Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “I beg your pardon, your Majesty?” Lady Quinn said.

  Veronica looked up and caught Elspeth’s eye. “You saw the Park,” she said. Her quiet voice was dull and emotionless.

  “I did,” Elspeth said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “And is that all you thought?” Veronica asked.

  Faraday was eyeing the two of them as if he could tell the conversation ran deeper than mere words. Elspeth gave up. “It’s very large,” she said. “What was it before it became the Park?”

  Faraday turned his attention on Elspeth. “Many things,” he said. “Slums. A culling ground. A few estates. Some very expensive land. All razed to make room for the Crown’s pleasure.”

  “And then?”

  Faraday glanced at Veronica. “A hunting preserve for King Landon, until he turned it over to the Crown for public use.”

  “It was a generous gesture,” Lady Quinn said.

  Now Elspeth and Faraday looked at each other. Faraday looked sour, but this time it was an inward-turned look, as if he were contemplating some terrible inner vision. “Was it?” Elspeth asked.

  Faraday’s expression grew even more sour. Into the silence, Veronica said, “Landon always loved to hunt.” Her quiet voice sounded like bell chimes.

  “And he would have wanted to bring the hunt to himself,” Elspeth said, her own voice quiet. “A hunting preserve, right in the heart of the city. Why didn’t it stay that way?”

  Lady Quinn looked confused. Faraday said, “Public outrage, and the complaints of the noble lords, most of whom were simply jealous King Landon had tried something they wished they could get away with.”

  “And yet everyone remembers Uncle Landon as a kind philanthropist,” Elspeth said. Her meal had gone sour. “He made a literal land grab at the heart of Aurilien and everyone praises him for it.”

  “What’s past is past,” Faraday said. “Those who suffered because of the King’s greed have forgotten their grievances because the Park is something everyone loves. Does it matter what kind of man the King was, or what he intended?”

  Elspeth picked at the quail’s bones. “It matters to me,” she said.

  “I told you to look because I wanted you to know the truth,” Veronica said suddenly. “You have a chance to be better than they were. But it won’t happen if you take it for granted that all kings and queens are the same. That they all have the same noble intentions.”

  Elspeth looked at her. “I understand. Thank you. It can’t…can’t be easy, knowing that about your family.”

  “Mister Faraday is right. The past is past,” Veronica said. She smiled. “And I choose to look to the future. As you should.”

  Elspeth thought of that first circuit of the Park, how innocently beautiful she’d found it. It wasn’t any less beautiful now that she knew its origins. “I’ll try,” she said. “But I think I won’t be able to face the future if I forget the past.”

  Lady Quinn still looked confused, but Faraday saluted her with his wine glass. “I don’t think you’re in any danger of that, your Majesty.”

  Elspeth didn’t know what he meant by that, but it was the first compliment he’d given her, and she decided not to examine it too closely. It might fly away if she did.

  13

  Elspeth sat very still with her hands folded in her lap and her chin unnaturally high. It was a pose the artist had insisted on, and Elspeth wondered if the woman’s dislike of her subject would translate into making her look stupid for posterity. It was unlikely, given how the woman respected Elspeth’s role more than Elspeth did, but Elspeth’s neck and back hurt and at this point she was willing to assume the worst.

  “I didn’t realize our relationship with Ruskald had deteriorated so much,” she said. The artist grunted in disapproval. Elspeth ignored her. So long as Elspeth didn’t flap her arms or nod her head, the artist could do her job.

  “It’s because the new King of the Ruskalder is testing to see how far he can push us,” Lord Harrington said. “That long arm of Ruskald that extends through the Riverlands near Daxtry and Avory has always been a national security nightmare. The only thing that prevents Ruskald from pushing east is how few settlements there are in that area. That, and they don’t want to start a war they can’t be sure they’d win.”

  Elspeth reviewed her mental map of the area. “I don’t know much about Veribold’s international policies, but I think they would prefer to have us for a neighbor. I mean, if it came to war. We’re not planning on starting a war either, right?”

