Page 68 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“It is no assumption. I heard it myself.” She paused as the room took in her lie.

“I stopped in a tavern tonight for some food and drink, and overheard the barmaids whispering of a recent guest who’d been loose-tongued regarding his business in the area once the ale started flowing.

He spoke Latin, was well-dressed, and said the emperor had sent him on his behalf to proposition the queen. ”

The murmurs died down. Everyone stared. Her father steadied himself upon the nearest step.

“This Albrecht arriving tomorrow is Maximilian’s emissary .”

The nervous laughter among Artus and his men cut off abruptly.

“That is—” Henri struggled to find the words, his face growing red despite his skeptical grimace. He groaned, wiping the sweat off his lip. “Is Maximilian traveling as we speak? The trip from Vienna takes weeks.”

“No. He offers me a proxy wedding and sent Albrecht to claim me. I overheard this when passing them in the halls,” she reassured her father. He looked like he might collapse. “There was no one else around.”

Artus’s fury melted into hopelessness as his men side eyed him, probably anticipating an outburst.

Defeated, her father exhaled and motioned to her. “Are you hurt, Lilac? Are you bleeding?”

“No. Most of it isn’t even my blood.”

Henri fell silent then. Piper’s gaze was fixed on the table, but Lilac could’ve sworn there was a glint of mistrust behind it.

She should’ve stopped there, but the shock on Artus’s face was too good to pass up.

“I will also be working on making amendments to your law regarding Daemons, Father. I’ll be releasing my own decree.

” She looked to John, who continued writing all this down.

“Perhaps we can discuss this over tea tomorrow?”

“Indeed,” said John, without looking up.

Henri shifted, allowing his wife’s head to rest more comfortably on his broad thigh.

He twisted this way and that, his hands brushing his belt.

Not finding his flask, he swore under his breath and finally spoke.

“Tomorrow morning, there will be many things happening at once. You’ll have your meeting with the emissary—after you’ve had a bath,” he added roughly.

“I am also awaiting another briefing regarding the bordering towns.”

“The meeting with Albrecht shouldn’t be long. Just a document to sign—I assume,” Lilac added. Her voice was thick with building grief, but she kept a tight, hopeful smile. “These amendments will be effective immediately.”

Wood scraped against stone. Artus was standing. As he started toward her table, one of her guards swiftly blocked him with his blade. “My son will never agree to any of that. He’ll demand an audience! ”

“He had one last week,” Lilac said.

The former duke’s face fell. As she’d hoped, word of Armand’s demise hadn’t reached him. He straightened, retaining his composure through sheer force of will. “What was the audience for? Sinclair’s appeal?”

“Sinclair is not granted an appeal at this time, Artus,” Henri said. “Your grandson is guilty of assault on my daughter on multiple occasions.”

Artus gave a skeptical laugh, but Lilac turned to him, stone-faced.

“Armand came last Sunday during my Court of Common Appeals. He claimed he found Vivien murdered in their kitchen and Sinclair holding a wood ax. He then proceeded to blame me for her death before spilling his own guts all over this very floor. That, if you were wondering, is the reason Sinclair was moved from his home to my dungeons. Once this is all over I intend to appoint my own council, with whom I will convene to decide his fate.”

Artus slumped, his knees hitting the ground. “Armand is dead?”

“Yes,” she said, as Henri passed a slow hand over his face.

“We’ll aid in funeral proceedings,” Henri offered, “if you seek a Christian burial, but it will have to be held at the Paimpont abbey, given your family’s standing.”

“And what about a magistrate?” Artus asked. “For a property exchange?”

“You don’t have access to the Le Tallec estate, with or without Armand,” Lilac said, eager to end their impromptu meeting as quickly as Artus was to swing the subject of his son’s demise.

“Neither does Sinclair, given his criminal status. You may not be aware, but your family’s standing with mine is now very public, so don’t get any ideas.

There will be no transfer of noble property or funding to you. ”

Artus said nothing.

“John will be sending a notice regarding their burials,” continued Lilac. “Where should he send it?”

“You know where.”

“How would I know?” She waited for his answer, daring him to reveal he’d had his men put their filthy fingers on her. “All I know is that you’ve been banished from both my castle and the Le Tallec estate. Where are you residing?”

“The Jaunty Hog. Send it to the Jaunty Hog,” Artus answered through his teeth .

