This time he didn’t even begin to argue. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
That had been easier than she expected. Maybe she and Dornar would be able to work together after all. He didn’t seem dangerous or anything like the controlling asshole Tor had described. If anything, he had been overly solicitous, bordering on condescending.
She tried to think of something else to say and simply couldn’t. Instead, she concentrated on eating while Dornar filled the silence.
He had secured a room in the tavern for the night, in respect of her having been out in the woods for several days. He was mixing his personal guards with the Blues from her manor home so that she would have a well-trained honor guard of men that both knew her well and were recently decorated in the field. They would make their way to Kaerlud, stopping at a selection of hand-picked estates on the way and giving the Blues time to prepare the palace for her arrival in a few days. Her coronation would be held the day after they returned to Kaerlud….
Wait. What? His voice had been drifting over her as she ate, nodding and occasionally agreeing. But now he was talking about being in the palace before the end of the week. And saying that she would be crowned the next day.
She took another sip of her water while she collected her thoughts. She had learned from Mathos and Tor’s reaction that straight out saying she didn’t want to be the queen didn’t work well. “I’m not ready to go to the palace.”
Dornar blinked, his face neutral but his gaze assessing. “When do you think you will be ready?”
“I want to see some of the kingdom. Get an understanding of my people.” There, that sounded reasonable.
He dipped his head briefly, considering. “I understand, and I think it’s a very good idea.”
Lucilla felt a surge of relief, which quickly faded with his next words. “As soon as you’re officially recognized and crowned, I’ll take you on a tour. It will be good for you to see your kingdom and for your people to meet their queen.”
Damn. That wasn’t what she meant. “Is all of this urgency necessary?”
“Yes.” Dornar was emphatic. “If you want to avoid a civil war, then you need to take the throne.”
“A civil war?” she repeated softly, reluctantly recognizing that Mathos and Tor had said the same thing.
Dornar grimaced. “Indeed. There will be distant cousins many times removed and young peers of Ballanor who were close to him, all of whom think that a vacant throne is an opportunity they can’t ignore. Some might feel that military rule would be a good idea. Even your kidnapper, Mathos, could make a claim—his father was a baron who fought directly under King Geraint in the northern wars, after all.”
He folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Any one of those people might bid for the crown, and if one tries, they all will. The result will be conflict and destruction that leaves the entire country poor and defenseless. The economy would suffer terribly, and we might open ourselves to an invasion from Verturia that we have no hope of winning.”
“But surely you would prevent that?” she asked weakly.
“Ah, my queen, thank you for your faith in me.” He gave her another soft smile, his eyes wrinkling in the corners. “Unfortunately, they would most certainly challenge me, try to remove me from my position as Lord High Chancellor, and it would take me years to fight them all. No, you must take the throne as soon as possible.”
Lucilla kept her face serene while her thoughts tumbled over themselves. Dornar was making the same point Mathos and Tor had.
How might things have turned out if she hadn’t begun their relationship by mortally insulting the Tarasque and then repeatedly lying to them about who she was, all while insisting that she was never even going to consider being queen? Would Mathos have felt comfortable telling her everything? Would she still be sitting here with Dornar? Would Mathos be under arrest, facing his execution?
Had she been as much in the wrong as they were? Even more, maybe. Had she just caused a man to be sentenced to death because he’d pissed her off?
Gods. It was the sort of thing Ballanor would do. The thought made her feel ill, and she pushed her plate away unfinished.
Dornar waved a guard over to clear her place. “Your Majesty, you have suffered a terrible ordeal, and you must be exhausted. We have a room prepared if you would like to rest?”
As appealing as it sounded, that wasn’t an option. Not until she had a clearer understanding of what was going on. “No thank you, Lord High Chancellor—Dornar—I’d like to see Mathos now.”
“Of course. Give me a moment.” He stood and walked across to the soldiers guarding the door before speaking to them softly. One of the men saluted and then rushed outside, the door swinging closed behind him.
Dornar folded his hands behind his back and waited patiently.
A few minutes later, the soldier was back. He murmured something to Dornar, who clapped him on the shoulder and then motioned him back into his position at the door.
He returned to the table, his face grim, but his eyes were clear and direct as they met hers. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but there was no suitable cell in this small village. As a result, Mathos has already been sent ahead to Kaerlud. They are on the road as we speak. I will send a note ahead to ensure that Mathos is treated with”—he paused ever so slightly before continuing—“all the respect due to him. You can question him when we arrive in Kaerlud.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I want to see him today. If we leave now, we can easily catch up.”
Dornar dipped his head graciously. “I will make arrangements. I believe you need a saddle; is that correct? In the meantime, would you like to freshen up in the room that was prepared for you?”
Lucilla considered for a moment before agreeing. It would take a little while to find the right tack and bring Penelope to the tavern. It made sense to wash her face and rest for a few minutes while she waited. And she could do with some time by herself.