  “No, your Majesty. If we were to fight Ruskald to take that territory, it would leave us vulnerable to attack by Veribold.”

  “I don’t think Veribold is interested in attacking us.”

  Lord Harrington bowed. “With all due respect, your Majesty, your affection for your adopted country should not blind you to political realities. Veribold fears us because we have superior military forces, even in peacetime, and they believe we want an extended coastline, which we would get if we conquered them. If they thought we were weakened by war with Ruskald, it’s not impossible that they might seize the opportunity.”

  Elspeth blushed. “You’re right, there’s a lot I don’t know. I can only speak to my experiences with meeting the Veriboldan landholders at embassy gatherings. It’s not likely they would have come out and said they wanted to conquer Tremontane, particularly to the Tremontanan ambassador’s daughter.”

  “Don’t worry, your Majesty, this will all become natural in time.”

  Elspeth suppressed her annoyance at his patronizing tone. She still did have a lot to learn. “So what do we need to do? About Ruskald, I mean.”

  “I’ll draft a letter to King Osjan for you to sign. Depending on his response, we may need to move troops into Daxtry and Avory, but that will require great care. And you should reach out to the Ruskalder ambassador, Larssin. Make it clear that Tremontane is interested in remaining cordial with its northern neighbor, but that if they want to start a war, we will most certainly finish it.”

  “I’m not sure how capable I am of conveying that, but I’ll do my best.”

  Lord Harrington smiled. “I have no worries about that, your Majesty. Just pretend he’s your Council.”

  Elspeth controlled a laugh that would have earned her a reproachful hiss from the artist. “Is that a compliment?”

  “You’ve proven capable of keeping them under control. It’s not what anyone expected.”

  Elspeth’s watch chimed the hour. “Mistress Bennegret, it’s time,” she said.

  The artist made a few more strokes, then laid down her brush. “If your Majesty were more patient, this would be done already.”

  “I have many responsibilities, Mistress Bennegret.” Elspeth was never so grateful for those responsibilities as when the artist’s hour was up. She stood, stretched, and worked her jaw until it wasn’t so tense. “Thank you for your patience.”

  Elspeth and Lord Harrington walked through the corridors back to the north wing. Elspeth was almost certain she could find the way herself, but she was grateful for Lord Harrington’s company. He’d proved much more cordial now that she was the Queen instead of Sebastian North’s daughter. “Are you looking forward to this evening?” he asked.

  Elspeth shrugged. “I don’t know how to dance most Tremontanan dances, and I understand it’s the Queen’s duty to ask for the pleasure, so for me the Spring Ball is more an opportunity to talk to people. Since I see most of them every day, I can’t imagine it will be that exciting.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I would think this would be an excellent opportunity for you to meet potential Consorts. Dancing is the first stage in the courtship ritual, after all.”

  Elspeth’s heart gave a startled sideways lurch. “Oh. I…hadn’t considered that.” Over three weeks had passed since her coronation and Dane’s comments on the need for her to marry, and she’d been busy enough she hadn’t thought of them since. Be honest, Elspeth. She hadn’t wanted to think about Dane’s comme
nts. Meeting men, especially when those men would know she was looking for a husband…it was awkward, and embarrassing, and not something Elspeth was good at. “Is that…will people think it’s something I should do?”

  “This is the first royal ball since your coronation, your Majesty. I imagine the speculation as to whom you will single out is running high.”

  She’d never blushed so hard in her life. “But I really don’t know how to dance, Lord Harrington! And I didn’t realize I’d be expected to. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  Lord Harrington put a hand on her shoulder, a paternal gesture. “You’re an attractive young woman as well as being Queen. I don’t think it occurred to anyone that you aren’t a veteran of years of these social events, or that you might not be enthusiastic about the Spring Ball.”

  “I suppose my dressmaker might have said one or two things along those lines.” She’d put up with the fittings for her new gown because she liked Catherine Elwes, but dressing up wasn’t something she loved. “I’ll do my best.”

