“Ezra, so nice to meet you. I understand you are a toymaker?”
“Yes, my queen. I own a business that makes wind-up toys.”
Eimarille brightened at that. “Oh, lovely! I’m sure Lisandro would love a toy from your workshop.”
“I would be happy to gift the young prince a set.”
They chatted a little longer before Melvin smoothly segued their conversation into escorting Eimarille through the guests toward the ballroom. Ezra offered Terilyn his arm as well, and the other woman took it with a polite smile. Eimarille was adept at social niceties, remembering everyone’s name and social status as they orbited around her through the next hour of greetings.
Melvin kept close, facilitating introductions and giving Eimarille the spotlight she didn’t need to fight for, not as queen. If she wasn’t the architect of the war—wasn’t the one signing off on the murders of cogs and debt slaves—he could possibly appreciate her political deftness. But that would happen only if she walked a different road, and as everyone knew, the Twilight Star had set her down this one.
“Have you and your husband always lived in Istal?” Eimarille asked him in a rare break between guests.
“Yes. It is where I went to school and where his family’s business is located. We met here, and we feel safe here,” Melvin said, lying just a little bit.
“Even with the war?”
The question was innocuous if it had come from anyone but Eimarille. “The war is needed, my queen. How else are we to bring Ashion back into the fold? You are doing what the previous king could not, and my bloodline supports your efforts wholeheartedly.”
“Yes, your uncle is quite vocal in cajoling others to vote his way in parliament back in New Haven. I do appreciate his support. Are you happy out here in Istal?”
“I must admit, the bustle of New Haven is a bit much some days. Even with the war, Istal has always been slower-paced.”
Eimarille smiled gently at him, her gaze warm. “You stay for your husband, do you not? He married into nobility, as I recall.”
Melvin was glad for the gloves he wore, that the sudden clammy sweat on his palms would be absorbed by the white cotton. “Yes. Politics has never been his favorite thing. He has always much preferred making toys for children.”
“A worthy job if ever there was one. Your bloodline has been nothing but supportive, unlike some over the years.”
He inclined his head, keeping his voice steady. “You are our queen.”
“Some don’t believe so.”
“Then they are wrong.”
Eimarille nodded, her gaze cutting away, and Melvin felt as if he could breathe again. “Of course they are.”
Melvin escorted her onward, trying not to hold himself so stiffly that she noticed, but her words were like the klaxon of a warning siren. They rang in the back of his head for the next few hours, through dances and conversation, through the well-wishes of Istal’s high society as he did right by his bloodline.
The estate wasn’t as large as others in Istal, but it was well maintained, and the rear garden, with its topiary maze and bubbling creek, was a favorite for quiet assignations. It was in one of the groves, as they waited for the fireworks to burst in the sky at the end of the ball, that Melvin came to understand his road would continue.
Another guest’s would not.
“You and your husband have been excellent hosts, Mr. Khaur,” Eimarille murmured as she stared at the sky. “It is a pity not everyone’s loyalty is as unquestioned as yours.”
Melvin couldn’t help but stiffen at her words, gaze flickering to Ezra, finding his husband looking back at him with a blank gaze, expression still that of someone enjoying the ball.
The night air was warm enough, but Melvin felt chilled to his bones. He abruptly realized Terilyn had disappeared from Ezra’s side, but Melvin couldn’t afford to look for her. Eimarille required all of his attention. “Pardon?”
“I know what occurred in Haighmoor is being whispered about amongst high society. I take no pleasure in removing traitors in such a way, you must understand.”
Eimarille gestured almost lazily with one hand, and a moment later, Sabine was shoved out of Payton’s arms and into the center of the small garden grove. She fell to her knees on the flagstones with a cry, catching herself with her hands. Payton lurched toward her with a protesting sound that he immediately strangled when Terilyn pressed the blade of her stiletto against his throat.
“None of that, please,” Terilyn said in a low voice. “You are not being judged here, but if you persist, you will be.”
Payton’s eyes were wide, face gone bone white beneath the distant illumination of gas lamp lights. His arm remained outstretched, but he didn’t move, Terilyn’s warning keeping him rooted where he stood. The distant boom of fireworks filled the eerie quiet that had settled over this small corner of the gardens.
Sabine raised her head, gaze focusing not on her husband but on Eimarille. She leaned back, resting her weight on her heels, hands clenched in the gauzy fabric of her gown. “My queen, there must be some mistake.”
