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“Please, Your Grace,” Godwin cut in from Elma’s left, his tone calm but forceful. “The northerner is overly cautious but means nothing by it.”
“Am I not to touch my own kin?” Lady Devereaux demanded.
“No,” came Rune’s low voice from the shadows.
Elma bit her lip to stop a bark of shocked laughter from bursting forth. The bastard — she had never been so out of her element. And yet, twice in a week, she’d almost laughed.Perhaps shewasgoing mad. She turned around in her chair to glare at Rune. He stared back, one eyebrow cocked.
“Allow my cousin to touch my arm if she so wishes,” she said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Rune intoned.
Elma turned back to her guests, many of whom had stopped their own conversations to watch hers with great interest. Her cheeks burned.
“I, too, wonder what benefits one might possibly see in welcoming an enemy so readily into the bosom of the citadel?” said another of Elma’s somewhat distant cousins, Lord Churnley. He sipped thoughtfully from a goblet. He had always played the picture of rationality, a man who looked as bland as his opinions and wasn’t afraid to voice them.
Elma glanced at Godwin, who had clearly been about to speak on her behalf. She shook her head slightly to stop him. She had put herself in this situation and she would address it herself. If she allowed her family to walk all over her, it wouldn’t stop there — her weakness would be laid bare for all the court to see. She needed them to see that her safety was paramount, that her decision was good — not because it was logical, but because she, the queen, had made it.
“Good evening, Lord Churnley,” Elma said, raising her goblet.
He raised his in turn, lowering his chin in deference.
“I hear your concerns,” she went on, returning her goblet to the table, untouched. “And because I’m feeling generous, I’ll address them. Once. You ask the purpose of my bodyguard’s presence. The purpose is to protect me, cousin. Or have you guzzled too much wine tonight?”
Laughter rumbled through those seated at the great table.
Elma remained stern. “I believe you’re aware that assassinsgenerally work for payment. I saw this one in the arena and was taken by his technique. And because I value things that kill with great efficiency, I wanted him for my own.” She smiled coldly. “So that if anyone asked me such pointless questions as yours, they might be easily dealt with.”
Godwin radiated approval, though his mouth remained tightly shut. Even Lady Devereaux seemed to curl in on herself, retreating like a burrowing spider into its hole. The Volta heir had spoken in a language they all understood.
“If I hear rumblings again of my choice in bodyguard,” said Elma, catching each of her guests’ eyes one by one, “I will personally see to it that you’re silenced.”
Rune stepped forward into the light and leaned arrogantly over her chair, practically draping himself across it, smiling viciously. “She means I’ll cut out your tongue.”
The room was dead quiet. Elma thought she heard someone swallowing uneasily.
Then Godwin lifted his own goblet, claret wine sloshing from its sides and spattering the table with red. “To the Queen of Rothen!”
As one, the rest of the guests raised their glasses.
“To the Queen!”
“May she rot,” Rune murmured, his breath hot in her ear, before drifting back into shadow.
A weekbefore her father’s funeral, Elma sat in her parlor, legs curled under her in a chair facing the fire. Its flames guttered in an unseen draft. In a shower of embers, another log landed on the blaze.
Starting, Elma tore her gaze awayfrom the flames. “Cora, I didn’t see you there,” she said, embarrassed by the hammering in her chest.
Her maid curtseyed. “Forgive me, Majesty. Your thoughts must have been far away.”
“Elma,” said the queen. “It’s Elma when we’re alone.”
“Elma, then,” repeated Cora, smiling.
But there was hesitancy in her maid’s expression, uncertainty. And something else that Elma couldn’t quite read. She supposed that anyone in Cora’s position would be afraid. Afraid of being caught up in an attempt on Elma’s life, of ending up as a casualty in a murder not meant for them.
“Your safety is assured,” Elma said, adopting a tone she thought was queenly and reassuring. “So long as you’re with me. My bodyguard will see to it.”
Finished stoking the fire, Cora wiped her hands on a cloth before tucking it into her pockets. “That is magnanimous.”
