Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “You’ve done well for someone who’s been Queen for barely a month,” Lord Harrington said with a smile that for once wasn’t patronizing. “I hope your reign doesn’t have to begin with a war.”

  Elspeth controlled a shudder. “I hope that as well.” She stood. “I have to go. My one o’clock appointment is crucial to the state of the nation.”

  “It is?” Lord Harrington looked as if he wanted to know why he hadn’t been invited to such an important meeting. “What is the subject?”

  This time, Elspeth didn’t try to hide her shudder. “Dancing lessons.”

  It turned out there was one tradition that allowed men to make advances to the Queen without breaking the law. Elspeth stood in the gold receiving room and stared in dismay at the piles of presents, brightly wrapped in colored cloth or painted wooden crates. “But,” she exclaimed, “isn’t this worse than them asking me for a dance?”

  “You’re free to acknowledge or ignore whatever gifts you want,” Faraday said. “After they’ve been opened and examined by Internal Affairs. For security reasons.”

  Elspeth distractedly flapped a hand at him. “I understand the need for that. There’s just so many. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Not all of them are from single men,” Veronica said in her quiet voice. “Many people like to wish the Queen a happy birthday. Of course, most of them do it for selfish reasons. They hope you’ll think well of them if they give you something nice, and then when they ask for a favor, you’ll be more likely to grant it.”

  “If I can remember them in all this…this…”

  “Extravaganza?” Faraday suggested.

  “I was thinking ‘absurdity,’ but your word works too.” Elspeth sighed. “I suppose you should keep track of who gives me what, so I can have Miss Simkins write thank-you notes.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Veronica said. “Or, rather, you only need to acknowledge the ones you intend to reciprocate in some way. Anyone who receives a thank you will assume a personal interest.”

  “I suppose that saves Miss Simkins some time.”

  A uniformed servant in Tremontane colors entered, bearing a stack of wrapped gifts. Elspeth groaned. “I’m going to dress for the gala now,” she said. “Is it bad that I’m actually grateful for Internal Affairs’ security obsession? I don’t want to see those things again until they’ve been unwrapped and the awful ones burned.”

  “Don’t be so discouraged,” Faraday said with a smile. “You might like some of them.”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” She’d always liked receiving gifts. She’d just never received so many all at once, nor so many that came with obligations attached.

  Her gown for the birthday gala was the same old-fashioned style as her coronation gown. She’d expressed a desire to wear that gown, in fact, but Catherine Elwes had said that would make her seem common, as if she were forced to use the same gown because she wasn’t wealthy enough for a new one. Elspeth had grumbled—privately; she didn’t want to insult Catherine—but in the end had settled on rose-colored satin over a froth of petticoats, with a fitted waist and bodice whose neckline curved lower than she was used to. It was beautiful, but Elspeth had to stop herself hitching the neckline up to cover herself.

  The toan jade would have made the perfect complement, green like leaves next to the rosy-pink satin, but it wasn’t something you wore as jewelry. So Elspeth had selected a simple gold chain from which hung a gilded maple leaf. The keeper of the jewels had told Elspeth it was actually a real leaf that had been dipped in gold, a gift to a long-ago Queen from Barony Steepridge, and the thought had charmed Elspeth so much she often chose it over more ornate jewels.

  For this occasion, she went to the ballroom early, before guests arrived, so they could be announced and introduced to her. Elspeth wasn’t sure about this, given that any other Queen would have both seen the guest list and known everyone on it, but she chose to be grateful that she got even as much help remembering people as that.

  Her usual chair had been moved to the end of the ballroom opposite the stairs and placed upon a low dais erected for the occasion. She sat and looked around. The decorators had outdone themselves; fluttering, cascading lengths of white or pink gauze draped the walls, giving the vast room a surprisingly intimate feeling. The chandeliers had been lowered, brightening the room and making the floor with its gradient pattern of light to dark woods seem to flow underfoot. That was a strange sensation, and Elspeth hoped it wouldn’t make dancing difficult. It was already going to be hard enough.