“Ah, yes. I believe my father is familiar with the owner.”

This was followed by a short grunt from Henri. Artus remained on the floor, saying no more.

She realized how starving and lightheaded she finally felt; it was impossible to tell how much blood Garin had taken from her. It was impressive that she herself had not collapsed.

Lilac took another bite of her apple and followed it with her fig jam spread over the piece of toast. It was delicious.

This was much needed—the warm food, but also everything else.

The moral support from those around her.

The validation of her wariness of the Le Tallecs now come to light, now rightly justified.

The unsettling strength now coiled in her limbs due to Garin’s Sanguine magic, and the conviction that drove her tonight.

She did not expect being granted the things her soul had yearned for to be equally as taxing.

By the end of the weekend, she’d be married to one of the most powerful leaders on her continent. The emperor, not his emissary. Her name would be his. Her title, too.

It was what Garin had pushed for. It certainly was a far better option than the one Artus Le Tallec had tried to corner her into.

But she’d be married to one, and enthralled to another.

Two things she did not want for herself.

Two paths that ensured her freedoms were not truly hers.

One that pleased Garin so greatly he’d betrayed her to ensure it—and the other that had infernally tied them together.

It infuriated him. He’d made that very clear.

Either way, this was how she would protect her kingdom. This was the cost. An end to justify the means.

Numbly, Lilac accepted the second plate that someone placed in front of her; she saw a swish of Hedwig’s robes in her periphery, Herlinde’s hand pushing the fowl and maple carrot covered plate to her with another cup of tea.

She felt like she needed to lie down but couldn’t imagine being able to shut her eyes.

Lilac stared unseeingly at her plate as she ate, her breathing slowing.

She attempted to push Garin from her mind, the worry of him at the inn, and instead thought of the hungry Daemons and Lorietta’s small garden.

The way they made do with too little stretched too far, in both sustenance and protections.

Lorietta was one person, part of one arcane family skilled at Alteration and setting wards; the vampires, shifters, and korikaned were still hunted despite her help.

They shouldn't have to hide of live under the pretense of glamors.

Lilac thought of riding the winding path to The Fenfoss Inn, the aromas of the kitchen where she’d nicked her finger.

She could hear Garin’s low, heat-rousing chuckle, the aroma of a dusk-fallen bluebell wood as he’d bandaged her hand and told her about her scars.

That not all of them needed healing or hiding.

Remembering the way she’d hazily discovered her healed knuckles just before their argument at the inn, Lilac glanced down at her left hand. Then, she checked her right, just to be sure. Gone . The scars on her hands were gone.

Heart thudding distantly, she walked her fingers back on her thigh, gathering the material until the hem bunched into her hands and ignoring the abashed comments made by Henri.

Her legs were mostly clean, save a thin layer of soot…

and void of scars. All of them. The ones left by her fight with Sinclair, even the ones she’d sustained in her childhood—the little divot in her left knee from learning how to climb up—and tumble down—the stairs.

The deep scrape she’d gotten climbing one of the fences in the bailey.

The scars we choose to wear are what make us human , Garin had said.

She swayed, suddenly dizzy, falling back to rest against her chair.

“Eat,” the witch urged, nudging the plate closer and grasping both of her smooth hands. Even her mannerisms were like Lorietta’s. “You’ll be sick if you don’t, making even more of a mess on yourself.”

Lilac chewed, each swallow blurring her vision a bit more as moisture flooded her eyes.

There was some conversation, low and firm, but she couldn’t focus on any of it.

She was mildly aware of Myrddin, briefly stirring her new steaming cup of tea from Hedwig with his fingertip after the first one had grown cold before offering it to her.

Lilac accepted it gratefully and put it to her lips, the heat bearable as she washed the last of her meal down.

It wasn’t until a door slammed shut that she looked up, refocusing on the room.

Herlinde sat to her left, knitting what looked to be a starting piece of clothing or blanket, the ivy-green yarn trailing from what seemed to be the inside of a pocket on her fuzzy robe.

Hedwig was busy at the end of the table, nearly finished with stacking the dishes onto her cart.

Myrddin sat next to Herlinde, watching the fire and fiddling with his thumbs, seeming lost in his thoughts.

So did Henri, who sat in Marguerite’s chair he’d righted, pivoted toward the door.