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“You willed it, then?” she asks again.

I’d assumed she was angry Erik had married. Could it have been concern rather than anger?

“I did,” I say, my hands still folded together. “I knew him when we were young, before our fathers stopped speaking. Our joining was my decision. My father told Erik we could not wed without my permission.”

She appears more than a little surprised.

“Your father is indulgent.”

“Aye. After my younger sister died, he became even more so.”

A shadow crosses her face, and then I remember she lost, and regained, a sister too. If only I could bring Fara back.

The queen shocks me again when she steps forward and reaches for my hands.

“I am glad for it, then. I’d have preferred not to have your father’s support if it came at the cost of a forced marriage. But if you’ve chosen Erik as your husband,” she says, still smiling, “then I shall not have him tossed in the dungeon after all.”

She has not yet released my hands, and it is an odd feeling indeed, to find the woman who’s caused me so much distress to be so kind and accommodating.

“Welcome to court,” she says. “May I call you Reyne?”

As if I would deny a queen.

“Aye.”

“In private you have leave to call me Cettina, as Erik does. I trust none as much as him, and I would very much like to have another confidant here at court.”

“Surely you must have many,” I blurt out. “The Curia, your ladies, your . . .” I stop just before saying sister.

The queen releases my hands and walks toward a cushioned trunk, gesturing for me to sit on another opposite it.

“My sister,” she guesses, quite correctly, “travels with her husband.”

I wince inwardly, knowing Erik’s news will complicate what is, for her, already a fraught relationship with her sister’s husband. He will need to be punished, just like the rest of the traitors.

“Erik is the only member of the Curia not chosen by my father. Some are loyal to me, others—” she shrugs, “—in time will be replaced.”

I gasp aloud before stopping myself. Such a thing is not done. The chancellor, commanders, and justiciary of the Curia are lifelong positions unless they choose otherwise. Even more surprising is that she would openly tell me such a thing. On our very first meeting.

“As for my ladies?” The twinkle in the queen’s eyes can only be described as mischievous. “There is but one who wants nothing of me other than my love. She is a dear friend, and one I will introduce you to straightaway. The others . . .” She rolls her eyes. “All placed by my side for a specific purpose. Some by my father’s friends, and others by me. But not because I fully trust their or their families’ intentions.”

I don’t know what to say.

She is surrounded by people she does not love or trust. What must that be like?

“I met your father once,” she says. “I remember him clearly.”

No longer peeved at him, I think of my father fondly, missing him even now. I smile, imagining him at court. He would hate it. “That must have been many years ago?”

She nods. “Aye, I was but a child. I remember asking my maid why his hair was so red. I’d never seen such a shade of hair before.”

Laughing, I inadvertently reach up to my own hair. “We had that in common, before his turned grey,” I say.

“I did not speak to him, but he smiled at me as he walked by. And as I’d done many times, with many men, I secretly wished to have him as a father. You see, mine did not smile. Not at me, at least.”

From what I’ve heard of King Malcom, that does not surprise me.

“He is a good father,” I say. “Kind and loving, in his own way. But he is not perfect.”