“I’m sure the stewards can give you a little summary of who would be a suitable companion.”
“How did you choose your court? Your gentlemen-in-waiting?”
“I inherited advisors, generals, and guards. I have trained with the men who protect us, and I have seen my appointed ministers and masters serve Caledon’s best interests.”
“Well! Can’t I inherit some ladies? You keep your generals.” Jocasta asked, flinging out her hands.
Girion shook his head slowly. “There haven’t been any in so long. Lady Somerlynn was my mother’s lady-in-waiting before she—” He stopped, looked away, and then plowed on. “My stepmother did not want any of my mother’s loyal friends or attendants. She had her own hand-picked few, and of course, she was not queen for long. When she died, they were dismissed. They had no purpose.”
“I see.” Jocasta waited for him to say more, but whenever the topic of his stepmother came up, Girion froze over like an icy lake. “Do you think Lady Somerlynn would be willing to help me until I settle in?”
“I am sure she would.” Girion thought for a moment, stroking his short, newly clipped beard. “I could help.”
“You could?”
“The wives of my advisors, of some of the guards... I will steer you to those I think are most useful to you, and those who would be good companions.”
“Oh, would you? Thank you, Girion!” she whispered, clutching her side as she let a worried breath escape.
“I will always aid you. Protect you. Defend you.”
“I will do the same. Are these our vows?” she asked, coming closer to him.
“Only in part,” he said, his voice dropping. “Jocasta—”
“You can call me Jo when we’re alone.”
“Jo, I— Oh, curse it, yes!” Girion thundered and whipped open the door as someone knocked.
Nalar sniffed at the king. “Really, sire, it was you who demanded a wedding in three days! Do you want your future queen to walk down the aisle looking like she is wearing someone’s bed linen?” He pushed his way into the room, trailed by his entourage of assistants. “Of course you don’t! So, I must work on this gown, and the bride must be in it.”
Girion gave Jocasta a longing look, then nodded. “We have much to do. You will want to spend time with your parents, and I will have so many guests to greet, so we will have little time together. But don’t fret, you will have Lady Somerlynn to assist you.”
Jocasta nodded. Her parents would arrive tomorrow. She would have Lady Somerlynn, who was kind, and Nalar, who at least did not let silence grow around him.
Still, the thought of not being able to talk to Girion made her feel an odd, aching emptiness inside.
I WOULD RATHER CRAWLacross burning coals than greet one more noble from another kingdom. Make banal remarkswith one more courtier who holds a hereditary position and is as much use as a tack in a pair of breeches.
I would rather be with Jocasta.
A smile played over Girion’s lips that afternoon as visitors to his kingdom made themselves known. Tomorrow, there would be more. He’d had his fitting. Met with advisors. Talked to Bishop Stoddard, who would perform the ceremony, and who wanted to see Jocasta privately before the rehearsal.
Everything was blurring around him—reports of delays in the mines, reports of a settlement party stranded in the northern hills as they were trying to cross them to head to a warmer city with a flowing hot spring, companies to send out to aid and rescue...
If he thought of Jocasta’s face and the way she could make things grow, the blurring stopped.
“You look like a man very much in love. Very content,” Cole whispered.
“Stop that.”
“She looks at you the same way. I peeked in on her and Mother as they were having tea with about thirty women in frilly dresses and mountains of jewels and capes. Jocasta looked like she would rather swallow poison than take another bite of a dainty sweet. But when she is with you—”
“We bicker. She questions.” He forced an exasperated frown to his face.
“She looks happy. And at ease.”
“She is stubborn.”
