I straighten myself and feel every muscle in my body protesting.
“Is m’lady going to ride in on her own horse, Your Majesty?” his valet Nichols asks.
“No, she is going to ride with me,” Charles responds and gives a signal for the procession to continue.
As the gates slowly swing open, the roar of the crowd eruptsaround us.
They cheer when we pass and call out blessings.
I smile and lift my hand when I remember to, though my fingers are numb with cold. My clothes cling damply to my skin, the chill of the road has settled deeply into my bones. The thought of stone walls, a fire, and hot water is the only thing keeping me from crying.
Charles, by contrast, seems to draw strength from the sight of his capital. His posture straightens, his voice carries further when he speaks to his men, his presence expanding until it fills the road ahead of us. This is his element. I feel it keenly—how the man who rode beside me for months is already giving way to the King.
Charles’s hand settles at the small of my back as we dismount, guiding me forward. Every few steps someone stops us.
“My lord—”
“Your Majesty—”
“A word, if I may—”
They press in from all sides, questions tumbling over one another. Charles answers some, dismisses others, and promises time he does not have. His attention fractures, pulled away piece by piece, and I am left standing at his side, smiling until my face aches.
My clothes are soaked through now. I am so tired I can barely keep my thoughts in order.
“Charles,” I say quietly, leaning close so only he can hear me. “I think I will go up to our chambers. You have…quite a lot waiting for you.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
“No,” he says at once, irritation flashing across his facebefore he can mask it. “Stay.”
“I’m freezing,” I murmur. “And you are being pulled in a dozen directions. I will only be in the way.”
He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. For a moment, I think he will refuse outright. Then another lord calls his name, and another, and another.
“I will come to you as soon as I can,” he says finally, bending close. His voice drops, intimate despite the chaos. “Do not disappear on me.”
“I won’t,” I promise, though I am not entirely sure what he means.
He presses a brief kiss to my temple before releasing me, already turning back to the crowd. I retreat quickly, following a servant who leads me through winding corridors and up familiar stairs.
The King’s chambers are warm when I enter, fire blazing merrily in the hearth. The air smells of soap and herbs, clean and comforting. Relief washes over me—until I notice the women waiting inside.
They rise and bow as one, faces pleasant, composed. None of them familiar.
I glance around the room, expecting to see a familiar shape near the window, a familiar grin.
“Where are my maids?” I ask in confusion.
“They have been excused after the long months of traveling. We will be attending to your needs, m’lady,” the oldest of the maids answers.
“Aileen?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Another maid steps forward. “Lady Aileen has gone to visit her family, Your Majesty.”
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard. “I see.”
It makes sense, of course. Her hometown is near, she would want to see them.
