Page 40 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

There were, in truth, many reasons a king or noble should want her hand in marriage, offering Brittany immediate protection from looming crowns.

Her kingdom had plenty of room for expanding agriculture, and would provide port access in exchange for quality agriculture, fishing, and coastal farming.

Perhaps her arcana lingua had affected her prospects.

Maybe other kingdoms also regarded her as a queen shrouded in dark myth and legend.

And if not? If a suitor eventually came along—was Garin truly willing to sacrifice what they’d grown to have? Did he not feel what she’d grown to feel?

Uneasy, her mind swam with questions. Was the Garin she remembered—who’d laid beside her, read to her—truly a figment of her dreams?

Was this uncharacteristic kindness, tenderness from him something that only existed in her imagination?

Even if it was, the vampire who had guided her through the worst of the woods last month, brought her to Adelaide’s cottage, was not. He was real.

She was queen, the topic of her pressure to marry should have occurred to either of them far earlier. But she was just as guilty, not wanting to believe it would come down to this. She’d assumed she had time. That they had time.

Yet, he’d demanded her to wed, and Lilac remained without any offers to consider. What came next? How much longer before that dreadful feeling of sickness and unease returned, all because she had not signed a marriage contract?

She stabbed her piece of turkey angrily, not bothering to cut it, bringing the slab of it to her mouth to tear off.

Lilac worked to steady her breathing as she swallowed the rest of her supper, gulping the rest of her wine and slamming the glass onto the table. Garin did not tell her he did not want her. He’d done far worse— demanded she marry someone else.

If fate was not so cruel, she would have ridden him during that first night at The Fenfoss Inn.

If only he’d left her alone, if only he hadn’t intended on using her as his pawn, she could have left and never seen him again.

He might’ve come to mind on nights when the bed got cold.

During winter months when the frost reminded her of his eyes and the hearth’s warmth, his touch. But she would’ve survived. Eventually.

At the very least, Garin could have pretended to not care for her.

Then, keeping her distance from the one person she wanted might not feel like it was maiming her, and this meal would not be the first real one she’d consumed in a week.

She wouldn’t have spent the last three days throwing herself at every administrative distraction, just to collapse in bed and chase sleep in a sweat-drenched stupor.

She wouldn’t have battled an exhausted mind that refused to rest, in her deepest delusions willing Garin to appear on her balcony, just so she could push him off.

It might’ve been easier if she would just admit to herself one heart-wrenching truth: Lilac was but a girl—one of many—yearning for someone with dark hair, sharp teeth, and a lethal smile who did not yearn for her in the same way she did him.

She hated the thorough fire with which Garin consumed her, yet could not bring herself to douse it.

“ Lilac .” Her mother stared at her. Henri was frozen over his plate. “Your guard is speaking to you.”

The queen blinked, and the guard who stood at the corner of the table came into focus.

“Your carriage is ready, Your Majesty.”

A prim smile of relief found its way onto her face, which she dabbed free of gravy. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

Marguerite wore a panicked grimace. “Dear.”

“Yes?”

“A carriage?”

“My carriage, Mother.” Her racing thoughts could wait. It had been Garin’s magic that had tormented her—would continue to. It could wait, everything and everyone could wait until she was with him again. “Yanna and Isabel were kind in preparing it for me at such short notice.”

Her mother let out a strangled laugh, eyeing the others dining in the room. “You haven’t told us of your plans for the evening. Why don’t you join us for dessert? We have a busy week ahead of us.”

“But if I am present, then what would you all talk about?”

Her father placed his hand on Marguerite’s knee under the table, but she shook it off.

Lilac’s chair scraped against the floor as the room watched her rise. She curtsied in place. “Mother. Father. Good evening.”

Marguerite stood. “But you have an important meeting tomorrow. ”

Lilac didn’t care. Her mother couldn’t say anything to deter her from her plan to leave. Whatever they were scheming could wait a day or two. She’d already stepped out from the table. Every head followed her as she stalked toward the courtyard door.

“There is a diplomat who wants to see you.”

At her mother’s words, Lilac froze halfway across the room. The guard bumped into her, and she waved away his apology.

“Tomorrow morning,” Henri clarified, washing his mouthful of food with a swig of ale then skewering more roasted potatoes upon his fork.

