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He took a deep breath. “Friedrich was her life. She did not have a lover, and neither did he. Friend and enemy alike knew that they adored each other. They did nothing apart. Every evidence I found indicates they were still as deeply in love as in the beginning.”
“But duty?” Rathbone urged. “Was there a plot to invite him back to Felzburg to lead the fight for independence, or not?”
“Almost certainly—”
“Then …”
“Then nothing!” Monk said tartly. “He didn’t bow to duty twelve years ago, and nothing whatever suggests there has been the slightest change.”
Rathbone clenched his fist on the desk, his knuckles shining. “Twelve years ago his country was not facing forced unification with the rest of the German states. Surely he had that much honor in him—that much patriotism and sense of who he was. Damn it, Monk, he was born to be king!”
Monk heard the rising desperation in Rathbone’s voice. He could see it in his eyes, in the spots of color in his cheeks. He had nothing whatever with which to help. Everything he knew made it worse.
“He was a man who gave up everything for the woman he loved,” he said clearly and levelly. “And there is nothing … absolutely nothing … to indicate that he ever, for a moment, regretted that decision. If his people wanted him back, then they would have to take his wife with him. The decision was theirs, and apparently he had always believed they would make it in her favor.”
Rathbone stared at him.
The silence in the room was so heavy the clock seemed to bang out the seconds. The muffled clatter of the traffic beyond the windows came from another world.
“What?” Rathbone said at last. “What is it, Monk? What is it that you are not telling me?”
“That there seems to me every possibility that Friedrich was not the intended victim, but Gisela herself,” he replied. He was about to go on, explaining why, but he saw the understanding of it already there in Rathbone’s face.
“Who?” Rathbone said huskily.
“Perhaps Zorah herself. She is an ardent independent.”
Rathbone paled.
“Or anyone else who was of the independent party,” Monk went on. “The worst possibility—”
“Worst!” Rathbone’s voice was high and sharp with sarcasm. “Worse than my own client?”
“Yes.” Monk could not withhold the truth.
Rathbone glared at him with disbelief.
Monk struck the blow. “Count Lansdorff. The Queen’s brother, acting on her behalf.”
Rathbone tried to speak, but his voice failed him. His face was paper white.
“I’m sorry,” Monk said inadequately. “But that is the truth. You can’t fight without knowing it. Opposing Counsel will find it out, if he’s any good at all. She’ll tell him, if nothing else.”
Rathbone continued to stare at him.
“Of course she will!” Monk banged the desk impatiently. “Queen Ulrike drove her out in the first place. If Ulrike had been for her, instead of against her, twelve years ago, Gisela might be crown princess now. She knows that. There can’t be any love lost on either side. But this time Gisela held the winning hand. If they wanted Friedrich back, it would be on his terms … which would include his wife.”
“Would it?” Rathbone was clinging to straws. “You think he would insist, even in these circumstances?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Monk demanded. “Apart from his love for her, which nobody anywhere questions, what would the world think o
f him if he abandoned her now? It is an ugly picture of a man setting aside a wife of twelve years, when anyone with brains can see that he doesn’t have to. He can’t plead duty when he has the power… ”
“Unless Gisela is dead,” Rathbone finished for him. “Yes, all right … I see the logic of it. It is unarguable. The Queen had every reason to want Gisela dead, and none at all to want to kill Friedrich. Oh, God! And the Lord Chancellor told me to handle the defense with suitable discretion.” He started to laugh, but there was a bitterness in it which was close to hysteria.
“Stop it!” Monk snapped, panic rising inside him too. He was failing again. Rathbone was not only without a defense, he was losing his self-control as well. “It is not your duty to protect the Felzburg royal family. You must defend Zorah Rostova the best way you can … now that you’ve said you will.” His tone conveyed his opinion of that decision. “I assume you have done everything you can to persuade her to withdraw?”
Rathbone glared at him. “Quite. And failed.”
