She turned away from the queen, nearly colliding with Master Arther. He was leading half a dozen men down the hall, but upon seeing Cora and Mareleau, he paused and directed the men to continue toward the council room.
Cora made to follow in their wake, but Master Arther shadowed her steps. “Your Highness, perhaps now we can settle on new linens for the remainder of the bedchambers.”
She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Approving linens. Of course that was all a princess was good for. With an exaggerated smile, she gestured toward Mareleau. “You know who would do a wonderful job at selecting linens? Her Majesty.”
Determined to let nothing more distract her, she marched away.
Master Arther called after her while Mareleau let out an affronted gasp. The last thing she heard before she reached the council room door was Mareleau’s purposefully too-loud voice. “Linens. What nerve. Very well. Show me the most hideous linens I can choose from.”
18
By the time Cora entered the council room, all the other members had taken their seats. She was momentarily stunned by the look of the room, for it appeared almost exactly as it had the last time she’d been inside. Not that she’d had much reason to enter it as a child. Still, she’d always been impressed with its imposing grandeur. She felt the same now as she studied the walls of dark wood, carved with reliefs of battle scenes. These were interspersed with portraits of previous kings from the Caelan bloodline, including her father, whose portrait stood at the far end of the room. Beside it hung a purple standard bearing Khero’s black mountain sigil. The head of a large rectangular table was placed directly beneath it, where her brother sat now. Several smaller tables covered in maps and books lined the room.
Cora strolled straight for the table. A trio of servants fluttered about it, filling glasses with wine and water while the councilmen got situated. Conversation filled the room, masking the sound of Cora’s steps. After the servants finished filling the last glass, they hastily made their exits, closing the door behind them. No one noticed Cora’s approach until she placed her hand on the back of the empty chair at the far end of the table and slid it out.
Dimetreus was the first to rise to his feet. Others belatedly followed, some offering hasty bows, while Lord Kevan stood less out of respect and more out of annoyed surprise.
The king rushed over to her. “Oh, darling Aveline,” he said, voice low. “You don’t need to worry yourself with this meeting. I daresay it will be tedious and rather bleak of topic.”
She tried not to feel offended by his tone or his words. When would he stop treating her like the twelve-year-old girl he last knew? Had she not been the one to comfort him all week? To play parent to him and soothe his emotions, all while controlling the narrative surrounding his sudden breakdowns?
Cora did her best to keep her voice level, but she didn’t bother meeting his low volume. “Yes, dear brother, but you should recall that many of these bleak topics have to do with me. Lord Kevan has reminded us of this meeting’s importance time and again, and that we are to say little about anything regarding our pasts and recent events until our stories have been agreed upon by your new council. That is precisely why I’m here.”
Kevan’s voice shot across the table with unmasked ire. “You’re supposed to be showing hospitality to the queen, Highness.”
“I showed her what hospitality was due. Right now my place is at this table.”
Kevan’s cheeks reddened, his mouth falling open.
Before he could speak, Dimetreus addressed the council. “Consider the oversight mine. I should have invited Princess Aveline to attend our meeting from the start. She is right. Today’s agenda involves her.”
That silenced further argument from Kevan, but Lord Ulrich’s snicker still carried across the table. Whether he was amused at his brother’s irritation or laughing to undermine Dimetreus’ authority, Cora knew not. Her nerves were wound too tightly to allow her to extend her senses.
Dimetreus faced Cora with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me,” he whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Her heart softened. “Of course.”
The king returned to the head of the table and Cora finally lowered herself into her chair. She glanced around the table, meeting a few stares from the men around her—some curious, others icy—and held their eyes without falter. All looked quickly away, turning their gazes to the king. The council was comprised of twelve men total, aside from the king, half of whom had arrived today with Ulrich. Kevan and his men sat on one side of the table while Ulrich and his sat on the other.
“Shall we get started, Your Majesty?” Lord Kevan said, tone curt. “Perhaps we shall begin with the topic of Princess Aveline. Then she need not stay for the duration?—”
“We shall,” Dimetreus said, cutting Kevan off. “Lord Ulrich, I’ve been told you bear the responsibility of forging the official statements we’ll be making to the public. What shall we say to prove my sister’s assumed death was false?”
Cora was impressed with how effortlessly her brother spoke on a topic she knew distressed him. It bolstered her conviction that she’d done the right thing in aiding his return to the throne. Regardless of the trauma that continued to afflict him, hewasking. Without Morkai’s influence, he could be a great king.
Lord Ulrich shuffled the stack of papers before him. Selecting one, he leaned back in his chair. His casual posture contrasted Kevan’s tense demeanor. “The official statement,” Ulrich drawled, “is that six years ago, King Dimetreus learned of a threat to the crown. While it had been too late to save the queen, he was able to spirit the princess away and fake her death to protect her.”
Cora’s gaze locked on her brother, seeking any sign that mention of his wife’s demise was causing him anguish. The last thing she needed was for him to fall apart before the council. Thankfully, all she noted was a slight twitch beneath his eye.
Ulrich continued. “She was raised in a secret location in the Cambron Mountains by a group of operatives tasked with keeping her safe until the threat could be dealt with. That is why claims of her death are now being refuted.”
“What is being said to clear our king’s name?” asked a man with thinning auburn hair and a heavy mustache that hid his upper lip. Cora recognized him as Lord Danforth, one of the councilmen who’d journeyed with her retinue from Lord Kevan’s estate.
Ulrich rifled through his papers again and selected a new one before returning to his slumped pose. “Although His Majesty first learned of the threat six years ago, it took almost as long to uncover its source. He nearly lost his life when he and his spies uncovered Duke Morkai’s sinister motives, but he was able to flee to Selay. There the king and his allies from Selay and Menah rallied a force to confront the duke, which resulted in the battle at Centerpointe Rock.”
Dimetreus furrowed his brow. “The people are accepting this story?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ulrich said. “It seems the duke kept very few witnesses at the castle, save for those who served him. We’ve questioned the survivors from the battle. Most had minds too addled to understand anything that had occurred, much like you’d claimed. Only a small handful knew of the lie Morkai had fed you about Selay’s and Menah’s involvement in your wife’s death. The general public has no clue that Khero was ever pitted against Selay and Menah, and any rumors will quickly be smoothed over by our official statement. The worst crime your citizens see you as guilty of were your aggressive recruitment attempts, but those too will be forgiven when word spreads that you’d been countering a coup all along.”
