Had she unintentionally revealed something around Rassa, given her preferences away? My stomach plummeted. He thought I was Lia’s dalliance, her amusement before she chose a husband.
It took all my self-control not to recoil from him. With a single sentence, he’d turned this fragile thing between us – glances and half-finished sentences, punctuated by discussions and silence and hesitant smiles – into a farce consumed by baser instincts.
Not that I didn’t feel those. When it was late and I was halfasleep, it was too easy to wonder what kissing her would feel like. And more.
I’d taken too long to answer. A smirk ghosted over Rassa’s mouth. I smiled at him like an ideal courtier. Mama would have been proud.
‘Prince Rassa, I must say, your eyelashes are extraordinary.’
Mama would not be proud of this.
But Lia would be.
Rassa’s eyes lit up with rage. His first genuine reaction. I almost admired it.
I don’t like you, I realised, surprised at the accompanying relief.
His smile resembled bared teeth. ‘Thank you for the compliment, Miss Bayonn.’
Be careful, Rassa. Keep all your threads neat and tidy, so I don’t pull one and see where it leads.
Zola walked to the front of the room with her viola. Silence fell. Her opening notes released the tension Rassa had built inside me. While she played, he couldn’t speak.
Lia brushed her fingertips across the back of my hand.
Her layers of lace cuffs hid the gesture, but my body reacted like she’d trailed a hand down my back. I tightened my fingers against my seat, somehow suppressing a shudder, as my thoughts splintered. All I wanted was for her to do it again.
I let out a breath, cringing at the slight tremor I couldn’t hide. Lia moved her hand to the small space between us. She otherwise didn’t move, didn’t look at me, gave no inclination that she’d done anything. She watched Zola, as if only the music mattered.
I inched my hand over and pressed it against Lia’s.
She still didn’t move, didn’t even flicker her eyes towards me.
But she smiled.
And so did I.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lia
The next morning, Xania walked in and stopped when she realised we were alone. Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.
‘The others won’t rise for a while yet.’ Dawn had broken almost an hour ago. I’d deliberately chosen the east-facing breakfast room for the morning light. Which also happened to catch the embroidery on Xania’s bodice.
She didn’t move. ‘Have I displeased Your Majesty?’
‘What? No.’ How could she think that after last night? ‘I want to apologise. I haven’t spent much time with you recently. And…’ I want to know where we stand with each other, whether you’re playing along because you feel you must, or –
‘Your Majesty isn’t obliged to. I thank you, however, for acknowledging my sister’s talents.’
This hadn’t been the conversation I’d hoped for. Whatever she’d felt last night, when I touched her hand, was now hidden behind etiquette and formality.
Xania’s expression turned uneasy. ‘I didn’t mean–’
‘I missed you.’ I didn’t mean to say it, but it was impossible to ignore, especially when I caught glimpses of her in the halls. It was worse at night, when I was too tired to even summon her for a report. I wanted our routine back.
As the marriage circus took up more of my time and attention, the Court’s undercurrents were slipping through my fingers. Too much noise, too much bluster; both effective smokescreens. The foreign nobles also weren’t shy about voicing their opinions about politicians. If I weren’t careful, they’d start a rift between the Court and Parliament.
As Xania finally sat opposite me, I gestured the servant away. She nodded or shook her head as I lifted each dish lid. When her plate was full and I’d poured tea, she murmured, ‘Thank you.’
The rising sun brightened the room. We ate in silence, until she smiled over the rim of her teacup. ‘You missed me.’
A weight eased in my chest. ‘You’ll be unbearable from now on.’
‘I’m not Matthias, Your Majesty.’ But she used my title without her earlier stiffness.
I didn’t know how to explain last night. I wasn’t tactile like Uncle, who’d kissed fingers, slapped his courtiers on the shoulders, even hugged them after drinking. It wasn’t the same as offering her comfort after Brenna and Naruum.
