Untouched Queen by Royal Command

by Kelly Hunter

  ‘Insolent whelp,’ said the older woman with enough bite to make the stone walls crumble.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Him. No wonder he isn’t wed.’

  The King’s secretary coughed, up ahead.

  ‘Yes, it’s extremely damp down here,’ offered Lianthe. ‘Although I dare say the rats enjoy it.’

  ‘We’re taking a short cut, milady. Largely unused,’ the man offered. ‘As for the rooms issued for the Lady Sera’s use, I know not what to say. You’ll find no comfort there. The palace has many other suites available for guests. You have but to ask for different quarters and they’ll be provided.’

  He opened a door and there was sunshine and a small walled courtyard stuffed with large pots of neatly kept kitchen herbs. Whoever tended this garden knew what they were about. Another door on the other side of the little courtyard plunged them into dankness once more before the corridor widened enough to allow for half a dozen people to walk comfortably side by side. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of huge doors wrought in black wood with iron hinges. Two thick wooden beams barred the door closed.

  The old guide stood aside and looked to the High Reaches guards. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

  ‘Very welcoming,’ murmured Sera as the guards pushed against the bindings and ancient wood and metal groaned. ‘Perhaps some plinths and flowers either side might brighten this entrance hall? Discreet lighting. Scented roses.’

  With another strangled cough from their guide, the bars slid to the side and the doors were pushed open. A soaring glass-domed space the size of a cathedral apse greeted them, encircled by grey marble columns and shadowy alcoves. What furniture remained lay shrouded beneath dust sheets and if rugs had once graced the vast expanse of grey stone floor they certainly weren’t in evidence now. Dust motes danced in the air at the disturbance from the opening of the doors, and was that a dovecote in one of the alcoves or a postbox for fifty? Another alcove contained the bathing pool, empty but for dirt, but the plumbing had worked once and would work again—it was her job to see to it. There were faded frescoes on the walls and a second floor with a cloistered walkway that looked down on the central area. Chandeliers still hung in place, struggling to shine beneath decades of dust. There was even a circus trapeze roped carelessly to a tiny balcony set one floor above the rest. Illustrations in the journals of the courtesans of old had not done the place justice.

  ‘Well, now.’ Sera sent a fleeting smile in Lianthe’s direction. ‘Nothing like a challenge.’

  The older woman nodded and turned to their guide. ‘Can you offer us cleaners?’ The man looked unsure. ‘No? Then we shall invite our own, and tradespeople too. I suppose we should thank the monarchy for preserving the space in all its historical glory. At least there are no rats.’

  ‘And I think I know why.’ Sera stared up at the domed glass ceiling to where several lumpy shapes sat, nestled into the framework. ‘Are they owls?’

  Lianthe looked up and smiled. ‘Why, yes. A good omen, don’t you think? Would you like to keep them?’

  ‘Depends on the rats.’ Call her difficult but if the rats were gone Sera was all for providing alternative living space—and hunting options—for the raptors. ‘We may need the assistance of a falconer. I don’t suppose King Augustus keeps one of those any more either?’

  ‘No, Lady Sera. But King Casimir of Byzenmaach does,’ said their guide.

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Lianthe nodded. ‘The falconers of Byzenmaach are men of legend and steeped in the old ways. Tomas-the-Tongue-Tied is head falconer there these days is he not? How is the boy?’

  ‘Grown, milady, although still somewhat tongue-tied,’ said the old guide and won a rare smile from Lianthe. ‘But ever devoted to his winged beasts. If you need him here, we can get him here.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Sera. Eyes on the prize, or, in this case, the speedy removal of hunting birds from her future living quarters. ‘Let’s aim for that. Unless by “Don’t get too comfortable” King Augustus meant for me to sleep with the wildlife? Perhaps I should go back and ask.’

  ‘You must definitely ask,’ said Lianthe.

