Bloody hell.
He had definitely been cast out.
As had, it would seem, his mother.
“You need to be regent,” Alfie stated quietly.
“I need to form a parliament,” True replied.
He felt Farah stiffen beside him.
“That would be impossible, unless you’re regent,” Alfie returned.
Alfie was correct, as his friend had been correct in the many times they’d discussed this, even before Cassius became regent.
“You wish to give up your rule?” Farah asked softly.
He looked to his intended. “I wish to give my people a say in how their land and their lives are governed. I would be the final voice. If I felt what was decided was not for the good of the realm, I would have last right of refusal. And my name would need to be signed to any law, tax, treaty, proclamation for it to be valid and put into effect. But that would not happen unless my people have spoken through their representatives about how it should be done.”
“That would mean it could take ages for decisions to be made, and it might even be mayhem, no?” she replied.
“It is better than an entire country at the whims of whatever personality the gods bestow on their monarch and whatever choices he makes for his advisors,” he said.
She held his gaze for a long moment before she whispered, “You are a marvel, Prince True of Wodell.”
He felt relief she was not against this idea.
In fact, it appeared she championed it.
“He is a man of his people,” Alfie declared.
“Not in the now,” Bram noted. “He’s a man who’s besotted with his Firenz bride and wishes to give her a lavish wedding to be paid for by every thatcher, blacksmith, wealthy orchard owner and shepherd. This is a blow, True. And you need a swift recovery. Your mother expects a good deal from you, but I agree with her in this stead. Carrington has taken advantage of your absence. You need to go home.”
“Do you have coin?” Farah asked abruptly.
True turned to her. “Pardon?”
“Of your own. Do you have currency of your own?”
His men grew alert at this question but True simply answered, “My maternal grandmother left me an inheritance. I’ve not needed to touch it. So yes, I have coin.”
“Is it substantial?” she inquired.
“Why do you ask, milady?” Alfie demanded in a low tone, using the words “milady” to express he didn’t like her line of questioning, for she’d long since insisted they all call her Farah, and they’d long since acquiesced to this demand.
She looked to Alfie. “Because regardless what that proclamation said, it is signed by the king. It might infer that it is True demanding this new levy at his fancy and the whim of a betrothed who desires an extravagant wedding, but it was signed by the king.”
She turned again to True and spoke on.
“You are known, and you are loved. This proclamation has to come as a surprise not to some, but to many. If you do something that is very much you, such as give a substantial donation to an orphanage, or a hospital, or a school, and declare it a gift in celebration of your wedding, this will not be a surprise. It will be very in character of Prince True of Wodell. King Wilmer taxes his people. Prince True gives from the heart to his land.”
“Bloody hell, that’s genius,” Wallace muttered.
And bloody hell.
It was.
Farah glanced about all of them. “Further, I am naught but a citizen of my realm, but I would expect my monarch has the intelligence to acquire staff to manage his resources so that a wedding ceremony, no matter how lavish, would not require an extra duty.” Her attention returned to True. “I would ask, in the case of an additional tax, where the rest of my taxes went. Especially if where they went is not readily apparent. That would not be attributed to you. That would be an assessment of the decisions and supervision of the king and his advisors.”
True grinned at her.
She was not quite finished.
“Furthermore,” Farah continued, “of note is the fact that you’re wedding a woman from a realm with whom this one does not get along. This could have been an issue, more so after this tax was proclaimed. But I can request Mars makes his own substantial donation, perhaps to someplace in the Arbor, a library or museum that is oft-visited or otherwise cherished by Silence. Mars making this donation in his new queen’s name, an alliance through marriage with Firenze would not seem such a bad thing. The king of Wodell will be seen as taxing, the prince and his beloved cousin with their Firenz spouses have the best of the realm deep in their hearts and are willing to act on that.”
“Fucking brilliant,” Bram said. “I’ll send a bird to Mars immediately.”
“I’m not done,” Farah told him quietly.
Bram didn’t move.
None of them did.
She turned again to True.
“And we need to invite real people to the wedding, True. You have the charmed folk represented. But who you are, what you represent, we need more. A trusted soldier you know and his family. A tutor from your childhood you particularly liked. A servant of the castle who is close to you, someone day to day who gives their loyalty to the crown, and to you, in ways otherwise unseen, and not often honored.”
She scooted closer and carried on.
“None of these invitations will be questioned or considered strategic. If they have touched your life, it is not out of character for you that they have your regard and for you to make a point of that on what is considered by the Dellish the most important union you’ll make in your life. This will be a small gesture, but I have no doubt it will be noted and spoken about.”
She was absolutely correct.
It would.
And that would spread wide.
“In this case, it’s advantageous,” she continued. “But in truth, if True Axelsson was being wed, and not Prince True, you would have done this from the beginning. In fact, these would be the first invitations, outside family, that you’d send.”
