by M. J. Scott
“Easy,” Alec whispered in his ear, elbowing his ribs lightly.
He ignored his brother, watching Sophie. When she finally came level with their row, she didn’t turn to look at him, but he somehow knew that she wanted to. He took her in, uninterested in anything else until she had passed and Alec’s elbow in his ribs told him that he’d missed something. He hastily bent in a bow as Eloisa took her seat.
It took another minute for Margaretta and the ladies to arrange themselves. Sophie wound up on the opposite side of the aisle to the Inglewood party, whether by accident or design, which gave Cameron only a partial view of the back of her head and her slim, straight back.
Frustration burned in his gut.
Alec nudged him again, and he turned his attention back to Eloisa.
He half expected the Domina to address the court first, to make some blessing or something, but, instead, Eloisa rose and began to speak.
The speech was eloquent; he had to grant her that. She spoke of sorrow and loss, of challenges. Of the need for Anglion to stand strong together. Her words were clear and passionate, and her voice carried across the room clearly. He wondered idly if one of the Illusioners was assisting with that, but then decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she said what she had to say and then the rest of the audience could start. He wanted to get to the betrothal whilst he still had hold of his nerves.
He risked another sideways glance toward Sophie, only to meet the curious gaze of Lord Sylvain, seated on the opposite side of the room. The older man raised a bushy white eyebrow, and Cameron nodded politely and turned back to watch Eloisa. He tried to pay attention to her words, but in all honesty, he didn’t think he’d be able to repeat anything Eloisa was saying if someone held a pistol to his head.
Eloisa finally came to an end of her speech, finishing with the announcement of the date of her coronation. The court, as one, bowed again as she took her seat.
Then, to Cameron’s dismay, the Domina did step up to bless the court.
Thankfully, that part of the proceedings was cut short.
After that Eloisa began to speak less formally. Announcing that she was making no changes to the councilors—though Cameron thought he heard a definite “at least for now” hanging unspoken on the end of that particular sentence—speaking of arrangements for the running of the court whilst the palace was under repair, of the repairs themselves, and of the investigation into the attack.
With nothing to report on that front, a flash of frustration that perhaps only those who knew her well would recognize, appeared on Eloisa’s face. But she pulled her expression back into serene composure within a second or so and continued dealing with court business.
When she had finished with logistics, she held up a hand.
“We will deal with the questions of the court in a moment. However, before then we must deal with some happier business.”
There was a rustling murmur at this. The hand made a curt gesture that silenced the noise almost instantly.
“As you know,” Eloisa continued, “prior to this untenable attack, we were to celebrate the Ais-Seann of our devoted lady-in-waiting, Lady Sophia Kendall, whom the goddess has seen fit to bless with the gift of power.”
This raised another chattering hum, though Cameron thought that the fact that Sophie had power could hardly be news to most of those present. The palace gossip might be slowed by the aftermath of the attack, but it hadn’t died completely.
“Therefore, we rejoice at the coming of another royal witch to our court. Her strength and power shall serve Anglion, as we all do.” Eloisa paused and looked at Sophie directly. “And to assist her in her service, we have determined that she should wed an equally devoted servant of the court. A man who has served Anglion with blood and body and whose family has always been stalwart supporters of the throne. Lady Sophia, will you come forward?”
Sophie rose to take her place in front of the queen-to-be. She looked paler than she had earlier, but she was smiling as she dropped into a curtsy. When she straightened and turned to face the court, the court was so quiet that if a pin had fallen from her hair, it would have rung through the room like a thunderbolt. The tension in the air was fierce as several hundred nobles held their breaths to hear the name of the man who had won the prize.
Eloisa turned toward Cameron and his family, her gaze resting on Liam. “Lord Inglewood, I request the service of your brother Cameron in this matter.”
Liam bowed. “Inglewood is always at your service, Your Highness. We thank you for the favor you have bestowed,” he said as he straightened. Which was Cameron’s cue to rise and walk over to stand beside Sophie. He bowed to Eloisa, searching her face one last time for any clue that she had any regret about this at all before he turned to take Sophie’s hand, schooling himself to calm, to not react to the flare of pleasure he was growing to expect whenever they touched.
“It is our will that Cameron Mackenzie and Sophia Kendall shall wed,” Eloisa said. “And our will is law. In light of the present circumstances, we wish that this wedding be sanctified to show our appreciation to the goddess for her gifts of magic as soon as possible. Therefore the wedding will take place on first day next week.”
Sophie’s hand tightened in his. He had been expecting haste, but two days after the coronation itself was giving new meaning to the word. Judging by the tension he could feel in her grip, Sophie hadn’t known about Eloisa’s timetable either. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed by the speed. Not when just the joining of their hands made him as hungry for her as a man starved for years. So, as the court began to chatter in earnest around them, he merely smiled at Sophie and escorted her back to sit beside him for the rest of the audience.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For Sophie the next few days flew by so quickly she wasn’t quite convinced that someone wasn’t winding forward the hands of all the palace clocks whenever her back was turned.