  She’d mastered six dances and was adequate in two more, which ought to be enough so long as she chose the right partners. She reminded herself of what Faraday had said and resolved to take his advice. Courtship should be fun, and she intended to have fun. Besides, she was the Queen, and this was her birthday. Nobody had better criticize her on her day.

  That thought made her remember Lady Quinn, who was celebrating her birthday as well. She’d been on the guest list, but Elspeth hoped she didn’t feel obligated to attend the gala. Sharing a birthday with the Queen must be something like having a Wintersmeet birthday. You’d always be lost in the celebrations. Elspeth also hoped this wasn’t the end of any chance of her becoming friends with Lady Quinn. The Countess of Waxwold was shy and quiet, but Elspeth had seen her laugh and concluded there was someone worth knowing inside that shy cocoon.

  The trumpets rang out a fanfare, more to alert the Queen to her guests’ arrival than anything else, she thought. A couple appeared at the top of the steps and made their way down to the ballroom floor. Elspeth sat up straight. The page in North blue who stood beside her came to attention as well. “Lord and Lady Harrington, your Majesty,” she said as the couple drew closer.

  “Lord Harrington, it’s good to see you,” Elspeth said. “And Lady Harrington. It’s been a while.”

  “It has, your Majesty.” Lady Alice Harrington curtseyed to Elspeth exactly as if she respected her, which Elspeth knew she didn’t. Lady Harrington didn’t like any of Prince Sebastian’s children, though it was hardly as if she’d seen them often enough to make that decision. It didn’t help that the children, when much younger, had played a trick on Lady Harrington that she had never forgotten or forgiven, or that Elspeth had never groveled sufficiently for forgiveness, as far as Lady Harrington was concerned. Elspeth smiled, and nurtured her satisfaction at seeing Lady Harrington abase herself close to her heart.

  “Our best wishes for your happiness on this day,” Lord Harrington said. “I assume your parents have sent their greetings?”

  She wished he hadn’t said that. “Of course,” she said around the sudden lump in her throat. “It’s too bad they couldn’t be here.”

  “Soon enough, I imagine. Midsummer, perhaps?”

  “I hope so.” Elspeth managed a smile. “Please enjoy your evening.”

  The two bowed again, and the page stepped up to announce the next guest, a tall, attractive man who was unfortunately too old for her. She smiled, and said meaningless pleasantries, and was relieved when he moved on.

  The introductions soon became a blur. She tried to hold on to the names of the young men, at least, but there were so many, and none of them were more than a name and a face and perhaps a pair of well-turned legs. She had to admit the fashion for knee breeches suited almost all her male guests. Too bad Mihn wouldn’t be there; he looked simultaneously handsome and ridiculous in Tremontanan men’s fashion. But his father had required his presence for some diplomatic function. Elspeth suspected Elizdo had exaggerated his need for his son’s attendance out of spite.

  “Mister Duncan Faraday,” the page said, and Elspeth sat up from where she’d been slouching a bit.

  “You’re not here to tell me there’s some Internal Affairs crisis only I can resolve, are you?” she asked eagerly.

  Faraday smiled and swept her a completely unironic bow. He had very nice legs, too, she noticed. “Unfortunately for you, no,” he said. “I am here to wish you a happy birth
day and remind you that you are supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I will be once the introductions are over,” she said. “I’m actually looking forward to dancing, isn’t that strange?”

  “Not strange at all.” Faraday glanced behind himself. “And I believe the last of the guests are arriving.”

  “Then I can endure a few more minutes.”

  Faraday nodded and strolled off. Elspeth looked toward the top of the stairs—yes, there didn’t appear to be anyone else entering, and maybe now she could get up and stretch discreetly. She glanced around before the next guests approached. How under heaven was she to locate the men she wanted to dance with? The room was thronged with people.