Maybe it was easier to explain without words. I took a breath, then brushed the back of her hand.
She trembled.
‘May I summon you tonight, Miss Bayonn?’ I immediately regretted the words, especially when dismay flickered across her face. ‘Not for…’
‘I understand.’
The memory of her face in firelight and shadow engulfed me, the feel of her skin, how close I’d come to tilting her face back and –
She turned her hand underneath my fingertips so our palms faced each other, then pressed them together. My hand tingled. The sensation raced up my arm.
I swallowed.
‘If Your Majesty wills it,’ she said. ‘I have much to report.’
I coughed and gently pulled my hand back. My cheeks burned. Perhaps this was my saving grace, for Xania looked amused rather than furious or embarrassed.
I wanted to ask about her discussion with Rassa. Aubrey had been thrilled I’d actually read the author he’d suggested and hadn’t stopped talking until Zola played, making it difficult to eavesdrop. Judging from Xania’s tense posture, she hadn’t enjoyed the conversation.
‘Good morning, Your Majesty!’
We jumped as Isra walked in. She wore wide-legged Eshvon trousers, and a long tunic embroidered in red. While Edar and Farezi favoured delicate embroidery, Othayria and Eshvon preferred large, elaborate patterns on their clothes. She’d pulled her gleaming hair back so it fell in curls.
She hesitated before us. There was no telling how long she’d been watching.
I gestured at the chair beside Xania. ‘Good morning, Princess Isra. I believe you already know Miss Bayonn, one of my ladies?’
Xania nodded politely. ‘Your Highness.’
‘Miss Bayonn!’ Isra brightened as she sat. ‘Miss Zola’s sister?’
Whatever had happened between us, the true triumph had been Zola’s. Isra, delighted with her music, had engaged Zola in deep discussion for the rest of the evening.
As Isra enthused about Zola’s talent, Xania added to the conversation as best she could, while I let my thoughts drift.
Isra hadn’t pursued a marriage like I’d expected, instead carefully building up a social circle in Court, mostly of women. She and Matthias had also struck up a tentative friendship, adding fuel to Vigrante’s irritation.
I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed because Isra had ignored the role expected of her, frustrated since word would eventually reach Juliaane, or suspicious of Isra’s true intentions.
Prince Hasan arrived. In an orange robe and brown trousers, accented by a cream shirt with gold thread, he resembled a sunset glimpsed through autumn trees.
Hasan bowed. ‘Good morning, Your Majesty; sister, dearest – and Miss Bayonn!’
If Xania felt mortified at his undignified surprise, she hid it well. ‘Good morning, Your Highness.’
Isra’s eyelashes fluttered in what I suspected was horror.
Rassa and Prince Aubrey swept into the room. Matthias followed, and barely suppressed his amusement at Hasan’s clothes.
Hasan greeted Rassa and Aubrey with cheerful deference. Aubrey replied kindly. Rassa was barely polite. If I’d been a dog, my hackles would have been up at how Rassa’s gaze lingered on Xania. She didn’t react, but I couldn’t tell if she hadn’t noticed or refused to acknowledge it.
I only had to get through today, while trying to decide what to say to Xania tonight. If there were any right words at all.
&nb
sp; I was curled up by the fire – it had turned unexpectedly cold – when a knock sounded from the wall. I lowered my book and waited for the second pattern, and stood as the panel slid back. Xania stepped into the room.
‘You were invited as one of my ladies,’ I said, ‘not as Whispers. You could have come through the door.’ I was impressed by her caution, but kept my tone amused for a lighter mood.
‘Better to be cautious, Your Majesty,’ she said, faintly reproachful, ‘since anyone could have overheard you this morning.’
‘I apologise,’ I said, since I couldn’t argue against my foolishness. ‘And no titles.’
She sighed. ‘Lia.’
For all my insistence, I usually avoided saying her name. I’d seen her reaction when I’d said it before, and wanted to savour it the next time. I gestured at the covered plates and silverware on the table. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘I will never refuse food,’ she said firmly.