  It was decided. Sera shed her travelling cloak and watched the old courtier blink and then raise his hand as if to shade his eyes from the glare. Granted her dainty six-inch heels were a burnt orange colour and her slimline ankle-length trousers were only one shade darker, but her tunic was a meek ivory chiffon and the gold metal bustier beneath it covered far more than usual and ran all the way up and around her neck.

  ‘Something wrong?’ she asked the old guide.

  ‘Headache,’ he said, and touched two fingers to his temple.

  ‘I know massage techniques for that,’ she began. ‘Very effective. Would you like me to—’

  ‘No, milady. No! You just...’ He waved his arm in the air ineffectually. ‘Go and see Augustus. The King. King Augustus.’

  ‘I know who you mean,’ she said gently, sharing a concerned glance with Lianthe. ‘Are you quite well? I’d offer you a seat if I could find one. Or a drink. Would you like me to call for water?’

  ‘No, milady. I’m quite recovered.’

  But he still looked painfully pinched and long-suffering. ‘Is it the jewels? Because the bustier isn’t quite my normal attire. It’s part of the courtesan’s chest.’

  ‘It certainly seems that way, milady. I must confess, I wasn’t expecting the bejewelled wrist and ankle cuffs either.’

  Ah. ‘Well, they are very beautiful. And surprisingly light given all the bronze and amber inlays and gold filigree. There are chains to go with them,’ she said.

  ‘Of course there are.’ The man’s fingers went to massage his temple again.

  ‘Will I find the King in the same place we left him?’ asked Sera, because sometimes it paid to be practical.

  ‘He may be back in his office by now. Two doors to the left of the room you met him in. The outer area houses the secretary’s desk. The secretary’s not there because that would be me and I am here. The inner room is his, and the door to it may or may not be open. Either way, knock.’

  Sera found the King exactly where the old courtier said he would be; the door through to his office was open and she paused to check her posture before knocking gently on the door frame. He lifted his gaze from the papers on the big black table in front of him and blinked. And blinked again.

  She curtseyed again, all but kissing the floor, because this man was her King and protocol demanded it.

  ‘Up,’ he said, with a slight tinge of weariness. ‘What is it?’

  Not Come in, so she stayed in the doorway. ‘I want to invite Tomas the Byzenmaach falconer to call on me.’

  ‘Tired of me already?’ He arched an eyebrow, even as he studied her intently, starting with her shoes and seeming to get stuck in the general vicinity of her chest. The golden bustier was quite arresting but not the most comfortable item of clothing she owned. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘I need him here so he can remove the raptors from my quarters.’

  ‘Raptors as in dinosaurs? Because it’s been that kind of day.’

  ‘Raptors as in owls.’

  ‘I’m almost disappointed,’ he said, and there was humour in him, sharp and slippery. ‘What is that you’re wearing, exactly? Apart from the clothes. Which I appreciate, by the way. Clothes are useful. You’ll get cold here if you don’t wear more of them.’

  ‘You mean the jewellery? Your secretary seemed very taken by it as well. It’s ceremonial, for the most part, although practical too.’

  ‘Practical?’

  ‘D-rings and everything.’ She held up one wrist and showed him the loop and then pointed to another where the bustier came together at the back of her neck. ‘So do I have your permission to call in the falconer?’

  ‘Is this a plea for different living quarters? Because I’m being as clear as
I can be here. I don’t want to give you any quarters, but, given that I must, you are welcome to more suitable living arrangements than the ones you have requested. I would not deny you that.’

  ‘It’s not a plea for new quarters.’ He tested her patience, this King with the giant stick up his rear. ‘And, yes, you’re being very clear. Perhaps I should be equally clear.’ Save herself a few meetings with him in the process. ‘I want your permission to clean and ready my living quarters for use. I will call in experts, when necessary. I will see the courtesan’s lodgings restored and it will cost you and the palace nothing. I will take all care to preserve the history of the rooms—more care than you or your people would. I will submit names, on a daily basis, of each and every craftsperson or cleaning person that I bring in. By your leave, and provided I have free rein to do so, I can have those rooms fit to live in within a week. Do I have your permission?’