Glimpsing his daughter’s infuriated stare, he turned to Marguerite.

“However, there’s been many a meeting I’ve attended after an evening of dancing and imbibing.

The past several days have been difficult. She’s in need of reprieve.”

Marguerite shot him a look. “She is a queen , Henri. She cannot be seen tossing back tankards as she’s done here, throwing up in a pot, sneaking off with the nearest sentry doing God knows what just hours before hosting.”

That shut Henri up. Lilac reddened immediately as everyone else in the room diverted their gaze, the staff busying themselves and pretending not to hear.

“Lilac must not only be present, but coherent to greet him upon his arrival.” Her mother looked like she might collapse. “Imagine, he arrives and our feral queen is lost to the woods yet again.”

“No one wanted to inform me of this earlier?”

“After realizing you were in crisis, we were advised against it. Until you improved.” Her father swallowed the last of his potatoes. “As you might imagine, the past few days were not the most ideal for our attempts at communication.”

“I’ve been ill. Traveler’s illness.”

“Yes,” Marguerite said before Henri could stop her. “We had Kemble determine it was that , and not anything else concerning.”

Lilac’s chest constricted. “When?”

“She took your urine from the pot during one of your tantrums, before you ordered everyone out to rot in bed.”

“You tested me?” Her body began to quake with a silent fury. “Without my permission? ”

“Why?” Marguerite squinted. “There is no concern for pregnancy, is there?”

“ No ,” she answered truthfully, lifting her lip in disgust. “Not at all.”

“Good. Because the last thing you need is some bastard child before you’re even crowned.”

Henri’s face was swallowed by his tankard. “Fortunately, none of the barley or wheat sprouted,” he commented into it.

“Still, she hasn’t been herself. What could it be?

” Her mother began to count on her fingers, reciting the options and turning back to Lilac.

“Is it the season? The heavy bloom? The heat? The weather has been favorable, it is bound to be a joyous summer. Has the food not been to your liking? We can change anything on your menus.”

Ears ringing, Lilac shook her head. A diplomat.

Barley. This was why she was so upset with him.

Upset was not the word. She never put it past the likes of her parents to cross a line, yet it was the last thing she expected from Garin.

She needed to see him, to understand his reasoning.

To make him regret pushing her to marry.

To feel him again.

“Is it a boy?” Marguerite’s clipped tone cut through her reverie.

Lilac held her tongue and the wave of anger that followed.

“Forget him quickly,” her mother advised with a darkened glance at Henri.

“Some privacy, please,” Lilac commanded to the room, her face aflame, too stunned to say much else. Everyone but the guard behind instantly rose and obliged. “ Who is coming here? Tell me now.”

Hands shaking, Marguerite sat again and took a slow sip from the teacup Hedwig had placed before her shortly before being ordered out. “We’ve received communication from one of the counts in the Austrian court. The courier brought a letter by.”

A count? They’d received it while she was at the Fenfoss Inn, recovering. The room suddenly grew hot. “By courier? From Austria? Wouldn’t he send a pigeon?”

“We received it the third morning after you’d departed for the haberdashery, when you failed to return.

He’s already in country and has been staying at a local inn after arriving ahead of time.

” Marguerite gestured jabbed a hand toward her.

“Can you imagine the upset, the anxiety it caused us? It is a wonder you even chose to return.”

Of course, it was her absence for a foreign count that had concerned them. This was probably why they’d refrained from sending out a search party; drawing attention might affect this count’s perception of her family. Of her.

“Which inn?”

“He did not specify,” said Henri.

There had certainly been no Austrian count present at the Jaunty Hog. “What’s his name?”

“Albrecht Fritsch,” her mother said, reaching for her teacup again but knocking it over with her knuckle in her excitement. “He’s on the Habsburgs’ court.”

The Habsburgs. He was one of Maximilian’s men. An important figure. Highly favored.

“We can fetch John to retrieve the note, if you wish,” her mother offered.

“Did this not seem too important to keep from me? You told me at breakfast that I received no propositions.”

“You haven’t received any propositions. Not by letter.” Henri leaned forward and raised his eyebrows, willing her to listen. “No leader is willing to claim a public stake in a war against France unless your hand and dowry are secured in private.”