Luca snagged her hand, forcing her to pause. “Ama, it’s not safe—”
“It’s perfectly safe.” Amarande squeezed his hand lovingly before prying her own free. “We both know Renard can barely hold a sword let alone use it, and if he so much as touches a hair on my head, the entire Ardenian army will storm his tent.”
“But—”
“Luca, despite my earlier frustrations, I agree with you. I can’t kill Renard here and now. I promise I won’t draw my blade unless he does. Any act of aggression from me, actual or perceived, would worsen things for me, you, and our people.”
The queen gave them both her most winning smile as she backed toward the exit. “I do have a modicum of restraint, you know. And I know when to use it.”
CHAPTER 29
PYRENEE’Scontingent was ensconced on the northern edge of the conclave camp. It was a much smaller group than Amarande anticipated, but then again, she’d already been reprimanded for the massive presence of Ardenia—thanks to Koldo’s surprise army regiment—at the conclave.
The summer sun was ducking behind the western mountains by the time she arrived, the cook fires at full steam, and the scents of herbed game and new potatoes swimming in its juices, along with fresh bread, and the sting of uncasked Madiran, mingling in the night.
Amarande’s stomach rumbled as she approached the royal pavilion—two aubergine-clad guards standing attentively outside. Surprisingly, the entrance was drawn open—something unexpected—and Amarande didn’t have to utter a word to the guards about seeing the king because he saw her first.
“Leave your blade at the door, Your Highness.” Renard’s voice was more playful than it had any right to be—his confidence as ridiculous as ever after a very successful conclave of denying every single thing she requested.
Coolly, she replied, “I don’t plan to use it.”
“Yes, but we both know your penchant for impulse.” She could almost hear the eyebrow-raise in Renard’s flat voice. “Yourplanis irrelevant.”
“Fine.” Amarande removed the dagger from her boot—the knife that’d killed Renard the first time. She thrust it at the nearest guard. “If anything should happen to my knife, I won’t hesitate to use your own in doling out punishment.”
To her surprise, Renard laughed. “She means it, Pierre.”
The guard nodded at his king and Amarande swept past him and into the interior of the royal tent—the flaps falling closed behind her. The space was much like that of the king’s chambers she had seen at the Bellringe before their wedding. All oiled wood, leather, and fursthat had the must and marks of age. King Louis-David hadn’t been prone to war or travel, and Amarande mused that the contents of this tent might be a century old or more.
Renard reclined in a massive bejeweled-and-gilded wooden chair that was completely inappropriate for the setting, and too heavy to boot—Amarande pitied the horse that had the distinct pleasure of hauling it a hundred miles to be this idiot’s window dressing in a scene such as this. With a sweep of his hand, Renard gestured to a far less fancy yet still gaudy guest chair across a ridiculously ornate table. Amarande remained standing—she didn’t plan to stay a moment longer than necessary.
A tick of displeasure flickered in his jaw before Renard crossed one leg over the other and attempted to play coy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Your Highness?”
He knew exactly why she was here, and only intended to annoy her. Amarande wound her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “How?”
“You’ll have to be more specific, Your Highness.”
The queen approached with a furious gait, hoping the voluminous skirts of her formal gown masked the anger her body would not cloak on its own, until she was gripping the back of the empty chair with white-knuckled hands.
Perhaps it was best that she’d left her blade outside—Amarande knew sheshouldn’tkill him, but shewanted to. She wanted to end him and everything he stood for. The smirking patriarchy, the archaic laws, the type of environment where a woman raised to lead could be bested by men of all stripes—a bastard, a dead man.
She ached to snuff it all out. Instead, she stuffed that want down as forcefully as she could.
“How are you here? Breathing? Talking?Playing stupidjust to watch my temper flare?”
Renard simply smiled. It was a harsher thing than it had been previously. That smooth expression of a boy who knew he was a storybook rendering come to life was gone, or at least not entirely whole. As fractured as the glacier blue of his gaze. Shadows lingered in every hollow of his face, even in the flattering light of the candles upon every surface, and there was a sharpness to his features that hadn’t been there before.Whether the change was out of injury or anger or both Amarande did not know.
“I’m here because I was meant to be Pyrenee’s king. It’s as simple as that.”
“No, you cannot boil all that has happened since our wedding down to that.”
“Why not? My mother and brother were pretenders to the Pyrenee throne. Is it any wonder they are in the stars as we speak?Iam the rightful king, andIam still here. Nothing they did and nothing you could do can change that.”
“I refuse to believe it.”
“You refuse to believe many things that are good for you, Amarande.”
Slowly, Renard rose to his full height. He wasn’t as tall as Luca or Ferdinand, but he still looked down upon Amarande in a way that was meant to make her feel small. Insignificant. Less.
