“I’ve not yet had my breakfast.”
“Oh? It must have slipped my mind! Don’t worry, I’ll learn better of it,” she promised with a shrug. “One missed breakfast won’t be so awful. After all, His Majesty will want you to keep your figure.”
He glowered.
No, it wascertainlyon purpose.
“Come along!” the woman called, and two maids appeared in the doorway. They were younger and kept their eyes down, both from the druid and their mistress. At once, they were pulling off his nightgown and setting out his garments.
Ruicá tutted in judgement. “Little ugly thing you are. How unfortunate…”
“For which party?” he questioned. “My husband, or you?”
Her burgundy eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement passing through them. “Well, well…” she whispered, “little beastie has claws. Do be careful where you put them.”
If she thought to unsettle him, she was a long way from home. The druid had endured much worse than petty women, and hardly thought it would get easier now. He had no interest in wasting time. So, he kept quiet and let the young maids push and pull him.
As they worked, one passed over the angry red marks upon his wrists. Her forehead dimpled in confusion. “Your Majesty…?”
He wrenched his arm free of her grasp. The question burned in her frightened expression and the druid felt both ashamed and annoyed. Wordlessly, he pulled his sleeve down over it.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered.
Ruicá clapped her hands. “If you’re quite finished, let’s be off. We have soverymuch to do!”
He was shuffled out of the room and through the castle. The halls were bursting with visitors. Most had never seen him before, nor anyone like him. They peered on with varying levels of discretion. The women were more canny—they pretended not to care. But every purposefully placed glance was a scalding strike. The men, by contrast, gaped openly. They craned their necks to get a better look. He heard the whispers at his back.
“The queen is a man, after all!”
“Are you certain?”
“Is he really a druid like they say?”
The druid's lips remained thin.
The air at Rhyd-hal hung different. Where before had been aversion, avoidance, and mockery, there was now a sense of acknowledgement. Every servant he passed nodded to him. Others darted out of his view entirely. Something had changed within those walls, and he couldn’t define it. And neither, he supposed, could they.
He was brought to a hall and as the doors drew open, he suppressed a gasp. Sunlight streamed in, giving the room a warm, buttery glow, and a sweet honey scent thickened the air. The tables were adorned with whin flowers arranged in vibrant ensembles, and tapestries blanketed the walls, spun with images of sprawling gardens. Little golden people were sewn amongst the ivy, holding their shining chalices to the sky.
The druid was so besotted, he nearly forgot what he was doing there until Ruicá hissed, “Show some respect before Lady Merah!”
Respect?
It was only then he noted the woman before him, dressed in a regal gown. She was middling age with dark, peppery hair and beside her were two attendants who each bowed in turn. But the woman stayed upright, a smile on her lips.
“No need to worry,” she said gently, her tone like the clear croon of a swallow. “We are equals, you and I.”
“Equals?” asked the druid.
“This is the Banrigh Ghaoire,” said Ruicá.
The druid understood. This woman was the Queen Dowager; the wife of the Vaich’s predecessor, neither of whom the druid knew much about. He had been compared to this woman on more than one occasion, yet had never been formally introduced… until now.
In a way, he supposed, he was looking at his future.
“I had not imagined…”
“That I would be so well kept?” The woman laughed. “Aye, my husband may be returned to his maker, but I am afforded great comfort in his wake.”
