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The duke was staring at her with such intensity that the butterflies in Mari’s belly had decided to dance themselves to death in a frenzied whirling.
Every gaze in the room was on her. Her hair unbound, coiling down her back, heavy and unfamiliar. She was the center of attention, singled out, but not because she’d done anything wrong, or was being punished.
The trembling in her belly gradually quieted. The reluctance and embarrassment subsided.
Edgar’s eyes glowed with admiration and... something else. Something that called to her heart, and quickened her pulse, but not with fear.
With power and exhilaration.
He was Edgar. Not a duke, or a monster. Just Edgar.
And she was a queen. Worthy of the worship she saw in his eyes.
“In the year fifteen-hundred before Christ, Hatshepsut,mighty God King of the Pharaohs, ascended to the throne for a two-decade-long reign of prosperity and military campaigns,” said India, from her post beside the stage box. “There is only one slight problem with that version of history, my friends.”
She paused, allowing the silence to build with anticipation. Then she flung her hand at Mari and, in a loud, booming voice, proclaimed, “Hatshepsut was afemale.”
Excitement rippled through the room.
The man whom India had pointed out as the Duke of Ravenwood recrossed his long legs and folded his arms across his formidable chest.
He looked skeptical, to say the least.
India drew a dagger from the sheath attached to her leather belt and a lady, probably Lady Blanche, whom Mari had recognized earlier, gave a squeak of surprise.
“I pledge my fealty to Hatshepsut. The Mighty God-Queen and first female Pharaoh!” shouted India.
Adele and Michel waved their palm fronds so vigorously that Mari’s gauzy white gown lifted at the hem and floated upward.
“Humph,” snorted Ravenwood loudly.
India gave him a murderous glance. “In this tableau I present Hatshepsutat her coronation, wearing a replica of the traditional headpiece, and a fine example of anUsekhcollar necklace. Which I’m sure the ladies in the audience will appreciate for its intricate gold filigree work.”
The ladies craned their necks. Perhaps India would start a new fashion.
“When Hatshepsut was barred from ascending to the throne because of her gender, she refused to submit. She claimed that she had been married to the king of the gods and had as much right to sit on a throne as any other Pharaoh.”
Mari threw back her shoulders. No man was going to tell her she couldn’t be a goddess, if she wanted to be one.
She’d been so set on discovering the truth about her past, needing to know her origins, her history, who she was and how she fit into the world. But what if she already knew?
What if she was the woman standing on this stage. Confident, bold, hair unbound... slightly scandalous.
The other day, when they’d visited Edgar’s foundry, she’d been bold and brave, because she trusted him. He was a good man, with a beautiful dream for a better world. He loved his children, and he never would have dismissed her because she was helping them.
And helping him see how to talk to them, how to be a meaningful part of their lives, not just a provider.
She trusted him.
But maybe it was time to begin trusting herself.
Edgar was still staring, his eyes filled with reverence.
Why should she care if her shoulder was bared? She was naked before him. Her soul bared for him to see.
Not slightly scandalous. Fully. She wanted him. She wanted to know what pleasure was, everything she’d been denied her entire life.
Starved and punished.