He loved it that she knew that about him.
Farah reached out and wrapped her fingers over his hand where it rested on the table.
“You are the prince of the people, True,” she said. “You wish to give them a voice in the governing of their land. Start that by having them represented at your wedding. I do not think this will alleviate their indignation at having to pay further taxes. But I think it will definitely state who you are and what you’re about and even might be considered your response to your father’s decision to require more of his people without giving anything in return. He has foolishly, for reasons I don’t understand, not made it known what boons have been negotiated for Wodell in Firenze. But you have. He’s taxing, but you are making arrangements to put more coin in their purses at the same time giving generously and honoring those who serve the realm. Your father can’t counter that. And should you wish to press regency, he might even be pushed into the position by the will of the people to accept it.”
“How is it that you are this perfect?” True asked the instant she stopped speaking, and when he did, he watched her eyes grow large. “Beautiful, gregarious, kind and sage,” he murmured. “You are an impossibility.”
He saw the blush rise on her cheeks and was enjoying it when Alfie interrupted.
“We send birds now, to the queen and to Mars. As well as Bram riding immediately with the fullness of our message and making sure it’s carried out. We follow on the morrow and make haste to Notting Thicket. Once there, you and Farah are seen in the city, not only attending the opera, but also visiting an orphanage.”
True turned his hand, captured Farah’s fingers and brought them down to his thigh as he nodded to Alfie then to Bram.
“Do it,” he bid.
Bram was out of his chair instantly.
“Your mother might not like having to find extra chairs for extra guests in your temple,” Farah murmured.
“Mother will do what’s b
est for the realm,” he replied, for he knew she would.
She always did.
What was best for Wodell.
And what was best for True.
He looked to Alfie. “Carrington’s secretary.”
“Yes?” Alfie asked.
“If Carrington does not treat him well, could we possibly recruit him in our endeavors?”
Alfie nodded. “I’ll grab Bram before he rides. He’ll need to attempt that personally.”
True lifted his chin. “Before you go, give him these names to give to my mother to add to the wedding list.”
True recited the names as Alfie listened. True knew his captain needed to take nothing down. He’d remember.
His friend might not be jocular and talkative, but he was observant, exceptionally loyal and wickedly smart.
Alfie left their company.
“I’ll order us more ale,” Luther muttered, and got up to do that.
“If we leave on the morrow, I have a lass to say farewell to, so I best get on doing that,” Florian shared, and then he was gone.
“And I best get on that message to Baldrick,” Wallace declared, and on a grin, he left Farah and True alone at the table.
“I hope the Lights play tonight,” Farah said. “We have not had luck while we’ve been here, and although this village is very charming and the people in it more so, it would make me sad we came here but have to leave without seeing the Lights.”
Although he agreed with her, True did not comment on that.
He said, “You think I am a marvel, but you are a wonder.”
Her head gave a slight jerk before she asked, “Hardly. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because upon meeting you, and with every moment I’ve shared with you since, I have come more and more to know down to my soul you will be the perfect wife for me.”
Her lips parted, and a look of astonishment moved over her features.
However, he was not finished.
“But now I have learned you will also be the perfect queen for my country. That is not more important, but as you know well, it means a great deal to me.”
She looked away, but he still noted her eyes grew bright with tears.
True allowed her the limited privacy she could have but did it rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.
When she looked back, she had control, but he could see it cost her.
“I wish my mother had been able to know you better before we lost her,” she said softly.
“And as you know, I wish I’d been able to know her better as well,” he replied.
“She would be very happy that destiny choose you for me.”
“She would not be alone.”
Farah pressed her lips together to again gain control.
True continued stroking her knuckles.
When she appeared to be ready, he offered, “Do you wish another sandwich?”
“I will not be able to eat again for a week after the last.”
“I’ll accept that as a no.”
She smiled.
He leaned closer to her. “We’ll come back and see the Lights, darling. We’ll then bring our children to see the Lights. I will make sure you won’t miss them. That is a promise.”
Her face grew soft and she nodded.
Her eyes then fell to his mouth.
And thus, he sat back, for he was ready for that, but he feared she wasn’t.
Not yet.
She turned her attention to the table, her jaw working, and he knew she thought he was wrong.
Perhaps going home to the Thicket was a good thing. There would be much more to take her attention, more to keep her mind off her loss, and distractions for them both so neither did anything earlier than was healthy for her state of mind.
“Shall we walk off our sandwiches by getting some of that taffy from the candy maker down the lane?” he suggested. “She would never admit it out loud, but Mother loves that taffy and will be glad we brought some to her.”
Farah drew breath into her nose, turned to him and smiled brightly. “Yes, and more chocolate custard swirls.”
“I thought you were full up.”
“They’re for the men,” she told him.