I served a pale fruit wine, and picked at my plate while she ate. My words had fled.
‘How are you enjoying your time with your guests?’ she finally asked.
I dropped my fork onto my plate. ‘My paperwork is a mountain that could kill if it leans the wrong way. I only have time to myself before I sleep. I spend my days surrounded by people waiting to trip me with smiles and words. And my choices for a husband are a bore, an intolerance, and someone too charming to trust.’
Xania looked torn between laughter and regret that she’d spoken.
‘And you ask if I’m enjoying my time with them?’
‘Princess Isra enjoys her time with you.’ There was no trace of Xania’s smile now.
I sipped my wine and chose my words carefully. ‘No one can deny Princess Isra’s beauty and charisma.’
Xania’s mouth twisted. ‘Of course.’
‘But every conversation with her is a potential trap. She’s the scholar in the family.’
‘Beautiful and intelligent?’
‘Yes.’ I refilled our glasses, and gestured towards the couch. ‘The delightful Prince Hasan is her distraction. I’m not expected to marry him – they’d probably stop me if I tried. She’s the one meant to be here, regardless of the grain agreement.’
‘Shall I investigate her entourage again?’
‘I’d prefer you investigate with Matthias, but since she befriended him, Isra probably suspects he arranges more than my schedule. I’m afraid you must do most of the work.’
Xania nodded. ‘If that’s all Your Majesty requires…’
‘What?’
‘I… now I have my orders...’
‘I invited you here as one of my ladies,’ I repeated, a harder edge to my voice, ‘not as Whispers.’ And yet we’d slipped into a Whispers discussion anyway.
Her gaze fell on my discarded book.
‘It’s one of Aella’s novels,’ I said, heading the inevitable off at the pass.
‘You don’t strike me as the type.’
‘You don’t strike me as the type to judge.’ I smiled, and ran my hand over the battered leather cover. Aella had made her name in popular romances. Many inferior imitations had followed her success. ‘I spend most of my day reading correspondence and appeals,’ I said, ‘or the legislation drafts Vigrante and I fling back and forth. What do you think I want at the end of the day: history tomes or novels?’
‘They’re not well written–’
‘Aella’s imitators aren’t well written. Have you actually read one of her novels?’
‘No,’ Xania admitted.
I hesitated, then held out the book.
‘No, I couldn’t possibly–’
‘Take it. Then come back next week and we’ll talk about it.’
Xania tilted her head. The fire retained enough strength to splash shadow and light over her face. She wrapped her hands around the book. Her fingers brushed mine. After a moment, I let it go.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her to kiss me.
I wanted.
She left. We must have made our goodbyes and curtseys. I was on the couch again, alone, though I didn’t remember returning to it.
I shouldn’t have given her the book.
I didn’t regret it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Xania
I was ten pages into Lia’s book when someone knocked on my connecting door. I flopped against my pillow, groaning, then shoved the book into the blankets and climbed out of bed.
I opened the door. ‘Zola?’
She held up a tea-tray. ‘You’re in bed early.’
‘I’m tired.’
She used the tray as a shield to get by me. ‘Well, I can’t drink this all by myself.’ She went to my side table and busied herself with the cups. I stared as if I could make her leave through sheer force of will. Then I sighed and pulled out a half-empty box of Farezi chocolates.
She peered inside. ‘Oh, good, you haven’t eaten all the nice ones.’
‘Next time I will,’ I muttered, and she stuck out her tongue. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘Lord Martain is reciting sonnets at Mama.’ She splashed tea into her cup to check the strength. ‘And you’ve been acting strange lately, even for you. Is everything all right?’
I froze with a chocolate near my mouth. It wasn’t impossible to hide things from my family – they knew nothing about Whispers, or why Matthias and I had grown closer after Papa’s death – but I’d spent the last few weeks juggling too much work and too many cunning people to keep up the facade.
