Queen Rowena finished her last bite, swallowed, and patted her mouth with her napkin. She clinked her knife against her wine goblet, drawing the room’s attention. “It seems there has been tragedy after tragedy in my court of late.”
Lady Lorine straightened in her chair, her eyes gleaming. “Yes, my condolences regarding the Ashcrofts. Such a devastating catastrophe for the realm.” She pressed her hand to her breast in a theatrical display of mourning.
Cow, Charlotte thought, raising an eyebrow at the lady’s performance.
Lady Lorine had barely tolerated Elizabeth and had always been envious of her. Charlotte didn’t trust Lady Lorine one bit—she was a tittering fool, only pretending to be sad to get in the queen’s good graces. With Lord Ashcroft dead, Lady Lorine’s family was now the third wealthiest in the kingdom. And by Lady Lorine’s smirk, she knew it.
“Not just the Ashcrofts,” Queen Rowena corrected as she made the sign against evil against her chest. “There has been another set of murders, also from my inner circle. We have kept the papers at bay, but soon news will travel.”
“Who?!” Charlotte barked out of turn. “Your Majesty,” she amended hastily, heat flooding her cheeks.
Queen Rowena’s smile was razor-sharp. “A just question, Lady Harrison. It is most unfortunate.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the table like a shroud. She cleared her throat. “The Prescotts. My youngest sister, Duchess Cordelia Prescott, her husband Duke Marcus Prescott, and...” Her voice cracked with what might have been genuine emotion. “Their two children.”
Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth, horror unfeigned. So much death. She had thought a good family name was supposed to protect them from such horrors.
Clearly not anymore.
“Their entire family.” Queen Rowena’s composure returned like a mask being slid back into place. “My nephews—aged four and six—and the heirs to the throne have been murdered, disrupting the line of succession,” Queen Rowena said matter-of-factly, as if the inconvenience was in the change of logistics, and not the lives lost.
“Upsetting indeed,” Charlotte said, greatly troubled by the news.
“Indeed. Someone is picking off those closest to me.” The queen’s fingers tightened around her goblet until her knuckles turned white. “I will find out who. And when I do, justice will be swift.”
Lady Patricia leaned forward and simpered, “But surely, Your Majesty, you are so wise and clever, you must have some suspicion?”
Idiot,thought Charlotte, struggling not to roll her eyes at the ass kissing taking place before her.
“Lady Patricia,” the queen said tartly, “wise and clever are synonyms. One would have sufficed.”
Charlotte covered a smile as Lady Patricia flushed scarlet.
“Yet, you are right,” the queen continued, and Lady Patricia sagged with relief. “Idohave a theory.” She set down her knife and steepled her fingers. “The rebels of Faina are behind it. They have gathered in number over the last year and now pose a considerable threat to all of us. They murdered Lord Wilkinson—a test of their reach. Then the Ashcrofts—to gauge our response. Now the Prescotts—to destabilize the succession itself.”
The queen’s gaze swept the table, cataloguing each face, each reaction. “Murdering children is an act of such depravity that it will unite every noble house against them—not just in our kingdom, but in every kingdom across Asteria. Faina has signed their own death warrant.”
She rose slowly, her chair scraping against the marble floor. “We will prepare for the funeral, and we will, of course, wear mourning black at court for a month to honour my sister and nephews. But we will not cower in our grief.”
The queen moved to the window, gazing out at the gardens. “The attack on my bloodline has created another crisis, one that must be dealt with immediately. With the designated heirs dead, the realm’s future is uncertain.” She turned back to face them. “After Lord Commander Griffiths, my eldest surviving male relation, the throne would pass to … anyone?”
“Lord Ashcroft,” supplied Lady Patricia, who was idiotic but well versed in court family trees.
“Yes. Lord Ashcroft would have inherited after Lord Commander Griffiths. But the Ashcrofts, too, have fallen to our enemies’ blades. So, who is next?”
Lady Patricia opened her lips and then fell silent.
There were a few wealthy families the queen could elevate, but Lord Commander Griffiths and Lord Ashcroft were the last surviving members of the queen’s bloodline. Any heirs chosen outside of them would not be of her family line, and might be contested if the queen did not name them clearly before her passing.
Lady Lorine leaned forward in her seat, her lips tugging upwards, appearing pleased by the turn of conversation.
The queen nodded. “Exactly.”
The queen reached into a hidden pocket in her gown and withdrew a small scroll, bearing the seal of House Ashcroft—a circle of navy blue wax stamped with an oak tree and three stars. “Which brings us to an interesting development.”
The queen settled her reading spectacles on her nose and unfurled the missive. “The will of Lord Ashcroft.”
Her voice carried clearly through the silent hall as she read:
Although it is highly unusual, I accept my daughter’s wish to remain unwed and formally name her my heir. Elizabeth Beatrice Ashcroft will inherit the estate, all my businesses, and all my assets. I will honour her decision to remain unmarried, and if she produces any heirs, I will recognize them as well.