“That was what you said last time, before eating three of them and we had to go back and buy more so two men weren’t left without.”
“It’s only four doors down the lane, True, it’s hardly trekking back to Firenze to buy some cioccolato al caffé.”
He stood, helping her out of her chair as he did, murmuring, “You speak of this cioccolato al caffé often and I’m wondering why you did not offer it to me all that time I was in in Firenze with you.”
“I’ll remind you, True, we’d just met, and it’s safe to say you had a number of other things going on.”
He led them toward the door where her cloak and his mantle were hanging on hooks, saying, “It sounds like this cioccolato al caffé was worth an interruption.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll make some for you. Mama taught me how.”
“And that I will look forward to, my beloved, for I can just imagine how the kitchen staff at Birchlire Castle will react to my bride taking over while I sit a stool like a besotted fool, watching her make candy.”
She shot him a grin.
He returned it reaching for her cloak.
“Oi!” Luther shouted, and they both looked his way to see he had the handles of four tankards of ale in his grasp. “Where did everyone go? I got us ales.”
“We’re getting taffy for the queen. And chocolate custard swirls. We’ll be back in a bit,” Farah told him, sharing this bit of news loudly with an avid audience of the pub luncheon crowd.
“Get me three swirls,” Luther ordered, not like he was talking to his future queen, like he was ordering about his little sister.
“Will do,” Farah said, latching her cloak that True had settled on her shoulders at her throat.
“We’ll order more ale in when we return,” True told Luther, dipping his head to the tankards. “You can have those.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Luther replied, moving back to the table they vacated.
True clasped his mantle, took his lady’s arm and led her to candy and custard swirls.
One half day where they were allowed to be mostly just True and Farah and their friends.
Then it would be back to reality.
It was not a great deal of time.
But he intended to make the most of it.
“True,” Farah called urgently, shaking his shoulder.
He was up and out of bed in a trice, his sword, which always rested against his night table, in his hand, his pulse spiking, his skin tightening.
“By the gods, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He was scanning the room by the dim light coming from the fireplace, his heart now racing, searching for a threat.
He flinched when he felt her hand on his back and heard her soothing voice.
“True, all is well. It’s just fine. I’m so so sorry. I just woke you because…look, caro. To the window.”
Noting no one was in the room but them, he drew in a deep breath and turned his head to the window.
Around the drapes, green light was dancing.
“I think the skies have cooperated,” she finished.
He strode over to the window and peered around the side of the curtain.
There were trees in the way, but it couldn’t be hidden.
The Lights were dancing.
He turned to his betrothed.
“You’re right,” he shared. “Hurry, my love. Dress. Let us go.”
She was out of bed almost as quickly as he’d left it moments ago.
“Dress warm,” he warned.
“I’ve no other choice. All my gowns weigh twenty pounds,” she replied from behind the screen.
This was an utter lie.
He still smiled.
As had become their way, he dressed in the room, she be
hind the screen.
She came out when she needed him to tighten her laces, something he did.
They then both sat on the bed, side by side, to put on their boots.
He helped her with her cloak before he swung on his mantle.
She was pulling on her gloves as they moved into the hall.
He immediately started toward Alfie’s room.
She caught his arm.
He looked down at her.
“Just us,” she whispered.
“Farah—”
“Please, witnessing this magic?” she beseeched. “Just us, True.”
He looked into her topaz eyes.
He then gave in.
He guided her to the stairs, down them, and through the still-crowded pub, both of them calling greetings as they went.
He flipped a silver coin to the stable boy, which was so far above the boy’s normal token, his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he caught it.
It was nowhere near the worth of gold, but it’d likely keep his family fed for a week.
“Just the prince’s steed, please,” Farah called after him then looked up at True. “I’d like to ride with you. It would be warmer.”
It would be hell, her arse in his crotch for five miles.
He thought this.
He said, “If that is your wish, sweets.”
When the boy had brought a saddled Majesty, True swung up and then leaned low to the side to catch Farah about the waist and pull her up before him.
He dipped his chin when the boy gave a bow, then he clicked his teeth, dug the heels of his boots into the sides of his mount, and they galloped out of the stables.
Majesty’s hooves clattered on the cobbles as the wind blew Farah’s soft hair in his face, its fragrance stirring him deeply.
To combat that, he bent into her, pressing his cheek against the side of her head.
They left the village and took the winding path that led up the wooded hill, and it seemed with every strike of Majesty’s hooves, the air lit more brightly about them.
They were but a mile away when he heard Farah’s joyous laugh.
“What is funny?” he asked in her ear.
“Nothing,” she answered, turning her head and catching his eye, also catching his heart with the joy he saw in hers. “Nothing. It’s just so beautiful, I cannot process it. All I can do is laugh.”
The Plan Commences Page 51