  As the page announced Mister Gould, and Elspeth pretended not to remember him—it was rude, but she didn’t want to fall into a conversation about her rejecting his pavilion design—an idea struck her. It might be unusual, but she was sure it didn’t break tradition, and it would ease her burden considerably. After the page had announced the last guests, an elderly couple who seemed to see the event as a social nicety rather than anything they personally cared about, Elspeth said to the young woman, “You know all these people, yes? I mean, you didn’t have some kind of secret list up your sleeve?”

  “No, your Majesty. I memorized the guest list, and I know almost everyone here,” the page said.

  “Then I want you to help me,” Elspeth said.

  She sent the page on her way and waited for the dance music to begin. The musicians playing quiet, nondescript tunes sat on a balcony above and behind her, which made it impossible for her to watch them from her seat without looking foolish, so instead she listened. The hum of conversation swept over her, with the soft background music threading through it. The ballroom still felt cool, though that wouldn’t last long as the heat from nearly a hundred bodies filled it. Dancing would only make her warmer, and she briefly regretted that formal fashion didn’t mean the muslin garden party dress. But her gown was beautiful, and so was she, and she intended to enjoy herself.

  The musicians struck a loud, melodic chord, and the movement of the crowd became more intentional as men and women sought each other out for the first dance. As Faraday had promised, it was one she knew. Elspeth sat up straight and scanned the crowd. There was the page, returning, with—

  “Lord Erickson,” she said, stepping down from the dais. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” the young man said. He didn’t look at all upset about having been asked to dance by proxy, and Elspeth relaxed further. He offered her his hand and escorted her to where the couples were forming up. To her relief, Elspeth discovered Faraday had been right about something else: no one seemed inclined to make a fuss about the Queen joining the company, or to make everyone move so she could be at the center of the ballroom.

  The dance wasn’t one that allowed for conversation, so afterward Elspeth drew Lord Erickson away with her in search of a drink and kept him chatting for the course of the next dance. It was enough time for the page to secure Elspeth another dance partner, who also didn’t mind being asked indirectly. Elspeth danced, and drank punch—it was her party, damn it, and if she didn’t want wine she wasn’t going to have it—and danced again. The gentlemen were friendly, and most of them were interesting, and even the ones who weren’t made her feel comfortable—

  The doors at the top of the stairs slammed open. “You—you tjorben!” shouted the Ruskalder ambassador, Larssin. He scanned the crowd until he saw Elspeth. Roaring incoherently in fury, he ran down the stairs. Guards who’d been standing unobtrusively throughout the ballroom leapt into motion, bringing him to the ground at the foot of the stairs. Larssin screamed something else in Ruskalder.

  Elspeth walked toward the ambassador, mesmerized by his fury. Then Faraday was in front of her, putting her well behind him. “Don’t,” he said. “He’s dangerous. The guards will remove him.”

  “What is a tjorben?”

  “I don’t know. Please, your Majesty, stay back.”

  Elspeth came to a halt. “Get him up,” she said.

  The guards looked to Faraday for instruction. He hesitated, then nodded curtly. The guards hauled Larssin to his feet.

  “Excuse me, your Majesty,” Lord Harrington said. “Let me—”

  “Ambassador Larssin has something on his mind,” Elspeth said. “I want to know what it is.”

  Larssin strained briefly against the guards’ hold, then subsided. “You bring war to our country,” he snarled. “You attack us. We say you tjorben.”

  “It means ‘traitor,’” Lord Harrington murmured. “More or less.”

  “That’s so much better than what I thought,” Elspeth said. “Ambassador, you accuse us of pursuing war when your country moved its troops first. We are simply prepared to defend ourselves.”

  “That is lie,” Larssin shouted. “We have move nothing. You want our land. I say you make war.”

  “Ambassador,” Lord Harrington said, “you have no proof. We, on the other hand, have been aware of your preparations for some time now. We will not start a war, but we will finish one.”

  Larssin spat on the ground near Elspeth’s feet, causing a commotion among the nearby guests. “You want war, we give you war,” he said.

  “Enough,” Elspeth said. “We can go around pointing fingers all night. We know the truth, ambassador, and I suggest perhaps you should return to your King and tell him so.”

