. Later she’d let herself cry too.
Now there was work to be done.
12
Mareleau never imagined she could be so physically close to a person yet feel so lonely. But as she rolled from side to side on the old mattress, sandwiched between her lady’s maids, lonely was all she felt. She wanted her husband. The bed they’d shared at Dermaine Palace. Not these three snoring harpies and a stale bedroom.
She rolled onto her opposite side, wincing as the wooden bedframe creaked in response to her movement. Ann mumbled in her sleep, Sera erupted with a gasping snore, and Breah’s arm flew across Mareleau’s face. Mareleau sat up with a scoff and cut a glare at the three sleeping girls. How could they sleep in accommodations as shoddy as this? Their rooms back at Verlot were almost as nice as her own. Yet there they were dozing like three baby pigs in a stall.
A stall. Yes, that was all she could say of this room. It certainly wasn’t appropriate for a supposedly pregnant woman, much less a queen. This wasn’t the first time she’d been relegated to such accommodations during her recent travels either. Instead of staying at grand estates and being hosted by lords, viscounts, and barons, she’s been shuttled from one inn to the next. They were fine inns, she supposed, but they were nothing like what she was used to. She wasn’t sure whether she had her father’s malice or her new kingdom’s lesser financial wealth to blame for her environment, but she suspected it was the former.
She gritted her teeth as her eyes shot to the closed door of the tiny bedroom. She was tempted to stomp across the hall to Lord Ulrich's room, pound on his door, and demand he find private lodgings for her at once. But she knew it would do no good. Her uncle never had much patience for her before, and his opinion of her seemed little improved now that she was queen. If anything, it had the opposite effect. At least they were finally nearing the end of their journey.
An unsettling question came to mind. Would Ridine be any better? It was a castle, not a palace, after all. A structure built for defense. With a sigh, she laid back down only to find Breah had taken up more space in Mareleau’s absence. Cursing under her breath, she stood and grabbed her cloak, wrapping it tightly around her as she crept from the room.
The hall outside was chilly, lit with a single lamp. She made her way down the stairs and into the empty dining room. The clang of pots and pans and the giggling voices of maids echoed from the kitchen. Dinner had been hours ago, and since Ulrich had had the decency to buy out the inn for the night, there were no other guests lingering about. She went to the hearth and pulled up a chair next to the dying embers. A shiver ran through her, and she pulled her cloak even tighter around her nightdress.
