Page 2 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

Alyth

Stirling Castle

“At least I’ve been free of him for a time,” Queen Mary says.

The other ladies in the room all murmur their agreement but remain reserved. The court has been tense since spring. Everyone knows that king and queen, husband and wife, are at odds.

If it were just a simple coup, no one would be so nervous. After all, we live in Scotland; there’s always some discontent with a sword.

But at court, every Leth—every human with fae blood—knows that a Red Cap weapon was used…

and that more have infiltrated Scotland since then.

And the humans may be oblivious, but they’ve surely noticed the increased guards around the queen the past few months, the way she’s so easily startled, the moody fits that burst from her.

“Why don’t I play something?” Lady Fleming says. Most of the women are embroidering or knitting in the solar, but a harp and a lyre rest in the corner for our amusement.

I don’t know there’s a violin on the table until she picks up the bow and scrapes it across the strings.

“No.” Queen Mary’s voice is icier than a Highland blizzard.

Lady Fleming gapes at the queen but quickly masks her surprise. She wasn’t there that night. She doesn’t remember the way a violin splinters on bloody stone.

But she puts the instrument down silently.

It’s been almost nine months since the attack.

Mary’s baby was born. She fell desperately ill for a time after and was isolated for her health.

Darnley has been mostly cavorting with cronies and absent from court.

But that thrice-damned traitor of a husband will be returning to Stirling soon for little Prince James’s christening.

“I do wish he could simply remain at Edinburgh,” Mary says, sighing.

It’s no secret that she’s essentially fled the capital, ceding him that win just to put distance between them.

I may have influenced her a bit in that choice, pushing her to isolate from Darnley while I tried to pinpoint the root of the Red Caps’ weapons crossing the border.

“If I had to be married to Darnley, I do believe I’d prefer to keep him in a separate castle as well,” says Lady Seton, and the others all titter.

“I’d rather keep him in a separate sewer,” I mutter.

The giggles fade. I look around and silently curse myself. Right. I must remember my place. Darnley is the king consort still. And Lady Seton’s ribbing is acceptable due to her higher station, but my status is lower, therefore my comment, as usual, has crossed an invisible line.

I duck my head, hands clasped demurely in front of me. Everyone in the room waits to see Mary’s reaction.

Her lips twitch. A smirk.

I’m safe.

Mary’s happy chatter fades into a weak cough, and I go very still. Everyone does. The paleness of her skin has nothing to do with the powder she dabs on in the morning. Traces of her near-deadly sickness remain, a stark and bitter reminder that I cannot protect her from everything.

At least one of the Red Caps’ murderous tools—some sort of poison—got past me. It took a deal I’m not proud of to get a bezoar to save Mary’s life, and even that was a close call.

“Your Highness?” I ask softly as the queen’s shoulders shake. She clears her throat, waving me off. There are others closer to her, eager to be the one to give the queen water, a handkerchief, sympathetic smiles. I’m stuck in the shadows, ignored.

Most of the women in this room are human, but there are a few Leths scattered among them.

It’s an…odd situation. I’m the highest-ranking Leth in Scotland.

My father is a fae prince, for feck’s sake, and fully half my blood is magic.

Meanwhile, Lady Reres has only a fae great-grandfather in her lineage and can barely make a candle flicker, yet she’s much higher in the court than me.

So I get her respect, but part of the time.

That’s what “Leth” means anyway. Part. Part fae, part human.

Never whole anything.

I stab my cloth with a needle. This task is so inane , and I have far more important things to do. I detest the fact that in order to remain close to the court, I have to pretend to care about any of this shite.

But that is the nature of the duty my father assigned me at birth. If I am to protect Scotland, I must start by protecting the queen. A stable court here reflects a stable court in the fae realm connected to this land.

My stomach twists into knots. It’s not enough for me to be a bodyguard to the queen.

That’s not even my real duty. My purpose at court is primarily to ensure the safety of the fae realm.

Usually that means ensuring the throne is stable—peace here equates to peace there.

But above everything is the need to protect both realms from Red Caps.

I’ve found three more weapons in as many months.