  Alone in her office, she sat at her well-organized desk and propped her chin in her hands. Dancing. It wasn’t that she hated dancing, it was that Veriboldan dances were all variations on the same four movements, and mastering those was simple. Tremontane, on the other hand, had as many dances as it did songs, most of them complicated, all of them demanding the dancers’ attention. There was no way she could fake her way through a Tremontanan dance. At least she wouldn’t embarrass anyone by turning down a dance request, because no one would dare ask the Queen to stand up with him. She felt unexpectedly guilty about it, as if she’d let her country down.

  A knock sounded on her door. “Mister Faraday,” Simkins said, opening the door to let Faraday in. Elspeth sat up straight.

  “Mister Faraday, do you have news?” she asked.

  Faraday looked grim. “I’m forced to admit defeat,” he said. “We have been unable to track anyone who might have been in a position to shoot at you. Furthermore, I have no evidence that any of my suspects engineered the attempt.”

  “What does that mean in terms of possible future attacks?”

  The grim look turned sour, which told Elspeth Faraday’s frustration was growing. “It means we can’t know whether this was a one-time attack, or whether we have to be on guard against someone trying again. We also don’t know if it was opportunistic or planned. Since you left the palace without telling anyone—”

  “I told plenty of people!”

  “I beg your pardon. That wasn’t a criticism. I meant that your excursion wasn’t on your schedule for an assassin to learn about it and set up that attack. At any rate, I’m inclined to think someone saw an opportunity and took it, except there is always a measure of planning when it comes to assassination. So what I think happened is that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay an assassin to follow you, looking for his or her moment.”

  His straightforward words sent a chill through Elspeth. “That means someone with resources, doesn’t it? Someone wealthy?”

  “Or a secret organization interested in destroying the monarchy. I’ve come up with half a dozen possibilities, all of them with more possibilities branching off the original ones until I can’t see anything clearly. I apologize.”

  “You’ve done everything anyone could expect of you, Mister Faraday.” Elspeth sighed. “Don’t any of your suspects stand out?”

  “Some of them. A person who knew in advance you would die could put their resources into position to immediately take advantage of that, getting a head start on their competitors, so to speak. There aren’t many nobles or landed gentry or even wealthy commoners who have those kinds of resources. But there are still too many of them to single one out, and at this point, it’s not sensible to watch all of them.”

  “Maybe we just have to wait until they try again.”

  “That is not funny,” Faraday shouted. He turned his head away, struggling for control. “I apologize. Internal Affairs doesn’t play games with the Queen’s life.”

  Elspeth nodded. “It was a poor joke. I don’t think I could bear walking around wondering if this would be the day they tried again, and succeeded.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  Elspeth nodded again. “Maybe they won’t try again. Maybe it was a warning.”

  “A warning against what?”

  “I don’t know. I was trying to be optimistic.”

  The corners of Faraday’s mouth twitched. “You have hundreds of men and women dedicated to keeping you safe, your Majesty. Let that fill you with optimism.”

  It actually made Elspeth uncomfortable. All those people who might die to prevent her death…maybe the Queen was worth that sacrifice, but Elspeth North wasn’t sure about herself. “That’s comforting,” she lied.

  “I’ll let you know if we learn anything new,” Faraday said. “Are you looking forward to the Spring Ball?”

  Elspeth shuddered. “Not now that I know everyone will be watching my every move, wondering if I’ll spontaneously propose marriage to some young noble itching for the chance to become Consort. And I don’t know how to dance.”

  “You shouldn’t feel obligated to dance. Walk around. Converse. You have plenty of time to choose a Consort.”

  “That’s not what Lord Harrington said. And Aldous Dane made it sound like it was dereliction of duty that I’m not already married and pregnant.”

  Faraday chuckled. “Better you choose the right man than that you leap into marriage out of duty.”

  “Can I quote you on that?”

  Faraday just smiled and closed the door behind him.

