A Choice of Crowns

by Barb Hendee

  After drinking the entire goblet of wine, I felt more myself. Yes, my path was clear, but I had to go forward with my eyes open—in possession of all the facts.

  Rising, I walked to the door and left the room, making my way downstairs, partway across the castle, and to the first of the south towers. There, I climbed the stairwell.

  Outside Genève’s door, I knocked.

  “Come,” she called from inside.

  When I entered, she wasn’t surprised to see me. But she was pale as she stood beside her hearth. Her near-constant armor appeared weaker than I had ever seen it.

  “I expected you sooner,” she said.

  “I should hate to become predictable.”

  There was no reason to make this easy on her. She’d had Ashton murdered. It would be pointless for me to pretend I did not know, or for her to pretend I would not reason it out. After our last private conversation in here, when she’d promised to remove Ashton, she’d have to think me a fool to feign ignorance. But…I had no intention of letting her know how much I knew.

  I knew the assassin’s name.

  Walking inside, I closed the door.

  “How did you get Rowan to let go of Ashton’s body?” I asked.

  “I didn’t. In the end, I ordered Micah to pull him away and pin his arms while one of the guards took her. Micah is the only one who would dare, and he could see something had to be done.”

  Closing my eyes briefly, I imagined the raw emotion of such a scene.

  “Is the retinue from Samourè due to arrive tomorrow?” I asked.

  “No. Why should it? I never sent for one.”

  Her machinations were becoming clearer. She was the one who’d announced to the noble ladies that Ashton’s betrothal negotiations were complete and the retinue was on its way…and that some members of the Samourè council had come out strongly against their prince making a connection by marriage with a more powerful kingdom and giving up land in the process.

  “Could you not have tried that path?” I asked. “Sent for the retinue and given her a chance to leave?”

  “Rowan would never have let her go. He’d have gone against the council and then insulted Prince Amandine by sending the envoys away.”

  “But won’t the nobles wonder when the retinue never arrives?”

  She shrugged. “It will only deepen the mystery and foster suspicion.”

  “Once Rowan recovers his wits, he’ll want blood. If he blames the council of Samourè for Ashton’s death, he’ll start a war.”

  She shook her head. “He’ll want to, but there’s no proof. He cannot invade another kingdom without a vote of support from the council. They won’t give it without proof, and he’ll find none.”

  “He won’t find proof because Samourè had no part in this.”

  Her eyes locked onto my face. “I could not stand by and watch my son throw his crown away. Something had to be done.” She dropped her gaze. “All you need do now is be ready to act when I tell you.”

  Yes, I would do whatever she told me. She was my most powerful ally. But right now, I wanted to be gone from these rooms, and I turned away.

  “I’ve been mother to Ashton since she was two years old,” Genève said, “and she could not have been a more devoted daughter. Whether you believe it or not, I loved her.”

  The problem was that I did believe her.

  And that’s what frightened me most.

  * * * *

  Rowan locked his door and would not open it for anyone, not even servants bringing trays of food.

  Genève allowed this to continue for three days.

  On the night of the third day, she gathered Captain Caron and me and led the way up to Rowan’s rooms.

  There, she knocked, loudly.

  “Rowan, open the door.”

  We waited, but nothing happened.

  Leaning in, she called through the keyhole. “Open this door right now, or I’ll have Micah break it down. You know he can do it.”

  If anything, over the past few days, Captain Caron’s countenance had grown worse. I feared he blamed himself for every tragic event playing out here. His light brown eyes were less bright, and his long blond hair was snarled. But if Genève ordered him to break down the door, he would.

  A moment later, the sliding of a bolt sounded from inside. Genève hesitated only a few breaths and then opened the door.

  As a stench flooded out, I put one hand to my nose, but the dowager queen pressed forward. I followed. The main sitting room was dark, and Rowan sat by the dead hearth. There was a cask of wine beside his chair and a goblet on the table beside him. He kept a cask of wine in his rooms?

  I spotted a chamber pot on the far side of the chair and realized it was the source of the stench. Perhaps he’d been sitting by this dead hearth all three days. He must have unlocked the door and immediately resumed his seat.

  Genève cast around until she saw two candle lanterns. “Micah, please light those.”

  I began to wonder why I was here, why she should include me in this. My presence would do nothing to bring Rowan back from this darkness.

  As the captain lit the candle lanterns, illumination only made the scene worse. Rowan’s clothes were filthy, and he’d not washed Ashton’s blood from his arm. It was covered in dried, red flakes.

  “Leave us,” Genève ordered the captain.

  After a concerned glance at Rowan, he nodded and left.

  “Olivia, close the door,” she ordered.

  Though uncertain what she was about to do, I obeyed. Once the three of us were alone, she walked around the chair to stand in front of Rowan.

  “Grieving is natural,” she said, “But this is bordering on excess. Get out of that chair and I’ll order you a bath.”

  “Go away,” he whispered.

  In answer, she drew her hand back and slapped him hard enough to move his face. Startled, he snarled and rose partway out of the chair.

