“He has very recently become a widower for the fifth time.” The Dowager Queen let that meaning hang.
“But we should negotiate.…” This from her master of coin. Of course.
“The negotiation has already been completed. What you see is the final contract.” Chairs scraped back from the table, some advisors getting up to read over the shoulders of those who obtained the parchment first.
After the quiet settled for a few minutes and more people read the terms, the Dowager Queen spoke again. “We leave for Basilica as soon as Captain Nikola presents a plan. Our kingdoms will be joined in a few days’ time. And if Ardenia protests, it shall face the rebuke of our two armies and likely Myrcell’s, as well. After what Princess Amarande did to our beloved Renard, that kingdom has no leg on which to stand.”
Laurent had the stones to question her, his sour expression remaining unmoved as he spoke. “Your Highness, while I do appreciate your quick response upon the matter of our rocked throne, I would like to point out that we should deal with Ardenia first—if that kingdom is threatened, it will attack, whether the princess is within the Itspi’s walls or not.”
“There is more than one way to make Ardenia suffer, and this wedding is my first strike,” Inés answered, with a raised brow and fork. “It will put Ardenia in the position of picking a fight against two kingdoms rather than one, all while in the headless throes of regency.”
Laurent did not budge. “It is a good union and will certainly make a statement to Ardenia, but I am compelled to argue that it is perhaps unwise to become betrothed to a man who killed his own brother to win the throne and has a habit of burying his wives.”
Inés speared a hunk of venison, holding it impaled on her fork—literal dead meat—before answering the old man.
“With all the respect you have not given me, Laurent, you do not understand what a woman can do within the right union. And King Domingu has never had a wife like me.”
CHAPTER4
WELCOMEbells did not greet the princess as she approached the Itspi.
Dusk had fully taken hold, and though Amarande knew guardsmen could likely only see clearly the ghostly white flash of her horse, she was still somewhat disappointed.
Amarande dug her boot heels into the gelding’s flanks.
The entrance was sealed and manned by four guards. Sconces illuminated the touches of gold on their uniforms and the twin Ardenian tigers roaring in tandem from the gate door. Garnets and diamonds twinkled from the animals’ eyes—a sight foreign to the princess. The gate had never been sealed with her on the outside.
Closing the gate and arming the exterior was what one would do at war.
“Halt! Rider, announce your intentions,” a guardswoman ordered.
Amarande nearly thought it was a joke—surely they recognized her at this distance. She nosed her horse closer, hoping to catch the light. The guards drew their swords.
“I said halt!” The woman’s voice carried the edge of action. Her sword did not waver. She was clearly the leader of the group.
Amarande did as instructed, the horse kicking up dust with his firm stop.
“I am Princess Amarande and my intention is to return to my home.”
The guardswoman’s sword faltered, but only slightly. “Your Highness?” She took a step forward, squinting across the distance. Amarande watched the guard register her face, hair, and the wedding gown, deeply stained across the golden lace at the bodice, the dark crust of blood blending with the shadows cast from the castle wall. “Is it truly you?”
“Yes, may I approach?”
The leader nodded, but all swords remained drawn. Amarande tapped the horse into motion and brought herself fully into thesconce light. All eyes went to the blood and the color drained from every face. “Your Highness, are you… all right? That is lifeblood, there.”
This was why she’d worn the dress—there was an undeniable truth to it. Renard’s face flashed in Amarande’s mind—pale and stunned, just before his body fell to the dais. Her first kill, demanding to be sharp, clear, unforgotten, and always present on the backs of her eyelids. She swallowed.
“It isn’t my blood.”
The guard seemed to take her at her word but exchanged glances with her subordinates. “My apologies, Your Highness. It is simply that we were informed just last night that you were presumed dead.”
“SECONDCaptain, I assure you I am not a dead woman walking,” the princess reiterated as the guardswoman, Pualo, escorted her to Councilor Satordi, who had apparently been the one to announce to the castle guard and staff her presumed death.
Though the lead councilor would be tasked to make such an announcement given the current state of the Itspi, the fact that he would do so made no sense. Who would have told the Royal Council such a thing? Certainly not Renard—he’d needed her alive and would’ve been more likely to send word of their marriage before it actually happened than of her untrue death. And as for those remaining in Pyrenee, there would be so much more they could gain from using her as a pawn than from pretending she no longer drew breath. And where was Koldo on this? Surely the general would not agree as Ardenia’s regent to such an outrageous announcement. Would she?
They passed not a soul as they marched past the red hall, into the north tower. But instead of continuing up the stairs to the council room, the guardswoman led Amarande straight through to the residential wing, which housed her father’s advisors. All members of the council—Satordi, Garbine, Joseba—as well as Sendoa’s other top confidants, General Koldo, Captain Xixi, and the highest-level castle guards, like Captain Serville.
At the very last door, Pualo knocked three times rapid-fire. Footsteps rang against the floorboards on the other side—juniper parquet, rather than the marble in the public spaces and royal wings. Thewooden panel covering the peephole slid back, and dark eyes Amarande recognized as Satordi’s flashed from within.