  The murmur grew louder. “Is that wise, your Majesty?” Lord Harrington said. “Expelling an ambassador can have serious consequences.”

  “What? I didn’t—oh, that’s not what I meant.” Elspeth faced Larssin directly, though his maddened eyes and straining muscles frightened her. It wouldn’t matter if her guards killed him if he got a lucky blow in on her first. “Tremontane does not wish war with Ruskald. We invite you to send word to your King to that effect. But if you burst in on the Queen’s presence again, we will take that as an act of war. You can tell King Osjan that, too.”

  Larssin wrestled free of the guards, though several of them and Faraday stood between him and Elspeth. “I tell him truth,” Larssin snarled. “Tremontane lies. We stand ready to fight.” He turned and stumped back up the stairs and out the door, slamming one of them behind him.

  Faraday turned on the guard captain who’d been the first to tackle Larssin. “Explain to me,” he said in a low voice that could have cut steel, “how you let a threat to her Majesty make it far enough that I was her last line of defense!”

  “I take responsibility, sir,” the captain said, drawing himself up without a hint of fear. “The ambassador was on the guest list, and we believed him to be a late arrival. He didn’t show aggression until he entered the room.”

  “It’s true, he was on the list,” Elspeth said. “I remember feeling grateful that he’d decided not to come. And I don’t think he was armed just now.”

  “Being unarmed doesn’t make someone harmless,” Faraday said to Elspeth, his eyes never leaving the captain’s face. “See me in the morning, captain. I’ll take your explanation into account.”

  Elspeth let out a long, calming breath. “Well, that was exciting,” she said loudly. A ragged laugh went around the room, the sound of nervous people realizing the danger was over. “I think we need an exciting dance. Mister Faraday, would you care to dance with me?”

  Faraday jerked in surprise. “I—” he said. For the first time since Elspeth had known him, he looked uncertain.

  “We need to talk,” Elspeth said under her breath.

  Faraday nodded. He made his bow, and Elspeth curtseyed in return, reflecting how grateful she was that this was a dance she knew, if imperfectly. They clasped hands, he put his other hand on her waist, and they spun off into the steps of the dance.

  “I almost accidentally sent the Ruskalder ambassador home,” Elspeth said. “I must be more shaken than I thought.”

  “You were in no danger,” Faraday said. “B
ut I admit to being shaken myself. If the Ruskalder really were behind the assassination attempts—”

  “You don’t believe that, do you? It seems a little obvious.”

  “No, I don’t. But if they wanted you dead, a direct attack seems more typically their style.”

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss. Why would Larssin burst in like that and accuse us of aggressing when they’re the ones who started it?”

  Faraday looked over Elspeth’s shoulder. “Isn’t that something you should ask Lord Harrington?”

  “I don’t want to dance with him. Besides, his wife would have me assassinated if I did, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about the Ruskalder.”

  “You don’t mean she’s jealous of you? Because the idea of you being interested in Lord Harrington—”

  “Ew, no. She just hates me.”

  “Lady Harrington? I didn’t think she hated anyone.”

  Elspeth snorted, a quiet but indelicate sound of mirth. “My brother and I might have been responsible for her having to shave her head and wear a wig about six years ago.”

  Faraday’s eyes went wide. Then amusement lit his eyes, transforming his whole face. Elspeth had never seen him so close to bursting out laughing. “That was you?” he said. His jaw was tight, not from anger, but from his efforts to contain himself. “Sweet heaven. I would never have guessed. Please tell me this is something the priestesses taught you.”

  “No, it was Mihn. And you shouldn’t laugh and encourage me. Who knows where I might strike next?”

  Faraday shook his head. “That was an excellent distraction, but I think we should stay on task. You’re right that it’s odd, Larssin accusing us of warmongering. It’s more likely, if they found out about our preparations for defense, that they’d keep quiet and advance their preparations.”

  “That’s what I thought. So what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. That really is something to discuss with Lord Harrington.”

  “Or with the Council. I’ll call an emergency session for tomorrow. If Ruskalder is more on the verge of war than we thought, we need to be prepared.”