  “I’m glad to see there’s something of a king left inside you,” she said without flinching. “And you are not the only one who lost Ashton! All of Partheney is in mourning. The people have been waiting for you to call a common court so that the leaders and the merchants might come to mourn with you. They want to hear what is being done to find her assassin, and they want to hear it from you!”

  His dark eyes finally rose to meet hers.

  “If you don’t act,” she pressed on, “Lord Moreau will be forced to hold court tomorrow.”

  His eyes didn’t lower. He listened.

  To my amazement, I could see she had him. She had him.

  “Lord Moreau?” he repeated.

  She nodded. “Yes. Is that what you want? For the council to start ruling in your stead?”

  I didn’t know Rowan at all, but his mother apparently knew him well. He’d loved Ashton more than he loved his throne…but he did love his throne.

  “The last blood relation to Eduard is gone,” Genève went on relentlessly, “and the people want security. They want a king who will produce heirs and establish a line. They want to see him in a clean, proper marriage.” Taking three steps toward me, she grabbed my arm and dragged me over. Her grip was like a talon. “Look at this girl! She is a regal, virgin daughter from the line of Géroux, one of the oldest families in the country. The people will embrace her. They will embrace you if you would get out of that chair and behave like a king.”

  His eyes moved to me, and I stood rigid, feeling like some prize calf on display at a village fair. Then he looked back to the empty hearth.

  “The people will need something to celebrate, something to help them heal,” Genève said. “And you need something to solidify your crown. Tomorrow, I’ll begin plans for Ashton’s burial, and after that, I will plan a wedding.”

  Rowan was silent for a short while longer. Then he whisper
ed, “Do you what you will.”

  Genève’s grip trembled on my wrist as his words hung in the air.

  He had just agreed to marry me.

  Chapter Six

  Ashton’s burial in the family crypt was a small affair, attended by only Rowan, Genève, myself, Captain Caron, the twelve council members, and any of their wives who were currently in residence. Rowan made no display of emotion as Ashton’s body was moved into its place in the crypt. She’d been dressed in a white gown, with a matching ribbon around her throat. Due to her naturally pale skin, she appeared to be sleeping.

  Genève had been concerned about this day, even fearing Rowan might not attend the dinner afterward, but he sat in the center of the head table in his chair as was expected of him. However, he did make one request.

  “I want Micah at the dinner. I want him sitting beside me.”

  To me, this was gratifying. I’d worried some of the captain’s actions over the past few days might have permanently damaged their relationship, but if anything, they seemed closer and spent much time in quiet discussion. I wondered of what they spoke.

  Three days later, my wedding followed.

  At first, it had come as a blow that Genève wanted a quick wedding, with no time to invite all the members of the noble houses—or my own family—but she explained herself.

  “We need to hold it now, while he’s still in agreement. Once it’s done, it can’t be undone. In the autumn, we’ll host a grand coronation for you, and your family can attend.”

  After listening, I agreed.

  Securing the marriage far outweighed any personal vanity on my part.

  Doubts only followed when I realized the wedding party would consist of exactly the same people who’d attended Ashton’s funeral. This feeling of trepidation increased when Kamilla brought in my wedding gown for a fitting. It was family heirloom from Ashton’s line, and Genève wished me to wear it.

  It was white.

  It came with a matching ribbon to be tied around my throat.

  I refused the ribbon but donned the gown and allowed Kamilla to let out the hem.

  The ceremony was brief. Rowan and I each spoke our vows, most of which were lies, and then we signed the agreement. Lord Cloutier and Baron Augustine signed as our witnesses.

  The noble wives tried to weep prettily and pretend it was a happy day, but everything was overshadowed by Ashton’s death and the fact that my husband looked as if he would rather be anyplace else.

  The echoes of my white gown didn’t help.

  At dinner, Rowan was not impolite, but we probably exchanged six words.

  When dinner came to an end, Lord Moreau raised his goblet. “We cannot detain the happy couple a moment longer. My king, you have our blessing to retire with your lovely bride.”

  Though I somehow kept the smile on my face, my heart slowed, and Genève went stiff in her chair. What was Moreau thinking? How would Rowan react to that? He’d done so well with this charade, but he could still be pushed over the edge.

  To my unspeakable relief, Rowan nodded and stood, offering me his arm.

  I took it.

  Genève beamed and everyone attempted to cheer us as we walked from the hall.

  A single thought echoed in my head.

  I’ve done it. I’ve married King Rowan.

  Out we were out through the archway and alone, Rowan drew his arm from my hand and began walking away from me, toward the east corridor, in the direction of his own rooms. I was nonplussed. A honeymoon chamber had been prepared for us at the base of a north-side tower, and we’d both been informed. Though I’d dreaded the prospect of giving my body to Rowan, it had to be done.

  “My king…” I began.

  He stopped. “Yes?”

  “Should we not be heading…north?”

  Appearing genuinely puzzled, he asked, “Whatever for?”

  He walked away.

  * * * *

  My life changed swiftly.

