Page 81 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)
“We’ll let bygones be bygones, Your Majesty.
I won’t say anything about what I have seen and heard of you to Maximilian and the rest of our court if you, nor your family’s court, will say nothing outside this room about me.
” He gave a long, sweeping look around the room, at the crowd watching them both with bated breath, before his eyes settled hungrily upon Lilac.
“Or my appetites. One word out of any of you, and Ambrosius and I traipse back to safety—but not before I send a pigeon to Vienna with news of Brittany’s most scandalous queen. Who knows what would happen then?”
All Lilac had for him was an expression of conflicted hatred impossible to mask, regardless of how hard she tried. Henri and Marguerite stared helplessly at her.
Her father could sense her simmering anger, though he would never know the full reasons behind it; he locked eyes with her and shook his head minutely, begging her not to do anything that would jeopardize their path to safety.
“Then, you and your tiny kingdom might find yourselves cornered by two enemies.” Garin reached out to place his hand on Lilac, but she recoiled.
He only smiled, and dropped his arm at his side.
“Rest assured, Maximilian’s offer remains unaffected as long as your generous offer of hospitality does.
I have heard nothing but great things about the Trécesson soirees and your Hedwig’s fine dining.
Plus,” he said, glancing around, “I could not help but notice your lack of sentries. Two here in your foyer, approximately eight I spotted outside including two in the immediate vicinity of the bailey and six up on the ramparts.”
“They have better use out east. I have sent a group of them to Fougères,” Lilac said firmly. “They are to return after scouting the bordering towns in a show of non-violent force.”
Garin examined her, lips pursing in real disapproval.
“You must be careful, Your Majesty. Whether it be your former duke, the fine ladies of your mother’s court” —his mercurial eyes darted to Agnes, whose face blanched— “or even the valet of the emissary sent through mountain and moor to ask your hand.” Myrddin didn’t say a word.
“Your kingdom should be parading with guards, each one of them a watchful eye on the day a foreign dignitary visits ahead of a most imminent celebration. Especially during times of such unrest between not only your crown and another, but the enchanted forest that borders your home.” Garin stepped back and glanced out the window nearest the west corridor.
“You all would be shocked to find just how quickly the most diplomatic meeting can turn into a bloodbath.”
Lilac remained where she was, feet planted in place.
“The Daemons would never touch my guards,” she said, the hatred in her voice very real, yet somehow forced.
His taunting words did nothing to quell her terrible urges warring to kiss and throttle him.
“Wronged as they are, they know better than to retaliate while I’m attempting to guard their homes, too. ”
“Do they?” Garin walked back, shrugging with his hands in his pockets. “Take a look for yourself.”
Knowing he was being sarcastic, she was forced to look anyway, the muscles of her shoulders pivoting her first so that the rest of her body followed. She glanced out the open doors instead of the window—beyond the bailey, past her iron gates, and into the treeline.
Brocéliande was peaceful and still despite the clear day.
The champagne in Lilac’s glass shook violently when she turned back to him.
Garin bending, propping himself up on one leg. On his knee. His throat bobbed, and he looked up at her with a solemnity she’d never seen before.
Lilac’s entire body went rigid. “What are you doing?” Her heart dropped. “What do you think you’re?—”
“You’re right.” Garin’s voice wavered. “This cannot wait. I can see what this is doing to you, the unfathomable stress you are under. Imagine having the backing of an army so lithe, so formidable with such unmatched knowledge of the forested terrain that you wouldn’t have to worry your pretty little head about any of this. ”
That wasn’t what any of this was ever about. Her face was almost numb with heat, but she couldn’t do anything but shake her head.
Gently, Garin slipped his fingers beneath hers. His skin was warm, his hand slightly trembling beneath hers as he held it up.
“Garin,” she whispered, but he cut her off.
“I know we haven’t known each other long.
Imagine how your subjects might regard you if you agreed to an alliance securing not only your right to defend your kingdom, but the sheer power in your capability to ward larger powers off?
” His gaze ensnared hers. She couldn’t look away.
“By right, our alliance will allow you to retain your full sovereignty and right to your throne.”
The crowd was still as the leaves outside.
“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” crooned Garin. “Tell me the truth of how you feel.”
Lilac’s body came alive under his power. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you here.” Her breath and the words upon it were ripped from a place deep within. “With me.”
The sadness and profound relief etched in his features were almost too much to bear. She tried to look away, tried to divert her eyes.
“Eleanor.”
She shook her head and looked to the ceiling, lips pursed. What kind of freak did this in public?
“Eleanor, please.”
His eyes were soft, his command was anything but pleading. Lilac had no choice but to look. He was reaching with his other hand into his cloak.
“Eleanor of Brittany, will you enter this marriage—” Garin pulled out not a box or ring, but a thick, very official-looking scroll tied in red ribbon.
She stared at him, her bottom lip quivering in utmost hatred, trying her best to swallow the rage that rose. The tears brimming her eyes began to spill.
“With my liege, Maximillian I of Austria, Emperor of The Holy Roman Empire?”
There was an uproar around them, sounds of relief and cries of happiness from her mother and father. The crowd began to clap.
The tears could stall no longer. Blurry-eyed, Lilac took one look at him. With hands shaking in heartbreak, she raised her flute up high.
“A toast, yes!” Henri shouted, holding his own glass up. “To Lilac and the emperor!”
The crowd followed suit, tilting their glasses toward her and Garin. “To Lilac! And the emperor!”
Lilac tipped the flute and emptied it onto Garin’s head, abruptly jarring the crowd from cheers of merriment to panicked distress.
She ripped her hand from his and slinked through the crowd, slamming the empty flute upon a most unfortunate flattened pastry.
Hot tears blinding her, the queen marched past a shrieking Marguerite, past the boisterous giggling of Agnes and the wide, encouraging smile of the woman in the chartreuse dress, past the scullery filled with staff prepping birds and pies for the night’s feast—and up her tower stairs.