Didn’t he?
In the half hour since she’d ridden away from him, she’d started to doubt herself. And a nasty feeling of guilt had started to climb through her belly. He had given her their food, his tent, led her safely out the woods, stood up for her against the soldiers… damn. Was it all a manipulation?
She thought about how he’d checked on little Alis, insisting that she take some food and coins and stay safe. That hadn’t been of any personal benefit to him. He hadn’t told Alis his name. Was that a lie? Or had he done it to keep them all safe?
Gah. There was no way to know. And now she was genuinely worried about whether she’d done the right thing in turning away and leaving him to be arrested.
She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders down, hoping to ease the pressure building behind her eyes, and tried to sort through her thoughts.
What would she have done if Mathos had told her everything? She would have run for sure. Did Mathos’s care for her excuse that he had manipulated her into staying by leaving out a load of important information?
Did he do it because he genuinely wanted to help, like he did with Alis, or was it all part of some greater, more sinister plan?
Almost certainly the latter; Mathos and Tor were working with Alanna, and she was Verturian. They had betrayed their kingdom for the enemy, and now Alanna was planning to take control of—hang on, that didn’t make any sense. Why would Alanna need to take over a kingdom she could have been the queen of had she wanted it?
She paused in the middle of the taproom and narrowed her eyes at Dornar. “Why would Alanna go through all these complicated machinations to take over a kingdom that she was already the queen of?”
He gave her a sincere look. “Unfortunately, Alanna was deeply hated by everyone in the palace. You can ask anyone. In fact—” He motioned to one of the guards at the door, a young Apollyon, to come closer. “What did the courtiers call Alanna? Please tell the queen.”
The young man looked between them nervously until Dornar waved for him to continue. “Princess Peevish, Your Majesty.”
Lucilla stared at the guard, shocked. Her own guards thought nothing of treating her with disdain, but even Claudius would never have been so rude.
“Please tell her Majesty how Alanna got that name,” Dornar commanded.
The guard blinked nervously, but Dornar gave a “carry on” gesture, and he continued, “She was selfish and difficult. Refused to ever join the court. Refused a wedding party, so the whole of Kaerlud missed out on a celebration, the food and coin the palace would have provided. Always throwing tantrums when she didn’t get her way.” He lowered his voice. “And they say she was responsible for the death of King Geraint. That it was Verturian arrows they pulled out of him when—”
He stopped suddenly, his face growing pale as he realized it was her father that he was discussing, and Dornar dismissed him with a curt wave.
“But why would she stay with Lanval if he loved someone else?”
The new Lord Chancellor shook his head, his mouth turned down with sadness as he took her hand and led her to a table. “Alanna was only ever interested in what she could get out of Brythoria: power and wealth for herself. When her constant demands weren’t met, she rid herself of your father and then King Ballanor. Lanval helped her do it and is being rewarded handsomely. Their partnership is one of mutual benefit.”
He gave her an apologetic look. “Now she’s turned her eye to ruling over the kingdom. She knows that, without an heir, she would never control the Royal Council, who already mistrust and dislike her, so she’s hunting you instead. With you as her pawn, she can control you, and through you, the riches of Brythoria.”
Gods. She felt sick. She had fled one form of prison only to almost fall into another.
Except…. The thought reminded her of Tor’s words the night before. He had said that Dornar would want to marry her and rule through her. Almost exactly what Dornar said Alanna wanted, without the wedding.
One of them was lying—maybe both—but she had no way of judging who. All she knew was that for a brief moment, she had been free, and now she was back exactly where she didn’t want to be. And just as alone as she had always been.
Dornar pulled a chair out for her, and she sank into it gratefully, body aching. A tired-looking serving woman arrived and set a plate of floury rolls, cold ham, and slightly overripe tomatoes on the table for her.
“Can I get you anything more, Your Majesty?” Dornar asked softly.
“No, thank you, Lord High Chancellor.”
He smiled gently. “Please call me Dornar.”
She nodded agreement as she picked up a bread roll, watching him.
He was tall and strong with long, lean muscles. His light brown hair was cropped military short, highlighting the pale blue of his eyes. Scales circled his wrists in bands of burnished copper that caught the light when he moved.
He gave her another charming grin as he passed her a plate of apple slices, and she imagined he could be considered handsome. He was attentive and polite. And he had an answer for everything.
But now that she’d thought of them, Tor’s words kept circling through her head…The new Lord High Chancellor … I wouldn’t wish that conniving bastard on my worst enemy.
It made it difficult to trust him. Even though he’d saved her.
