Page 80 of The Masked Princess

“Yes, a notion Gryna was swift to disabuse me of. How did you know?” The sensation of his skin on hers was the most comforting thing in the world. His calluses rasped across the back of her hand, and Annalise allowed herself to fully relax.

“I feel the same way. Every day, I wake up wondering if it was all a dream, and every time I look at you, I give thanks to the Goddess all over again.”

A contingent of guards led by former-Lieutenant-now-Captain Rorarck marched down the aisle, saluted Annalise, and then turned as one.

“High General, why the theatrics?” Annalise asked.

Rengard Kierson, High General of the Dovean army and Annalise’s father-in-law, stepped forward from his station on the other side of Gryna, coming abreast with the throne. “Lord Adrilla has requested your first audience as queen, as is his right, considering he’s not had his titles removed yet.”

“Ah. I see.”

“My queen, you can always delay this for another time when it’s not in front of the entire court; you don’t have to face him today,” Soren said.

Annalise watched the old gentleman walk down the center aisle flanked by guards. He had lost weight since she had last seen him. Several feet behind him, his daughter Evelina followed, although only one guard stood at her side.

Lord Adrilla, the man who’d killed King Everet, stood before her.

It had been three months since King Everet’s death, two months since Annalise’s return to Dovea, and the sight of Lord Adrilla reminded her of her entire Rhinnean ordeal.

Queen Codela had offered the Doveans the use of the castle for as long as they needed, but with Soren’s wounds fully healed and Annalise ready to return to Dovea, they left as soon as they could. She and Codela parted on good terms, with promises of an exchange of ambassadors and possibilities of mutual defense treaties left hanging in the air.

They’d returned to Dovea by boat from a fishing village on the northeastern edge of the Rhinnean kingdom and, after a month’s journey, were welcomed back with open arms. She’d sent a messenger pigeon ahead, apprising High General Kierson of the turn of events with King Nelan, and as she’d hoped, he kept her throne safe from all machinations during her journey around the continent to the warm-water port of Vintreal, the neighboring kingdom to their south. The high general waited for their return in the southern Dovean city of Frasous, and swore loyalty to Annalise as soon as her feet touched Dovean soil.

The past two months had been a whirlwind of diplomacy, statecraft, and events, but she’d persevered.

“Queen Annalise, do you wish to hear him?” High General Kierson asked.

Annalise shook herself from her thoughts and nodded. “Yes, bring him forward.”

One of Annalise’s first unofficial acts upon returning to the castle was to ensure that Lord Adrilla and his daughter were moved from the damp and moldy dungeon to a well-guarded suite of plain but clean rooms.

Her hand found Soren’s, and the squeeze of his fingers helped her calm her breathing. She exchanged glances with her husband and took immeasurable comfort in his steadfast love and loyalty.

Lord Adrilla took several steps forward, then fell to his knees in front of Annalise, head bowed. “Please, Your Majesties, King Soren and Queen Annalise, hear my plea.”

“It’s Queen Annalise and King Consort Soren, actually,” Soren said, interrupting the lord before he could continue.

Annalise fought to hold back a smile as Lord Adrilla looked up, flummoxed. “Excuse me?”

“She is your monarch; I am the king consort, which means I’m approximately three steps above the role of royal lapdog. The only real power I hold is through however I can sway Queen Annalise’s decision-making, which really isn’t much considering how stubborn she can be sometimes.”

Three steps above royal lapdog and one step below royal rhys, Gryna said with a mental whinny.

Try as she might, Annalise couldn’t stop the smallest snort from escaping, her mouth turning up at the corners. She’d spent far too long hiding her face behind a mask, and her control over her facial expressions was still lacking.

Soren had a point—he was king consort, although it was his own decision. Annalise had offered to marry him as soon as they’d stepped foot on Dovean soil, but he’d not wanted to complicate things for the new Dovean queen and had insisted they wait until her hold on the throne was secure. They still told his father and a few of their closest friends, and the day after Annalise was crowned, during one of their sunset walks, Soren had officially asked for her hand.

They were married a week later. It would have been sooner, but she’d offered him the title of king, and he’d insisted on prince consort. The lighthearted negotiations had delayed the wedding several days, and they’d finally settled on the agreement that he would accept the title of king consort, as long as she allowed him to loudly and stridently correct anyone who called him by the wrong title. Every day, Annalise felt like she fell a little more in love with him than she already was, and he’d hardly left her side or stopped touching her since their wedding.

She tapped the back of his hand as if in reproach.

Soren smiled down at the very confused lord still kneeling in front of them. “Don’t worry, Lord Adrilla, I take no offense and simply meant to educate.”

“Lord Adrilla, please present your case,” Annalise said.

With a gulp, the man rocked to his feet and stood with his hands folded in front of him.

“I won’t try to lie to you and sugarcoat what I did, Your Majesty, but I beg you to have mercy on my daughter. King Everet saw that she was beautiful, young, naïve, and unknowing of the ways of his court and sought to take advantage of her. I heard her screaming for help and rushed in, dealing a mortal blow to the king before I recognized who he was.”