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Younger than her, physically weaker than her, and still he was more important than her. So she bowed her head and murmured the words. She vowed to protect the Transylvanian frontier—no one objected that she had come directly from terrorizing it—and to keep the borders safe from the Ottoman threat. Finally, she swore her fealty to him and the crown of Hungary.
The crown that was nowhere to be seen. Certainly not on Ladislas’s trembling head.
When Lada had finished, she stayed where she was, utterly humiliated. She could not get up, and she could not ask for help. A hand at her elbow rescued her. Stefan smiled wanly at her as he steadily guided her back to her feet. Hoping her expression hid her relief, she nodded at him as gracefully as she could manage. They walked back to their position at the rear of the room.
After the official business ended, everyone remained. Apparently there was always an informal reception afterward. Lada leaned against a wall for support. Every part of her hurt from being held in an unfamiliar position by her dress. No one spoke to her. She knew she should try to strike up conversations, try to gain allies, but she could not smile. She was gritting her teeth too hard to manage it. She was as likely to kill anyone who talked to her as she was to make a friend.
No. She was far more likely to kill someone than to make a friend.
Only when she could not place her source of vague disappointment did she come to a horrible realization. She had thought if she looked like a noblewoman, men would talk to her. Of course she would have rejected their flirtations, but she had been preparing herself to do that.
She had not prepared herself to remain utterly invisible while wearing a dress and with her hair combed. Or maybe she was so unbelievable in a dress, or had humiliated herself so completely by kneeling, that no one would ever believe she belonged among nobility.
Lada was taken back to Mehmed’s wedding. Standing alone, always alone, without a place and without worth. She drew a ragged breath. This was not the same. She was not that person. She had more than just Mehmed and Radu now.
But she did not have them anymore. Tonight, she felt the full weight of that loss. The loss of a brother who would have stood at her side and fought this battle of manners and politics for her. The loss of a man who would have laughed at her dress and her hair but also been desperate to be alone so he could undo it all for her.
Perhaps she had never stopped being that girl lost in a place where she could never have power.
It took Lada several minutes to realize Stefan had returned from his rounds. “What did you find?” she asked, relieved and grateful for a familiar face. Even one as anonymous and blank as Stefan’s.
“The crown,” he said, nodding toward where Ladislas spoke with several priests and a tall, confident-looking older man. The rest of the royalty revolved around two men and a regal woman. The woman was glorious, Lada had to admit. She truly wore her elaborate clothes as armor, not something to wilt under like Lada did. The way she commanded the attention of everyone around her, shooting frequent sharp glances at the king, reminded Lada of Huma, Mehmed’s mother. Huma had been so sick when Lada left, surely she was dead by now. The thought of Huma’s death made Lada oddly mournful. The woman had been a threat, and a murderer, too. But she had been so good at everything she did.
The woman in layered, gold-embroidered finery briefly met Lada’s eyes. Lada felt herself weighed and summarily dismissed. It stung.
“Where is the crown?” Lada asked, glad Stefan was here to distract her.
“After Varna, the Polish king took it for safekeeping. But no one can truly be king of Hungary without the crown. Elizabeth is trying everything she can to secure it.”
“Elizabeth?”
Stefan nodded toward the glittering woman. Suddenly it all made sense. “She is his mother?” Lada asked
“She is the true ruler of Hungary. But she does not have the money to buy the crown back. And until Ladislas has it, his rule is illegitimate. The man next to him is Ulrich, his regent. Between him and Elizabeth, this country is run.”
“I suspect Ladislas’s rule will be as short in stature as he is.”
“No one speaks outright of killing him. They do not speak of him at all. He does not matter. Elizabeth is the throne.”
“And Ulrich?”
“The most likely successor. The connection to the royal line is distant, but there. He is modest, just, and well liked.”
“How do you know?”
“I spoke with his servants. It is the best way to get a sense of a man. And the other—”
They were interrupted by silence, which was followed by a wave of noise. Lada followed the crowd’s eyes to a doorway in which Hunyadi stood. The day before, he had ridden out to the Transylvanian border, to respond to a problem there. Judging by the riding cloak he wore on his shoulders and the weariness on his face, he had only now returned. A chorus of cheers filled the room as he smiled and lifted one hand. People surged forward to speak with him. Elizabeth watched with narrowed eyes. Then the crowd parted for her, and she greeted Hunyadi with a lingering embrace.
“He could have it all,” Lada said.
Stefan shook his head. “He will not take it. But he controls the soldiers, which means he has more power than anyone else in this castle.”
It was similar in Wallachia. The prince was allowed no troops of his own, permitted no fortresses or defense. He was entirely dependent on the boyars, each of whom kept his own soldiers at the ready. It did not make for powerful leaders.
King Ladislas waved to Hunyadi. Hunyadi did not see it. Lada pitied the king then, but more than that, she hated him for being weak. This was his country, and he let another man have all the power. He deserved to lose everything. Lada did not understand why Elizabeth depended on a feeble son rather than taking the throne herself.
Huma had played the same game, and in the end it had seen her banished. Power through sons was no more secure than power through husbands.