  ‘You argue like a politician. All fine words, sketchy rationale and promises you’ll never keep.’

  ‘I’ll keep this promise, Your Majesty. Consider this a test if you need a reason to say yes.’

  ‘And when you leave again? What happens to all these home improvements then?’

  ‘I expect the next courtesan will benefit from them.’

  ‘Sera.’ He spoke quietly but with an authority that ran bone-deep, and it got to her in a way the authority of her teachers never had. ‘There’s not going to be another courtesan delivered to a King of Arun. This I promise.’

  ‘Then turn the place into a museum,’ she snapped, defiant in the face of extinction. ‘You don’t value me. I get it. You don’t need my help, you don’t want my help, and you don’t understand the backing you’ve just been blessed with. So be it. Meanwhile, we’re both bound by tradition and moreover I have dues to pay. Do I have your permission to engage the help I need to make my living quarters habitable?’

  ‘And here I thought courtesans were meant to be compliant.’

  ‘I am compliant.’ She could be so meekly compliant his head would spin. ‘I can be whatever you want me to be. All I need is direction.’

  His face did not betray his thoughts. Not by the flicker of an eye or the twitching of a muscle.

  ‘You have my permission to make your living quarters habitable,’ he said finally. ‘And Sera?’

  She waited.

  ‘Don’t ever walk the halls of my palace in your ancient slave uniform again.’

  * * *

  The King’s secretary had gone by the time Sera arrived back in the quarters she’d claimed as her own. She held her head high as she entered, never mind that the chill in the air and the ice in the King’s eyes had turned her skin to gooseflesh. She wouldn’t cry, she never had—not even at her mother’s funeral—but the gigantic task of readying this space for use and earning Augustus of Arun’s trust, and, yes, finding him a wife, was daunting enough to make her smile falter and her shoulders droop as she stared around at her new home.

  Lianthe and the guards had already begun pulling covers off the furnishings and for that she would be grateful. She wasn’t alone in this. Other people had faith in her abilities.

  ‘I’ve already sent for cleaning equipment and linens,’ Lianthe said when she saw her. ‘Did you find him again?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s a funny guy. He’s also hard as nails underneath, doesn’t like not getting his own way and he’s going to be hell on my sense of self-worth.’

  ‘We knew this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. I’m sure you’ll come to a greater understanding of each other eventually.’

  ‘I’m glad someone’s sure,’ she murmured.

  ‘And what did he have to say about securing a falconer to help get rid of our feathered friends?’

  ‘Oh, that?’ She’d forgotten about that. ‘He said yes.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  SIX DAYS LATER, Augustus was no closer to a solution when it came to removing his unwanted gift from the palace. He’d kept his distance, stuck to his routine and tried to stay immune to the whispers of the staff as word got around that the palace’s pleasure rooms were being refurbished. Ladies Sera and Lianthe had engaged cleaning staff and craftspeople to help with the repairs. Stonemasons had been brought in. Electricity had been restored. Structural engineers had been and gone, proclaiming the glass-domed roof still fit for purpose, with only minor repair required.

  Tomas the falconer had come for the owls and brought King Casimir of Byzenmaach’s sister Claudia with him. Apparently Sera and Claudia had gone to school together. Sera had prepared a lavish dinner for them that had gone on for hours. They’d caught up on each other’s lives. Swapped stories. Augustus had been invited.

  He hadn’t attended.

  Whispers turned into rumours, each one more fanciful than the rest.

  The Lady Sera was a sorceress, a witch, an enchantress and his apparent downfall. Her eyes were, variously, the softest dove-grey and as kind as an angel’s or as bleak as the winter sky and hard as stone. She and her guards danced with swords beneath the dome, and splattered reflected sunlight across the walls with uncanny precision, so the cleaners said. She’d had the trapeze taken down only to replace it with another, and this time the trapeze fluttered with silks that fell to the floor, his secretary told him.

  Silks she climbed up and down as if they were steps.

