Page 67 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)
B ut first, food.
Lilac moved toward the table with the sweets. It appeared Myrddin had briefed Herlinde well on Lilac’s glamor; the witch stared warningly at her while the rest of the room tracked the pair who’d just entered. But the queen ignored the witch’s glare.
“Good evening, John. I’m sorry for waking you.
I’m glad you and Giles could join us,” Lilac said, tiptoeing her fingers along the fruit and pastries, and landing on a still warm piece of bread.
“There have been some changes I’d like to announce.
Please, help yourselves and have a seat.
” She offered a prim smile at Herlinde, Myrddin, and Piper as she took a plate of custard tarts, jam-slathered bread, and a plump apple to the chair at the head of the table.
They watched her dumbfoundedly. Myrddin nudged Herlinde.
“Your Majesty,” Herlinde offered hurriedly, covering her colorful nightgown with her robe when all eyes in the room shifted onto her. “Perhaps you would want to wait until after your announcement to eat?”
“I’m ravenous. Thank you, though.”
Herlinde silently stalked to the seat to Lilac’s left and sat.
Myrddin mumbled something about having had something to eat on the carriage ride there, then lowered himself next to Herlinde.
Piper still hovered over the spread at the other end of the table, cutting off a piece of roast fowl and slathering it in jam.
She piled a few pieces of rye onto her plate, then a dollop of butter, taking the serving knife with her.
Smiling contentedly, Piper strode over to sit at Lilac’s right, where the queen tapped her fingers upon the table.
John had shuffled awkwardly off to Lilac’s side and stood at her armrest.
“Would you like something to eat, John? A cup of tea?” Lilac motioned to the iron kettle on the tea cart off to the side, but the scribe shook his head.
Watching over her spread, Hedwig was losing the battle of hiding an enormous grin. Deciding for John, she rolled the tea cart between the tables and poured him a steaming cup anyway, placing it to Piper’s right.
At Lilac’s second motion toward the bench, John looked tempted. He leaned in, clutching his quill box and parchment to his chest. “What about privacy, Your Majesty? Your notes?”
Across the room, Artus and his men were muttering among themselves. Lilac ignored them. “There is no need for privacy tonight. Thank you.”
The scribe bowed and seated himself next to Piper, who’d already finished one piece of bread and was piling pieces of the roast and jam onto her second.
Lilac directed her first statement at the scribe, who was ready with his dipped nib over the parchment. “Saturday, on the 21st of May, I will be married.”
Artus steadied himself on the back of the chair while her parents exchanged glances.
“ This Saturday?” Marguerite said, kicking Henri under the table. “But that’s the day of your crowning.”
“It will precede my coronation. The wedding and coronation ceremony will be one in the same. My ball will follow in the early evening as previously scheduled.”
Henri coughed into his fist when Marguerite’s alarmed gaze darted to Artus.
Her mother laughed. “Married, to…” She trailed off, observing the former duke who had risen from his seat looking as if Christ himself had come to him.
“On second thought, we’ll need time to prepare.
It might be too late to amend the invitations, after all, and you never know who else might be interested in your lovely hand. ”
Lilac hummed. “Funny. Was it not you who suggested it before I departed for Paimpont last week?”
The muscle under Marguerite’s eye twitched.
“That was before you decided to extend your trip, dear. And I’d meant announcing a betrothal at that time might be useful.
” Marguerite, once assuming Lilac’s willingness to marry Sinclair, ironically balked at the concept now that she still thought it was Albrecht interested in proposing to her.
“And what of the decorations? The performers? Not to mention the feast. Hedwig will kill you.”
“On the contrary, I am happy to provide as requested,” Hedwig interjected. “Anything for Her Majesty.”
Lilac’s heart swelled. She wasn’t used to this kind of outward support. “There’s no need for decorations beyond what we’ll already have. This will be a smaller wedding; it will have to do for now.”
“For now?” said Marguerite.
“Yes, until a large celebration can be organized in the future.” Her mother drew in a sharp breath, finally picking up on her hint.
“For now, the coronation ball will serve as my reception. There will be the feast table we can always extend, and the musicians we’ve already arranged are highly talented, I’m sure.