Three more items cursed with Red Cap magic.

So far, we’ve been lucky. I intercepted a vial of liquid that—with one drop—would poison any well and had the potential to kill thousands of people.

I confiscated a dagger imbued with beithir venom and then uncovered a pair of shoes that had been sent to the queen that would have eaten her flesh until there was nothing left of her feet but dry, white bones.

The problem is I have no idea who positioned these items so recklessly around Stirling—not just the village but here in the castle.

Darnley is the prime suspect, but my spies report that he mostly spends his time hunting, drinking, and sleeping with women other than his wife.

He might be the mastermind behind it all, but I have doubts his mind is capable of mastering anything.

No, the real issue isn’t Darnley, which is the only reason I’ve not ignored the queen and killed the idiot as I’d like.

The real issue is that someone is getting weapons from Red Caps, and I’m not sure who, where they came from, how many there are, or when one will be used next.

Mary’s laugh rings out amid the group of women. I scowl at my cloth, because it would be too well noticed by the ladies if I scowled at the queen.

Even though Mary is only a few years older than me, she often thinks of me as a child rather than someone equal to her, much less more powerful than her.

She believes her crown is of higher importance than my magic.

And she knows that part of my mission is to protect the fae by keeping them hidden…

which means I shall never be able to show the world just how powerful I can be.

What even is the point of being the most powerful Leth in all of Scotland?

The problem is, of course, that it’s not only Darnley who wants the queen dead.

Within Scotland, any number of people might be making a play for the throne.

Additionally, the Catholics are all mad at her for not forcing Catholicism on the nation, and the Protestants are all mad at her for not being Protestant.

It’s worse outside Scotland. Most of Protestant England wants Mary dead—she’s a threat to Elizabeth, their current queen, as heir apparent to that throne.

And that’s just the humans.

Most of the fae are fine with Mary, I suppose, judging from what limited reports I get from the Seelie Court. But the Red Caps would love for more chaos in the fae realm, and killing the Scottish queen is an excellent step toward upsetting the balance.

“My needle broke,” Mary complains, getting up from her chair.

When she stands, so does everyone else.

We are all friends here, but only one of us is queen.

Mary laughs and waves us all down as she walks over to the needle box. She makes a show of false embarrassment for our formality, but we all know it is not worth crossing the queen by not giving her the respect she feels is her due.

My eyes blur as I refocus on the main problem at hand.

Mary has too many enemies.

But it’s probably not the Red Caps directly. They were banished from Scotland when they sided with the Romans centuries ago, but they do have long, long lives. As long as there is fresh warfare for them to revel in, they can live indefinitely.

And England under the Tudors hasn’t exactly been bloodless.

It’s surprising that a Red Cap would let their weapons be used here, where they cannot benefit from the destruction, but they may be fine just knowing they’re seeing chaos regardless. If I want to protect Mary and Scotland, I need to figure out—

The small hairs on my arm prickle, static electricity zipping over my skin.

My eyes go instantly to Mary, standing over an ornate gilded box, plucking an iron needle from its velvet lining. One that emits a faint red glow.

My embroidery drops from my hands, falling soundlessly into my lap.

Magic crackles around my fingers as I call all the power I have. Acting on instinct, I throw a protective barrier around Mary so strong that she freezes in place.

“Your Highness?” Lady Seton asks, noticing the abrupt way the queen’s body turns immobile.

But the other Leths in the room have noticed too.

Lady Reres leans over to Lady Livingston, and together, they cast a glamour to distract the other women as I rush to Mary.

I’m dimly aware of Lady Seton’s skirt ties coming undone, the swaths of pleated fabric sliding out from under her corset and dropping off her hips.

The woman scrambles to fix her dress as several other ladies rush to help her—giving me enough distraction to race to the queen, bound so tight by my magic that she’s not even blinking.

I allow myself a moment to scan the auras of the room. There is fear and confusion, surprise and embarrassment…but no strains of black and red, no hint of violence desired or anger at being thwarted.

Whoever did this is not in the room. Anyone could have hidden that needle in the box at any time.

To a human, it looks like any other sewing instrument.