That is the lie of it. Not pleasure, but relief. Not love, but release.
And I hate myself most for knowing this and still wanting him every night.
* * *
The council meeting starts without Charles being present. He did not come to our bedroom last night, which means he is probably in the chapel right now, praying to God to erase his sins. It is always the same pattern: he visits one of his many mistresses, because that is his right. But the spell that has been put on the ring holds him accountable. His mind cannot comprehend why he feels the way he feels; it drives him insane. Guilt and shame devastate him, and so he goes to pray. He will return today and overwhelm me with his love.
Love.
I don’t even know what love feels like anymore.
Not for him, at least. I love my daughters, and I love the new role I have taken on in the council. But loving him, or any other man for that matter, seems impossible.
Aynhard enters the room and looks over to me, slowly shaking his head. I give a curt nod and signal to the court master to proceed with the meeting.
We hear complaints from two carpenters who have been fighting about a parcel of land for the best part of the year. Today, Charles is expected to give a ruling. But Charles is not here. So the matter is postponed until the King has returned from his ‘urgent business.’
Next on the agenda are the new mining locations for coins. In order to ensure the value of our silver coins, I had suggested reducing the number of locations where the valuable metal coins would be produced. My days are now shaped by numbers—columns of revenue, harvest yields, tolls, and debts. I discovered, to my own surprise, that I have a great mind for such things. Where others see only sums, I see patterns and consequences. I follow the flow of the royal income as one might follow a river, learning where it swells, where it leaks away, and where it may be guided to serve the realm better.
The work fulfills me. It is useful, and because it is useful, it is respected. Those who sit with me at the table have learned that I listen carefully and speak only when I am certain. In this, at least, I know my place—and I hold onto it.
Charles and I have spent the past couple of years putting a new currency system in place. The realm once traded in too many measures to count—gold here, silver there, coins so small they vanished between fingers, each region clinging to its own weight and name. Charles and I set ourselves against that confusion. We replaced it with one standard coin, struck in silver alone: broad, thin, and unmistakable. Its weight fixed, its number known—two hundred and forty to the pound—so that a merchant in the South anda toll keeper in the North speak the same language without words.
Silver serves us better than gold. It moves more freely, reaches further, and answers to trade rather than ceremony. Each coin bears his name, rendered the same in every mint, so that authority travels with the money itself. Wherever the coin passes—from port to market, from mine to monastery—it carries order with it.
The door to the meeting room opens suddenly, and a messenger enters.
“Your highness, please excuse the interruption. But there is a gentleman here who wishes to speak to the King.”
I look toward Aynhard, and he simply nods.
“Who is the gentleman who thinks he can simply walk in here and demand an audition with the King?” I ask.
“That would be me, the King’s beloved cousin,” a smooth voice echoes through the hall.
A murmur erupts in the crowd.
As if the palace belongs to him, a man walks into the King’s hall, his steps slow and sure.
Aynhard gets up from his seat and quickly walks over to me.
“Tassilo, Lord Bavria. Humor him for a while, I will get the King.”
I nod, and Aynhard withdraws through the ceremonial door behind the thrones.
I have heard of Tassilo before, he and the King have long been at odds.
If he notices my unease, he does not show it. He turns around in a circle, pretending to take in the architecture, as if he doesn’t notice the stir he has caused.
“Welcome, Lord Bavria,” I say with as much grace as I canmuster. “We were not informed of your arrival, or my husband would have been here to welcome you himself.”
He turns and takes me in from head to toe. His assessment is slow, as if he is weighing my worth with his eyes alone. A smile spreads across his lips.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for not introducing myself properly. Lord Tassilo, Duke of Bavria. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” he says smoothly and bows.
“What brings you here, my Lord?” I ask, my voice only shaking slightly.
Tassilo smiles. “Straight to the point, I appreciate that.”