  Tradition said the Queen or King wore pale green to the Spring Ball, and Elspeth didn’t care enough to fight tradition. Besides, green of any shade complemented her red hair. Honey pinned her curls back from her face to cascade down her back “in honor of new beginnings,” as she put it. Elspeth wasn’t sure what unbound hair had to do with new beginnings, but she liked the look.

  She wore a necklace of square-cut emeralds and a coronet that matched it. The coronet itched, and was likely to become uncomfortable over time, but it was so pretty she was willing to put up with some discomfort. Dressed, groomed, and shod in silver low-heeled shoes she could have danced in if she knew how, she checked her reflection one last time and sighed. At least she looked like royalty.

  This time, a squad of North guards waited for her outside the east wing doors. She knew she was supposed to have an escort to the ball, but she sensed Faraday’s hand in its size. She let them surround her and tried not to see herself as a prisoner being led off to execution.

  The route to the ballroom led in and out of places she was already familiar with, giving her the oddest sense of being led through patches of light and darkness. She made herself pay attention to the turnings as a distraction from her anxiety. She was the Queen; no one would criticize her missteps; but she couldn’t help feeling, as she had earlier, that she was letting her country down by being unable to participate fully in its rituals.

  The guards stopped her around the corner from the long, straight hallway that led to the ballroom stairs. “One moment, your Majesty,” the guard lieutenant, the same woman who’d led her escort on that disastrous expedition to the Park, said. Two women peeled off from the formation and disappeared around the corner. Elspeth waited. She had no idea what she was waiting for—they might be checking for hidden assassins, or they might just be clearing the stairs for her grand entrance—but eventually the two guards returned and took their positions. “Now, your Majesty,” the lieutenant said, and they all marched forward and up the gentle slope of the corridor toward a bright opening at its far end.

  As they approached the doorway, music became audible, and the low murmur of conversation. Elspeth quickened her steps and then had to slow as the lieutenant gave her a warning look. She wasn’t so much excited as anticipatory. Let’s get this over with.

  The doors to the ballroom stood wide open, creating an arched openi
ng through which bright light poured. She’d entered here once before, at the reception following her coronation, but that had been almost informal after the rigid ceremony of being crowned Queen. The guards spread out to either side of the landing beyond the doors, the trumpets sounded—Elspeth had trouble not laughing at that, it was so much like a story—and Elspeth stepped through the doors and stood silhouetted against them at the top of the stairs.

  “Her Majesty Elspeth North, Queen of Tremontane,” the herald said. He spoke into the wide end of a bell-shaped trumpet, and his voice boomed out of the Device to fill the room. Elspeth carefully lifted her skirts and made her way down the steps to the sound of enthusiastic applause. It still didn’t bother her, being stared at, but the applause made her nervous, and she didn’t know why. Maybe because it was the sort of thing one did at an artistic performance, and Elspeth didn’t like the feeling that her rule was some kind of opera. Or worse, penny theater.

  She reached the bottom of the steps and raised a hand to acknowledge the applause, then made her way to her seat. She might need to wander and talk to people, but better she let the excitement die down a bit first.

  None of the ambassadors had arrived yet, so Elspeth sat alone and surveyed the crowd. Brightly-dressed people thronged the ballroom, sipping from tall glasses brought to them by uniformed servants. The orchestra struck up a new song, with a dance she didn’t know, and she watched the couples sway through the steps and felt a pang of loneliness. Maybe she needed Simkins to put dance lessons on her schedule.

  The field of pastel dresses and coats and knee breeches looked like pale wildflowers blowing in the breeze. Springtide was a lesser celebration, when the lines of power ebbed for the equinox, but this was a beautiful display. If she were in Veribold, she and her family wouldn’t celebrate the holiday, but they might have a nice meal and talk about the families they’d left behind. Father would tell stories of his Great-Uncle Sebastian, last of Willow North’s children, and Mother would talk about her parents, dead before any of the children were born. The memory made Elspeth’s heart ache.