  Yesterday, a convoy of heavily guarded trucks had arrived from the north and requested entry, sending palace security into a spin and Augustus into a rare temper. Don’t get too comfortable, he’d said. He would find a way to undo this, he’d said. They knew he was working on it. They had no need for deliveries full of priceless artworks only ever revealed when a courtesan of the High Reaches was in residence at the palace.

  Even the palace walls were buzzing.

  Augustus’s father, former King and still an advisor to the throne, had been no help. He’d been married with two young children by the time he’d reached thirty and no courtesan of the High Reaches had ever come to him. There was no precedent for getting rid of one that didn’t directly relate to the rules of the accord. A courtesan, once bestowed, could be removed once a wife and heir had been secured and not before. She could be sent elsewhere at the King’s bidding but would still retain full ownership...no, not ownership, access...full access to her quarters in the palace.

  She had the right to refuse entrance to all but him. She had the right to entertain there but the guest list had to be approved by him. He’d asked for more details when it came to Sera Boreas’s background and education and an information file had landed on his desk this morning. She’d studied philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford. She’d taken music lessons in St Petersburg. Dance lessons with members of the National Ballet company of China. Learned martial arts from the monks of the High Reaches. Her origins were shrouded in mystery. Her mother had kept the company of high ranking politicians and dignitaries the world over. Her mother had been a companion, a facilitator, often providing neutral ground where those from opposing political persuasions could meet. Lianthe of the High Reaches might just be her grandmother but that had yet to be verified. The more he read, the less real she became to him.

  For all her contacts and endless qualifications, he still didn’t know what she did except in the vaguest terms.

  In the last year alone, and as the youngest representative of the Order of the Kite, she’d graced the dining tables of dozens of world leaders and people of influence. Her reach was truly astonishing.

  And he was currently keeping her in the equivalent of his basement.

  He needed to talk with her at the very least.

  And damn but he needed another woman’s opinion.

  And then his intercom flashed.

  ‘Your sister’s on the phone,’ his well-worn secretary said.

  ‘Put her through,’ he m
urmured. Problem solved.

  ‘Augustus, I know you’re pining for me, but did you seriously buy a cat?’

  ‘I—what?’ Not exactly where his head had been at. Augustus scowled, and not just because his sister’s recent marriage had left his palace without a social organiser and him with no clue as to how to find a replacement equally dedicated to the role. ‘Who told you that? Theo?’

  ‘He told me I needed to phone you because he’d heard rumours you were all lonely and had acquired a pet. He also mentioned something about a cat. Is it fluffy? Does it pounce? Has it conquered cucumbers yet?’

  Theo, King of Liesendaach and neighbouring monarch, was Moriana’s new husband. Theo, King of sly manoeuvres, knew exactly what kind of cat Augustus had bought. ‘Moriana, let’s get something clear. I am not a lonely cat king. I bought a catamaran. An oceangoing, racing catamaran.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Figures. In that case, I have no idea why Theo was so insistent I phone you this morning. We’ve just returned from visiting Cas and Ana in the Byzenmaach mountains and, by the way, I will never tire of the views from that stronghold. More to the point, I got on well with Cas’s new bride and his newfound daughter. There’s hope for me yet. They did ask me why they hadn’t received an invite to your Winter Solstice ball. Strangely, I haven’t received my invitation yet either. I left very comprehensive instructions.’

  Moriana was the Queen of Checklists. He had no doubt there would be a binder full of colour-coded instructions sitting on a table somewhere. ‘Why isn’t Marguerite on top of this?’ his sister scolded.

  ‘She didn’t work out.’

  Silence from his sister, the kind of silence that meant she was valiantly trying to keep her opinions to herself. He gave it three, two, one...

  ‘Augustus, you can’t keep firing social secretaries after they’ve been in the role for two weeks!’

  ‘I can if they’re selling palace information to the press,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Oh. There’s a new assistant starting Monday. Meanwhile, what do you know about the Order of the Kite?’