I ate the chocolate. ‘Everything’s fine. Work is busy and I’m tired.’
Zola drank her tea. Her silence and steady expression meant she didn’t believe me, but would play along. Until she got Mama involved, who would believe nothing.
Her gaze drifted over my shoulder; she lowered her cup. I turned. A corner of Lia’s book poked out from under the blankets.
‘What are you reading?’ she asked, already half-out of the seat to take a look.
‘Just a romance novel.’ It was the wrong thing to say. I didn’t read romances. I was surrounded by people obsessed with feelings and pleasure, so I didn’t bother. But Zola did. She’d insist on reading one I’d willingly picked up. I darted towards her, and slapped my hand over the book when she tried to pick it up.
‘It’s… a book,’ Zola said.
‘It’s…’ I didn’t have time to concoct a suitable lie; perhaps using Lia would be enough. ‘It’s the Queen’s book. I don’t want it ruined.’
‘Her Majesty gave you a romance novel?’
Wrong.
‘We were arguing about them. It’s one of Aella’s,’ I said.
‘You hate them!’
‘Exactly. I said they were badly written. She claimed otherwise and forced me to read one to prove her point.’
Zola stared at the book. ‘The Queen reads romance novels.’
‘Everyone needs a hobby.’ It had only been ten pages, but I already suspected what kind of romance it was. I couldn’t let Zola see, though she’d be excited to read it. The Queen reading romances was one thing. The Queen reading romances between two women was another.
Zola raised her eyebrows. ‘Should I leave you alone with the tea and your romance?’
If only she knew. ‘Yes, please.’
Zola rolled her eyes, but accepted the box of chocolates, then let me push her back out the door.
I glared at the book, begrudgingly finished my tea, and brought a fresh cup back to bed.
When I reached the point where the two women met, I knew what would happen. I kept reading, trying to ignore my screaming instincts. By their first almost-kiss, my tea was cold.
I’d never allowed myself to fall for anyone. As the eldest, my marriage would better our family prospects, so it was easier to avoid Courtly romances.
It felt like Lia had, by giving me this book, revealed a part of herself. Showing it to anyone else felt like betraying her. Ludicrous, considering what Lia knew about me, but sti
ll.
The plot was ridiculous and comforting – an entanglement between a pirate and a lady – and I couldn’t stop reading. When I closed the book, my candle was guttering. I’d only manage a few hours of sleep. I ran my fingers across the cover. It was worn from age and rereading, but still carefully preserved: well-loved.
The pirate and lady had worked together to destroy their enemies. The pirate continued her course until she’d tired of plunder and blood and returned to her lady. They’d lived their remaining years together, happy, with the implication the pirate had occasionally returned to her old ways.
It was too neat an ending. I couldn’t believe a pirate would willingly give up the sea, or that the lady would patiently wait for her. But Aella’s novels had never accurately reflected life: one of the biggest reasons for her success.
I lay in bed, turning the novel’s ending around in my head, wondering if I dared admit what Lia was hinting.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lia
Although a member of Government, Admiral Diana of Casa High, commander of my naval forces, didn’t bother with politics unless someone – usually Vigrante – tried to interfere in her domain. She was medal-ranked, competent, and ruthless. We weren’t at war, so I’d left the Navy alone when I became Queen. I hadn’t known what to expect when Diana requested a meeting.
She didn’t flinch from my gaze. ‘The Master of Whispers didn’t work with me last year,’ she said, ‘but involving their network would make it easier, should they be amenable.’
Hopefully, my reeling thoughts weren’t completely obvious. In hindsight, considering last year’s poor harvests, and Uncle’s expensive tastes and poor diplomatic relations, grain must have come from somewhere so people wouldn’t starve. Up north, focused on my own estate, I’d assumed Uncle had ordered someone to handle it.
And someone had. Just not through Uncle because he hadn’t cared enough.
Queen of Coin and Whispers Page 13
