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Chapter Thirty-Six

Vanni

Castle d’Almerita, Kingdom of Meria

“Goddammit, Thomas. We leave for Highburn in the morn.”

Thomas winks at the woman on his arm, who giggles.

“Look around, my lord. The evening is young. Tomorrow is a wicked master, but it can easily be kept at bay for now.”

I do look, the hall as glittering as ever, revelers abounding, despite the ominous promise of tomorrow. Lord Hinton’s support has only increased since we’ve returned, which makes this meeting with him necessary, however it rankles Galfrid. If the next day is a wicked master, it bows to the sun, which will usher it in sooner than Thomas thinks.

“Pay him no mind,” he tells the woman, whom I don’t recognize. “Lord d’Abella has forgotten how to enjoy himself.”

I cannot wholly disagree.

“I will enjoy myself once the matter of King Galfrid’s heir has been settled.”

By now all at court know the king’s nephew is in open rebellion, demanding to be named Galfrid’s heir. In response, the king has finally announced his intention to name Lord Calderone as his successor. A distant relative, he is a powerful border lord, though he very rarely attends court. The man is also reluctant to accept, which makes him less than ideal, especially since many blame his inaction as a reason for such violence in the Eastern Marches.

Imperfect, aye.

But a better man than Hinton by far. Unfortunately, too many side with the king’s nephew even as they agree he is dangerous. The Prima has put the full weight of the church behind him, and that still means something.

Nor could I have predicted how difficult it would be to return to a life I thought I loved.

“Will you enjoy yourself even then?” Thomas says in parting, a flippant question with a serious edge. Only he knows the full extent of what happened weeks ago with Aedre. And only then because my judgment fled when I drank more than I should have that eve.

Conversation flows around me.I watch the king and his wife, their conversation stilted. Theirs was an arranged marriage, and even after all these years, it shows. With Prince Matteo dead, there is even less binding them.

It stung to inform the king of our failure, but Galfrid admitted he’d expected no different outcome. His words relieved some of my disappointment in myself. But only some. I will never stop blaming myself for my failure with Aedre.

Since returning, I’ve kept occupied preparing for negotiations with Lord Hinton, attempting to convince Galfrid to treat with Queen Cettina, and training the men for a battle that looks increasingly inevitable.

When my companions attempt to lure me into conversation, I politely turn the conversation back to them. Until one of them, a landed knight with no title whose name escapes me, points toward the entrance of the hall.

I see it at the same time he does, a flash of bright royal blue, as vibrant as the tapestries hanging from every corner of the hall. A latecomer. Indeed, the meal has nearly ended, King Galfrid having just given permission for those present to leave even as he and his queen enjoy the sweetmeats that are, as the king puts it, “his ever-endearing pleasure.”

“Who is she?”

From my vantage point, I see nothing but the hem of a blue gown. But whoever has entered the hall must be a stranger to court. Whispers grow louder and then . . .

Nay. It could not be possible.

A rush of excitement, and heat, courses through me as Aedre scans the hall. When I notice Thomas is no longer with his widow but standing by Aedre’s side, I realize he must have intercepted her on his way out.

Aedre. Here at court.

Is it possible?

Aye, very possible, given the evidence is there before me. I stand, my legs weak.

She sees me, her eyes locking on mine.

I stride through the hall, reaching her quickly—needing to reassure myself it is indeed her.

“Good evening, Lord d’Abella.”