You hand picked them, didn’t you, Mother? ”
Henri met her gaze from over Marguerite’s shoulder, but Lilac looked down, suddenly shaking, willing herself to ignore the abrupt tug at the base of her throat where she felt the slight pressure of Garin’s mouth. The burn of his teeth. Did this sensation signal his approval?
This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?
Even with her announcement and the ache in her chest behind it, the longing to go to him was there…
but it was distant this time. It didn’t feel any less significant, but there was no burning need to act upon it, no dreading the consequence if she didn’t.
Maybe it was because she knew Garin was safe and in good hands.
Maybe it was because he was still unconscious somewhere deep in the bowels of The Fenfoss Inn.
Maybe his magic, through the completed bond, had somehow eased up.
Maybe it would return tenfold.
They were connected, and in that horrid knowing, there was a strange relief. But this lack of symptom did not excuse anything that had happened, the way he’d exercised his power, tugging her around like some marionette of his affections .
Her parents had been expecting her to run away from her duty.
So did Garin, apparently. Enthralling her to leave and consider her propositions was bad enough; he’d had Myrddin tamper with her memory too, stripping her of yet another choice— another freedom—knowing that it was what she’d chased in the first place.
A cure for her Daemon tongue before she understood it, yes.
But she’d yearned for freedom, the ability to make her own decisions all the same, and thrusting herself into Brocéliande had given that to her. It was the very reason they’d met.
Lilac would guard her kingdom—mortal and Daemon—despite their thrall bond, and despite France. That was something no one would ever take from her.
She picked her apple off the plate.
“This weekend?” Artus was saying. “That’s only four days away. Sinclair will need to see a physician—several. What was his state when he was arrested? The last I heard, the doctors my son had hired were useless in—” He trailed off. No one was paying attention to him.
Every pair of eyes had drifted onto Lilac. Even her own guards were busy watching her.
Lilac was examining the apple, turning it this way and that in the fireglow. She ignored the narrow-eyed glare from Myrddin, Piper’s hesitant stare and the way Herlinde held her breath.
“Did you hear me? My grandson will need time to prepare.”
Lilac sank her teeth into the fruit, shrugging out of reach of Myrddin, who had lunged forward, nearly toppling Herlinde from her seat. There was a brief rush of warmth that puffed around her, a climbing and falling heat, just as there was when the Guài arrow had nicked her hand.
Let them see me as I am.
The apple was even sweeter as she chewed, some of the blood having rubbed off from her fingers.
Nearly everyone at the other table had risen to their feet at the sight of Lilac’s unglamored rose and cream kirtle, sweat, soot, and blood coating the material and her skin.
She was duly impressed by the illusion’s ability to cover the awful stench that now wafted up from her revealed form.
Henri backed away, stumbling over the bottom step behind him. Marguerite followed, almost tripping over her husband’s feet. “Halt,” he commanded several of the guards who had started backing away .
“ Lilac ,” said Marguerite, tears dragging through the powder on her cheeks. “Are you?—”
“Am I what?” She dared her mother to ask the question. “Am I what , Mother?”
But Marguerite only reached a trembling hand out to point. “You’re bleeding just a tad.”
At the back of the room, Artus’s men had retreated toward the double doors. Only the old man remained seated, his widened, surprised eyes quickly narrowing into consideration, as if seeing her covered in blood was all the confirmation he’d needed to believe the worst of her.
Like she gave a fuck.
“Secure both doors,” she ordered. Without question, her guards shifted to the entrances.
There was a whimper at her side, softening Lilac’s hardened gaze. It was Piper. Her eyes were fixated on Lilac’s throat. On the drying red upon her sleeve cap and down her front.
“I will be married on the day of my coronation,” Lilac repeated to the room, hoping this news would be enough to keep Piper distracted. “ Not to Sinclair. I will wed Maximilian I of the Holy Roman Empire. Here, in our church.”
“ Oh . Oh, that is wonderful news.” Marguerite placed a hand on her chest, looking more relieved than shocked. Then, she fainted.
Henri caught his wife before her head hit the steps. Several stifled gasps and murmurs rippled among the guards.
Artus’s face had turned purple, but he began to laugh. His men echoed him, chortling nervously.
Henri looked down at Marguerite, as if Lilac’s presumed mistake would be enough to wake her. “I think you mean Maximilian’s count . The letter and request to meet were from him. There is hope, but we cannot be so bold as to assume that this is why he wanted to meet.”