  Within several days of the wedding, all the members of the council departed Partheney to travel to their own estates and lands. They’d come to oversee the wedding, and the wedding was done. There were sweet good-byes—a few even sincere—and vows to return in the early autumn for my coronation and the next formal gathering of the council.

  I was given Genève’s fine apartments, and she moved into Ashton’s.

  “This is the way of things, my dear,” Genève informed me. “Even before your coronation, you’ve taken on the role of queen. You will hold the embroidery circles for any visiting noblewomen, and you will oversee the household of the castle. If you have any questions, ask me.”

  My duties were numerous, but I’d expected this, and I’d been trained for the task of overseeing a great house. I held private counsels with both the housekeeper and the cook. I kept apprised of issues with staff, and I liked to have meals planned out a week ahead of time. I kept track of the kitchen gardens, of which vegetables were flourishing and which were failing. I kept careful accounts over what was being spent on beef and mutton and fish.

  I had fittings for gowns.

  Kamilla became my personal maid.

  For the most part, I relished my new life.

  One awkward moment came about two weeks after the wedding when I was in the great hall overseeing the proper removal of a tapestry so it could be cleaned.

  A royal guard strode through the archway, looked around, and came to me. He bowed. “My lady.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a woman in the entryway, a merchant’s wife. She’s asking to see you.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “Something about Princess Ashton’s charity work.”

  I’d forgotten all about that. “Show her in.”

  A short while later, a stocky woman in a fine velvet gown bustled into the hall with an aura of energy. The same guard who’d brought the message accompanied her. She curtsied. “My lady. I’m Emilee Martine. My husband’s a wine merchant in the city, but I also worked with Princess Ashton in the old stable…for the cause.”

  “How can I help you?” I asked.

  “There’s been no wagons going out with food and goods for the poor for nearly three weeks now. We’ve got wagons ready to go, but Princess Ashton always made a list of what goods should go to which families.”

  She gazed at me expectantly. I had no idea what she expected.

  “We all feel the loss of the princess keenly,” I answered.

  Her expression shifted to confusion. “But won’t you make the lists? There is so much need, and the princess always knew which families were hurting most.”

  Me? She expected me to know?

  “Forgive me,” I answered politely. “But I’ve not been off castle grounds since my arrival. You would have a better idea of which families to put on the lists.”

  “I don’t know any of the fishermen. The princess did.”

  This made me wonder more about Ashton’s life, but I couldn’t help this woman, and the conversation was becoming uncomfortable.

  “Again,” I said, “forgive me. Helping the poor was great passion of the princess, and she is ever missed. But I know nothing of her fine work. You will have to carry on as best you can without her.”

  Emilee blinked. “You’ll still call for goods from the nobles…send out announcements of what is needed? They won’t help without you.”

  I held back a sigh. This grew tiresome, and she was becoming impertinent. I nodded to the guard behind her. “Do excuse me. I have many duties to attend today.”

  Sputtering, she found herself escorted her out.

  I was sorry for her, but I had no intention of begging goods off other nobles or spending time making lists of families in need.

  My days were already quite full.

  * * * *

  I
rarely saw Rowan except at dinner. He was civil but quiet, and he’d begun drinking more wine than before, sometimes a good deal more, though I never noticed him drunk. After dinner, he often seemed at a loss. I asked Genève about his previous pastimes at night. She told me that when dancing had been scheduled, he’d stayed in the hall and danced with Ashton. On other nights, he’d often played chess with Ashton. But now, he had no wish to either dance or play chess with anyone else. Several people offered—including myself.

  During his days, he’d taken to spending a good deal of his time in the barracks, often riding out into the city with Captain Caron. I didn’t know what they were doing, but I suspected they were hunting for Ashton’s killer. No one knew how the assassin might have escaped the castle gates. Rowan had not yet made a formal accusation that someone on the Samourè council was behind the murder. Perhaps he wanted more proof.

  Captain Caron was especially sensitive to all this, as under his command, first Ashton’s abductors and then her killer had somehow escaped through the castle gates. I couldn’t ask Genève how she’d managed to get Soren off royal grounds, but in the end, I suppose it didn’t matter. She never did anything without a plan, and she must have planned for this.

  In truth, I didn’t mind Rowan’s absence.

  Well, with one exception: every night when I went to bed. Though our marriage was signed and witnessed, I had a considerable concern about its legitimacy.

  It had not been consummated.

  Of course, our mutual dislike of each other would have kept us from behaving like young lovers, but the lack of consummation left me vulnerable. Should he decide to change his mind, an annulment was still possible.

  I had to find a way to get him into my bed.

  For now, I worked hard to make myself indispensable at the castle, and I was forming a plan to make the people see me as their future queen…to make my removal more difficult.

  * * * *

  Early on the morning of the next common court date, I rose and awaited Kamilla—with whom I’d made prior arrangements. She arrived shortly after the sun rose and took painstaking efforts in dressing me.

  I had a new day gown of rich amber silk. The neckline was square, with tiny white pearls inset as trim. The skirt of the gown was split. The amber color suited my hair, and I’d ordered a cream silk underskirt.