The preparations for the coronation were relentless. Hour after hour of carrying notes or writing notes or attending the queen-to-be in endless meetings and meals and gatherings. Helping Eloisa change clothes, helping her get ready for bed, helping her rise in the morning. Waiting on her every whim. And then there were the fittings. Eloisa’s coronation dress was to be even more elaborate than the one she’d worn for her first audience. Pure golden silk, the Fairley blue coming from sapphires and embroidery curling in delicate waves around the hem of the skirt and sleeves. An entire fleet of seamstresses were working around the clock to finish it.
That didn’t leave them much time for the dresses for the ladies-in-waiting, which were to be made of pale gold silk, embroidered with the same curling sea waves and the quartered circle of the goddess.
The seamstresses spared to that task were no less relentless than those making Eloisa’s dress. Sophie and each of the ladies-in-waiting kept being called away for fitting upon fitting.
On top of which, Sophie had a wedding gown being made as well. Her mother, always prepared, had brought her own wedding dress with her from their estate. The seamstresses she had hired had exclaimed over the heavy satin fabric, not quite white, not ivory, but a shade that glowed somewhere in between. The dress was trimmed with pearl-studded lace, but the seamstresses declared that the style was too old-fashioned and that the gown needed to be remade, just not refitted. Sophie, other than requesting something not too frilly, decided to let her mother deal with design choices. She simply didn’t have the time. And, truly, she didn’t care what the dress looked like.
The wedding was a few hours of her life. The marriage was a lifetime.
In the whirlwind of coronation preparations, she had barely seen Cameron for more than a minute or two as they passed in corridors or outside Eloisa’s rooms. They had shared one too-short formal lunch in the Inglewood apartments when Liam and Jeanne had invited her parents to dine with them. She and Cameron had been seated at opposite ends of the table, she next to Liam and Cameron next to her mother. S
he had made polite conversation with Liam—whom she was coming to like even though she wasn’t entirely certain of him or the depths of his ambition yet—and kept an eye on her parents. Liam, who seemed to be taking on the mantle of erl easily, had spoken to her of the Inglewood estates, and she had nodded and smiled and tried not to let her eyes stray too often to Cameron. She should pay attention to what Liam was telling her. After all, she was joining the Inglewood family. She should understand their holdings. One day Cameron would be expected to take control of one of them.
She wondered which Liam had in mind. He had formerly been living at the Loch Kenzie estate, the seat of the Inglewoods, running things for his father who stayed at court most of the year. Did he intend to return or stay in Kingswell and take on his father’s political role? And if he stayed, would Alec and Lucy move to Loch Kenzie? Or did Liam think Cameron would leave the Red Guard and step into that role?
She had no idea if Cameron wanted to leave the guard. With the attack so fresh, it didn’t seem likely the commander would want to relinquish any of his men, though he would if the queen-to-be ordered him to, Sophie supposed. As for herself, well, she would be happy to leave Kingswell, to settle back into estate life, albeit it on a grander scale than at her parents’ home. But she had no idea whether Eloisa would allow her to go, either.
The whole situation seemed complicated and somehow academic. Like the wedding itself. With things whirling around her so quickly, it was hard to shake the sensation that perhaps she was merely dreaming the whole thing and would at any moment find one of the maids waking her for her birthday.
The only thing that made her believe that she actually was betrothed, a witch, and about to be married—apart from the continuing daily lessons in earth magic at the temple—was the constant unfamiliar weight of the betrothal ring that Cameron had placed on her hand during the ceremony at the temple. The stone was a huge sapphire in a shade so dark it appeared nearly black in some lights, set in an old-fashioned gold setting that clasped the stone in a stark gold outline and unadorned band. Sophie loved it, despite the fact it was heavy. Something about the simple stark shape and the deep-blue stone reminded her of Cameron.
It was what it was. Honest. Solid.
Hopefully she wasn’t wrong in her conviction that Cameron was the same.
The ring accompanied her through the long hours of the coronation ceremony at the temple. Sophie tried to pay attention. After all, Eloisa wasn’t too many years older than she was. The Fairleys tended to be long-lived. So barring accidents or illness or other ill fortune, this might be the only coronation she ever got to attend. It would definitely be the only one where she was part of the queen-to-be’s retinue. By the time Eloisa’s successor was crowned, Sophie would hopefully be a contented old lady surrounded by broods of her own children and grandchildren. With people serving her, not the other way around.
The ceremony itself was a glittering spectacle, the ritual raised to a true art form, with the temple priors chanting and the Domina directing everything as smoothly as a general and the queen nearly glowing in the golden dress. It was near painful to look at Eloisa in her state of perfected beauty sitting so still on the very recently completed new Salt Throne as the Domina placed the crown on her head. Sophie knew no glamour was involved. No Illusioners had come anywhere near the queen whilst she was dressing. It was all Eloisa. Which was somewhat depressing. Sophie knew that she, too, looked as beautiful as she was ever likely to, having been fussed over by the same people who had attended the queen. Yet with Eloisa in the room, no man would take a second look at any other woman.
Still, Cameron had smiled at her and bowed slightly as she had walked through the temple ahead of the queen-to-be. She hadn’t been able to see his face as Eloisa entered, so she could pretend that he, at least, found his wife-to-be as beautiful as the queen.
