Page 57

I wait outside the huge doors of the Grand Hall as my ladies smooth the folds of my dress.

I’ve chosen a gown of gold with silver adornments for tonight’s banquet and on my head is the Ardvallan crown.

It is made of pure gold and encrusted with priceless Ardvallan jewels.

The combination of gown and crown speaks of power, my power as queen and ruler of my people and that includes every single lord and lady gathered in the hall I’m about to enter.

I pull myself up to my full height, take a deep breath and then nod to the guard to open the door.

The doors start opening, slowly and inexorably.

The trumpets within announce my arrival and I take my first step towards my new future.

I walk up the center of the hall, each step measured and precise.

I look straight ahead, not making eye contact with anybody, my head raised high, my manner regal and aloof.

The long banqueting tables on either side of me are full with the high lords and ladies of Ardvalla, and I take it from their flushed faces they’ve already generously availed themselves of the wine that has been readily available.

I can also see everybody is placed exactly where I want them.

The High Cleric and the Grand Council are all accumulated together at the top of the table on my left and Greythorne and his collaborators are all grouped together at the top of the table to my right.

Greythorne sits in the middle of them, Glindenbrooke, Montrose, Sutton and Bottomleigh fawning over him like the pathetic acolytes they are.

Each of them regards me with an air of smug self-satisfaction, obviously believing they made a clever choice in backing Greythorne, and after tonight they shall hold sway over me.

My lips twitch into a whisper of a smile as I approach my throne, knowing my plans for them couldn’t be more different to how they imagine the night is going to go.

I stand in front of my throne and face my assembled guests.

The Master of Ceremonies announces my arrival.

“All rise for Queen Elinor,” he commands, and the gathered guests rise from their seats, even Greythorne.

He has written me a number of letters in the past two days expressing his fury at being refused entry to Valensia.

I’ve simply replied with the same response each time, explaining that he would be allowed entry along with all the other lords.

Looking down at his twisted expression I can see this has not gone down well.

Still, he is here and so far is keeping himself in check, no doubt in the belief that soon he shall be joining me at the top table and sitting in the empty throne to my right.

I take my seat and the assembled lords and ladies sit back down.

A serving girl pours a glass of wine for me and I smile at her familiar face.

In fact, I smile at all the familiar faces I see at different points in the hall.

Each one is perfectly positioned exactly where they're supposed to be.

I drink my wine and avail of the meats and breads before me as it's going to be a long night, and I imagine I won't have much chance to eat once I make my announcement.

I take my time and as the first bell of early evening echoes up from the Great Cathedral I become aware of the increasing number of looks being directed my way.

By the time I start to drink my second glass of wine, Greythorne and his cohort are subjecting me to dagger looks and it’s all I can do not to laugh into my glass.

Let them wait. Let them stew, I think, smiling wryly to myself.

I look out one of the long windows of the hall and watch the moon rise.

Greythorne’s troops should be just about through the free barrels of ale I sent to them earlier this afternoon and will soon be feeling their effects.

On this night of nights, timing is everything.

The serving girl fills my glass again and as I take a sip I sneak a look at Greythorne under my lashes.

He looks fit to explode and I allow myself a small giggle.

Then I get the signal I’ve been waiting for and I rise from my throne.

An expectant hush falls over the hall and it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud as Greythorne straightens himself in his chair and puffs out his chest.

I look down to the end of the hall and see the large doors slowly start to open.

It's time to begin my speech. “High Cleric, members of the Grand Council, and Lords and Ladies, thank you all for coming here this evening and joining with me at this Great Banquet. You might be wondering why I've asked you all here this evening. Well, let me tell you that I have a very special announcement to make, which is cause for great celebration and thereafter a number of official duties to perform.” I pause, and out of the side of my eye I see Greythorne push back from the table as if getting ready to join me. His collaborators grin broadly as they lift their glasses to the serving girls and I can’t help a small smirk.

The doors are almost open all the way now and a number of the assembled guests at the lower end of the hall notice the presence of three impressive gentlemen standing there.

As the doors thud off the walls the three men step forward in unison and make their way up the hall.

I smile as the sight of them warms my heart.

“High Cleric, Members of the Grand Council and Lords and Ladies of Ardvalla, I wish to inform you of my recent marriage and present to you my husband, Prince Ronan of Ellerban.”

Prince Ronan strides up the Grand Hall like he is already king, and no-one can be in any doubt as to his regal ancestry.

He is flanked proudly on each side by Aaran and Barra.

All three are dressed head to toe in black, with Ronan wearing the outfit I abducted him in, and I can already see a number of the ladies swooning, no doubt at the sight of the eagle as it ripples with the movement of the muscles in his back.

Each of them has a Cragmore sword hanging from his hip and from the assured way they move through the hall no-one can have any doubt they know how to use them.

However, it seems that’s not enough to deter some people…

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Montrose shouts into the shocked silence as he jumps from his chair. I note Greythorne beside him looking like he has just been struck by lightning.

“Do you mean to tell us you've taken a man from outside the realm as your husband?” Montrose demands.

The prince, Aaran and Barra stop walking. I turn to look at Montrose. “That’s exactly what I mean to tell you,” I reply, in a voice as sharp as the blade I recently used to cut my meat. “I trust you don't have a problem with that, Lord Montrose.”

His eyes narrow and his face turns a peculiar shade of purple.

“I most certainly do have a problem with that,” he exclaims. “Is Ardvalla now to be ruled by nothing more than an Ellerban whore! You can’t bring an outsider here and marry him, especially when you are betrothed to an Ardvallan Lord held in such high esteem as Lord Greythorne. ”

A collective gasp rustles around the Great Hall like the wind cuts through the trees just before a storm. It's quickly followed by the screams of some of the ladies, as within seconds, the prince levels the tip of his blade at Montrose's throat.

“I don't know who you are, sir, but if you so much as dare utter another insult about my wife then you won't have to worry about being ruled by anybody.”

I watch as the eyes of all my guests go wide with shock, Montrose’s most of all, and I bite my lip to suppress my smile. This feels better than I ever imagined it would.

“It’s interesting, sire, that you, of all people, object to me marrying outside the realm and call me a whore for doing so,” I reply, my voice like a sword, sharp and strong.

“Very interesting indeed when you consider how you have brought countless women to Ardvalla for your own twisted pleasure and are nothing more than low-life scum who traffics other humans and has broken any number of laws.”

His expression turns to one of outrage again and he opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“I believe you’ve met the commander of my private guard,” I state in a matter of fact manner, as Kes enters the hall behind me. I watch as Montrose visibly pales and his mouth falls further to the floor.

“But this man is the Emissary!” the High Cleric declares as he rises from his seat and pounds his fist on the table.

His expression is one of shock and confusion, as if there’s no way the prince could be who he says he is, which of course would also mean the unthinkable, that he fooled the High Cleric.

The prince turns his head to address him. “Yes,” he replies, his voice stern and commanding, “a royal emissary.”

It’s at this point Greythorne unwisely decides to make a move.

“How dare you!” he bellows as he draws his sword and lunges for the prince.

“How dare you come here and take what’s mine!

” Glindenbrooke, Montrose and Sutton make an equally unwise choice and decide to join him, pulling their swords free.

However, they don’t so much as get the chance to raise them before each one finds a dagger at his throat.

The “serving girls” they happily ordered to serve them and leered over only moments ago have revealed their true identities as deadly members of the Khaleeni.