“I know.”
She knew what her sickness meant but had yet to inform her husband or the king. For a while longer, she wanted to keep the secret as hers and Terilyn’s alone.
Terilyn handed her a linen napkin to wipe her mouth. “Perhaps we should postpone our visit to Evergreen.”
“No. I won’t miss our appointment with the high general.”
Evergreen was the officer’s commissioning school for the Daijal army. Eimarille always made a point to visit, even in the midst of winter. Besides, the high general wasn’t the only one expecting her today.
She stepped back from the side table and retreated to her seat, pushing her plate aside in favor of her tea. Terilyn covered the water pitcher with a towel. She’d take it with her when they left, hiding the evidence of Eimarille’s morning sickness. The servants had long since stopped looking askance at the strange tasks Terilyn conducted that most other ladies-in-waiting would never dare to do.
Then again, most ladies-in-waiting weren’t a Blade honed by the Star Order.
“You’ll need to see a doctor eventually,” Terilyn said once she retook her seat.
Eimarille curled her hand around her teacup. “I know.”
Terilyn frowned at her, worry creasing her brow. She blinked it all away when the door to the dining room opened up, calmly rising to her feet as Wesley entered, servants trailing in his wake. It was less out of respect and more to discreetly pick up the tainted water pitcher and slip out to discard it after curtsying to the crown prince.
“Good morning,” Eimarille said, not getting up from her seat.
Wesley was dressed for a day of winter hunting rather than a day abroad in the city. His cream trousers and crimson woolen coat were offset by black knee-high boots. His blond hair was brushed back, though some strands fell forward around his blue eyes. He was handsome, with a square jaw and straight nose.
He’d been considered quite the catch by every noblewoman who danced their way through the Daijal court over the years. Eimarille had made no friends and only enemies with the female courtiers since her arrival sixteen years ago. They’d all known, even then, what her presence meant in regard to the Daijal throne.
None of them would ever sit upon it, but they’d still tried to seduce Wesley. Many were successful in finding themselves in his bed, and Eimarille knew he still saw several of his mistresses. She knew them by their smug smiles when in court, knew their names, though it hardly mattered. She allowed Wesley his indiscretions because it kept him occupied.
“Good morning,” Wesley replied, finally taking his seat at the dining table. “You always rise so early.”
Eimarille smiled. “I enjoy the early hours of the morning.”
Lying beside him was so different than lying with Terilyn. They never slept the same hours. More often than not, Eimarille was late to bed and early to rise when she was home at all. She hadn’t stopped work on her patronages or traveling to make herself known to the politicians as the crown princess rather than a hostage turned willing ward. There was something satisfying about watching people bite their tongues when before they were happy to deliver any barbed insult, veiled or otherwise. Rank had its uses.
Despite their discordant evenings, Wesley always found time for sex, which Eimarille provided not because she loved him, but because he was the only one capable of giving her a legitimate child with a direct claim to the Daijal throne.
Wesley’s empty plate was soon filled with food dished out by servants. Terilyn swept back in after a time, hands empty, and retook her seat beside Eimarille. Wesley eyed her the way he’d eyed her for years—wary and annoyed by her presence in equal parts.
“I see you’re ready for a hunt. Did you forget our appointment today?” Eimarille asked.
“I had my secretary adjust my schedule. I have better things to do than waste my time at Evergreen when the sky is clear of snow for once,” Wesley said.
Eimarille held her tongue, considering drunken revelry a waste of time over gaining political ground. She supposed Wesley thought he had nothing to worry about, being the crown prince of Daijal and all. But hubris was a downfall many had experienced, and Eimarille had no desire to slip down that slope.
Eimarille carefully sipped at her tea, her stomach slightly more settled after being emptied. “Very well.”
She was secretly relieved for his absence. It would make what she had to accomplish far easier on her own than with him by her side. Eimarille had been more assertive about making her presence known in all the circles of the Daijal court since their wedding a few weeks ago. At thirty-one, Wesley was five years her senior and still acted as if he had no duties to attend to despite the crown he wore.
He’d been much the same when they were younger, cruel in a way that never touched her by order of Innes, but she’d seen the devastation he could command with a single word. Wesley indulged in the societal ruin of others like a game, and Eimarille knew few called her husband friend. But he had power people coveted, and she’d tied herself to him, for better or for worse, to gain her own foothold in Daijal.
The royal genealogies gave her a very thin claim to this country’s throne. Marriage, on the other hand, provided a different, but no less valid, road.
“We’ll leave you to it. Good hunting,” Eimarille said as she rose to her feet.
Terilyn silently followed her lead, the pair of them leaving the dining room for the royal family’s private wing. On the way, Terilyn sent a servant to the garage to notify a chauffeur to ready a motor carriage.
Eimarille sat at the vanity in her bedroom while Terilyn touched up her rouge before removing the thin gold circlet from its velvet-lined storage box that had been delivered from the vault while they ate. She carefully secured it in Eimarille’s hair, adjusting it so the fine gold point was centered on her forehead. Then she went into the closet and came back with a fur-lined, fitted woolen coat the color of a stormy sky, gray-blue like Eimarille’s eyes.
Terilyn wore a cape, which provided her more freedom of movement, allowing her access to the blades and derringer secreted on her body. The weapons were easily reached through discreet slits in the fabric of her gown’s skirt.