And she would be able to dance with her husband-to-be at the coronation ball in the evening, and then, in just two more days, she would be married to him. Then, perhaps, life would return to some semblance of normality.
Cameron, it seemed, danced as well as he did everything else. Sophie tried not to smile too widely as he held her and swept her around the room in a circle dance. She also tried to disguise the heat that swept through her at the close contact, hoping the flush on her face would be taken to be the fault of the overheated ballroom—temporarily converted back from audience hall for the night—and not the fact that she was trying not to think about what it felt like to be even closer to Cameron. After all, they were supposed to barely know each other.
She wasn’t entirely sure the charade was working, particularly not when Cameron leaned a little closer and whispered, “We really need to get better at this,” in her ear, making her stomach curl and her nipples harden under her corset. She’d rarely been thankful for the confining structure of a court dress before, but she was glad for the protection it offered from the scrutiny of the court now.
“At dancing?” she replied, pretending to misunderstand.
Cameron smiled wickedly, the expression so unfamiliar that Sophie almost stumbled midstep. “That is exactly what I meant.”
“I think you dance very well, Lieutenant. You shouldn’t disparage yourself.” She made her tone teasing, unwilling to let this new flirtatious Cameron slip away too quickly.
“I do many things well,” he said, turning her expertly.
Sophie felt her skin flush deeper. Thankfully, the music ended then, and she let Cameron lead her out of the worst of the crush and then away from the ballroom altogether, through one of the side doors that stood open to the gardens to help cool the room. The gardens were heavily guarded and warded, of course. No one was going to leave the palace exposed. But Cameron still managed to find a dark, secluded place for them to stand. She fanned herself, enjoying the feel of the night air on her heated skin, trying to regain both her composure and some control over the need to touch him.
“Does that help?” Cameron asked, and she looked up to find him watching her. “Oh, to hell with it,” he muttered suddenly and yanked her close and kissed her.
Just for a moment or two. Just long enough for it to heat her all over again and wake the hunger she was trying to keep banked all the more as his tongue moved against hers. Then he pulled away, cursing softly.
“Only a few more days,” she said, her voice slightly shaky.
“Too many,” he said shortly, and then led her back into the ballroom before she could try to get him to kiss her again.
As they stepped back onto the dance floor, she knew she was smiling foolishly and tried to school her expression back into something more seemly. She thought she might have succeeded but then caught sight of Eloisa, seated at the high table at the end of the room, eyes narrowed as she watched Cameron put his hands on Sophie again for the next dance.
“Leave us now,” Eloisa said after Beata finished brushing her hair. Above them the hour bell started to chime two. In the morning. Which was not that late as court parties went, but the ladies-in-waiting had all been awake before dawn to prepare for the coronation. It had been a very long day, and Sophie hadn’t known that her feet could ache quite so much.
She took the hairbrush from Beata so Beata could help the queen—the queen in truth now, not just queen-to-be—into a heavy silk robe.
“Thank you, Beata,” Eloisa said with a smile. “Now go to bed. Sophie, you stay. I want to talk to you.”
Sophie almost dropped the hairbrush but just managed to keep a grip.
“Now, don’t look so annoyed, Bea,” Eloisa said as Beata frowned. “Sophie is going to be married in two days. Time for a little girl talk. After all, Lieutenant Mackenzie is one of those wild northerners. We can’t send Sophie into battle unarmed.”
Beata’s face cleared, annoyance changing to something akin to conspiracy. “True, Your Majesty. She keeps running away when we try to tell her things.”
“I don’t run away,” Sophie protested. “You keep trying to talk to m
e when I have things to do.” That wasn’t entirely true. She was still avoiding speaking too closely to the ladies-in-waiting. They would try to pry the story of why the queen had chosen Cameron as her husband from her if she gave them a chance. But the fact that they kept using “you’ll be married soon” as their reason for wanting to talk to her gave her the perfect excuse to stay with Eloisa now.
“Always so conscientious,” Eloisa said with a laugh. “Go on, Beata. Sophie has to listen to me, even if she is shy about her wedding night.”
Sophie carefully didn’t react to this. The queen knew very well that Sophie had no reason to be nervous about her wedding night. It was in her interests to keep up the charade that she was a good royal virgin, but Sophie was suddenly uncertain exactly what game Eloisa was playing. There was a fey look in the green eyes that she didn’t know how to read.
Eloisa hadn’t tried to speak to her in any intimate fashion since the Domina had worked her last healing. So why now? So late. When they were both tired. After all, there were still a few days until the wedding, so this was hardly the only opportunity Eloisa would have to provide advice.
Sophie put the silver-chased hairbrush back in its place on Eloisa’s dressing table. When Beata left the room, she turned back to the queen, waiting to see what Eloisa would say next.
Eloisa stood and stretched. “Goddess, it’s good to be out of that dress.”
Sophie, whose own dress was starting to feel more uncomfortable with each passing second, her ribs beginning to feel as bruised as her feet from the hours and hours of a very tightly laced corset, understood her relief but couldn’t bring herself to feel terribly sympathetic.
