The door of his cell rattled. He drew in as deep a breath as he could manage, gathering his courage to face more torture.Stay strong. His only choice was to stay strong or put his entire kingdom at jeopardy.
A slim old man, who looked too frail to hurt anyone, stepped into the cell. Not the usual brawny guards sent to whip and beat the words out of him. Lorne eyed the man. What torture did the Kelvernese have planned now?
The man drew out a waterskin, uncorked it, and poured a stream of liquid into a pewter cup. He knelt by Lorne. “You must be thirsty.”
Lorne turned his face away. “I won’t drink your poison.”
The man’s huff sounded like a laugh. He sipped from the cup. “It’s just water. Not poison.”
Lorne clenched his fists. What game was this? A ploy of kindness to weaken his defenses? His throat ached with thirst that urged him to take the offered water.
It shouldn’t hurt to accept the water. He could play along, for now. He turned his face toward the man and allowed him to hold the cup to his mouth. He drained the cup in a few swallows, the water cooling the heat of his thirst.
The man rocked back on his spindly legs and studied him. “You want peace between Lalsacia and Kelverny?”
Lorne wasn’t sure if he dared answer. But it wasn’t a secret. He’d been on that mission riding into the Kelverny lines under a flag of truce. “Yes.”
The man speared him with another look. “What would you be willing to do to achieve peace?”
Lorne raised his eyebrows. “So that’s your game. Wheedle information out of me in the name of peace.”
The man glanced toward the door then leaned closer. “Believe me. I have no love for this war. So I ask you. What would you be willing to do for peace?”
Lorne clamped his mouth shut, but he doubted it did any good. The man could read his answer in his eyes. He’d do just about anything to end this war.
The old man gave a nod before he poured morewater from the waterskin into the tin cup. He pressed it to Lorne’s mouth again.
He was weak. So very weak. This time, he gulped the water down without hesitation.
Adeline dismissedher maid and brushed her own hair. The dark brown waves cascaded around her shoulders and down to her waist. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the way her mother used to brush her hair when she was a child. Her mother’s hair had been the same color, a memory of her that Adeline carried with her always.
Setting down her brush, she wrapped her arms around her waist, holding a knitted shawl over her shoulders, and walked from the dressing room, across her bedroom, and to her balcony, the doors standing open to let in the early summer night air.
A breeze whipped down from the distant mountains, cooling her skin. Somewhere, far away, the two armies were camped in that pass, resting from a day of battle and yet preparing to go back to fighting again the next day.
A commotion rose from the main gate, accompanied by the clack of horse hooves. The creak of the gates rang into the night a minute before a soldier cantered his horse into the courtyard, the mail of his armor gleaming beneath his coat of arms.
That was one of her grandfather’s knights, but itwas too early for her grandfather to have returned. And this knight appeared to be alone.
Stepping away from the balcony’s railing, she began to braid her hair. She hadn’t changed into her nightgown yet, thankfully, so she only had to braid her hair to be somewhat presentable in case she was summoned.
Her fingers busy with her hair, she nudged open the door from her bedchamber to the sitting room with her shoulder before shutting it behind her with her slippered foot.
Almost as soon as she’d tied off the end of her braid, Thaddeus burst into her sitting room with barely a knock of warning.
She jumped and dropped the end of her braid. Her stomach twisted at the grim lines written across his face. “What’s wrong?”
Thaddeus walked across the room and gripped her shoulders. “Lalsacia attacked while your grandfather was inspecting the army. He was badly wounded, and he isn’t expected to make it.”
The words sank in with the slow speed of dripping honey. She didn’t feel any grief, not really. She knew she should. He was family. But she couldn’t dredge up anything but the same regret that had plagued her relationship with her grandfather for years. “I should go to him.”
“He isn’t here yet. The wagon won’t get here until the morning.” Thaddeus hunched his shoulders.
A weight settled across her shoulders, even as sheslowly sat on her divan. She would be queen tomorrow. Kelverny would be hers to rule.
As that thought tingled though her, bile rose into her throat. “The law. We thought we’d have more time, but…” She swallowed. Kelverny had an ancient law of accession. Every king or queen had to be married to ascend to the throne. The law came from an old belief that marriage grounded a ruler in country and family.
With her grandfather healthy and seeming like he was going to rule for years, she’d thought she still had time to carefully weigh her marriage prospects. She’d been meeting the young men of the court, learning their alliances and politics, narrowing down those who would be an asset to the crown and those who would try to be the power behind it.
