“Because you make us shit our small clothes when you get this way,” Edmund said casually.
Arrago nodded and gestured at Edmund. “He speaks the truth.”
Bethany didn’t smile. “How many knights are within a day’s ride of here, Kiner?”
“A couple hundred, though most of who’s left aren’t vowed knights. There’s others, but they’re spread out. Orders came down from Jud a few months ago, recalling everyone. Lord Stanley managed to keep some in the country to help us.”
Bethany looked at Lord Stanley. “How did you manage that?”
The old human man stroked his long, white beard in an exaggerated, contemplative pose. “I went over Lord Jud’s head.”
Bethany snorted. “That’s why you’re in charge. All right, folks. Kiner, you’re in charge of the basements and cellars. Scour the place. Put your most trusted people into position throughout the castle’s bowels. Jackson, get together your people to monitor the grounds. There’s a lot of territory to cover around the palace’s main grounds, so you’re going to need a good excuse so we’re not tipping our hand.”
“I lost a ring in the garden,” the Dowager said.
“We’ll deal with that later, Your Grace,” Bethany said, annoyed that the old lady actually expected them to stop what they were doing to go find her jewelry.
“You aren’t understanding. Mr. Jackson, I lost a valuable ring in the garden. Find it. Now.” The old woman considered for a moment before adding, “Let us repeat that scene in the foyer downstairs, where all of the servants and many guests will hear me. I think that will provide the appropriate cover.”
“Your Grace, your talents are wasted. It isn’t too late for you to join the Silver Knights,” Brennus said. “We could use a strong mind.”
The Dowager laughed heartily. “My fighting days are long behind me, my Lord.”
“I don’t think they are,” Arrago said. “With respect, of course, Your Grace.”
“Jackson, take Jonas with you.”
“Yes, Lady Bethany,” both men said at once.
“Brennus, take Myra and Darien with you. Gather up my escort and whoever Kiner isn’t using. Put them through training paces out in the gardens. Anyone who asks, tell them you have new recruits arrived from Wyllow to guard Henry and you’re...I don’t know, make something up.”
Brennus inclined his head. “I look forward to it.”
“Rose, you’re in charge of protecting Amber. Amber, I need you to keep an eye on Prince Henry at all times. His maids, his nurses, everyone. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
Amber smiled. “Of course, Bethany. Whatever you need. Arrago, would you like me to move Henry to my room?”
Arrago looked at the duchesses. “Should I?”
“No, Majesty. People will suspect,” Cassandra said. “However, oh! I have an idea. I miss my son and request that the Prince come stay with us in our guest rooms. Amber is an old friend, and Rose can attend us.”
“Rose, you okay with that?” Bethany asked.
Rose nodded, a pleased expression on her face. She motioned at Amber, and made several hand gestures.
“Rose recommends putting the duchesses in the west wing. She’ll have access to the back stairs that way and can cover that part of the palace. Right?” Amber asked. Rose nodded. She gestured again and Amber said, “You’re welcome.”
“What do you want me to do?” Edmund asked.
“You’re in charge of security for the ball. Work with Kiner, Brennus, and Jackson, get people into position throughout the palace, but especially the ballroom. Have them in dancing attire, orchestra, you name it.”
“No weapons of any kind are allowed in the ballroom,” the Dowager stated.
“As long as they don’t flaunt their weapons, it should be fine,” Arrago said. “Edmund?”
Edmund shrugged. “I guess. We can keep the guards armed and stash weapons for everyone else within easy access.”
“All right. We have a week to find out what is being planned. Be on your guard at all times. Instruct your people to not interfere with any plot, unless it’s an imminent situation. I want these assholes to think they’ve gotten away with their plans, and we will attack when it’s too late for them to change tactics.”
“I think we have a plan,” Arrago said. He grinned at Bethany and said, “Want to run the royal guard?”
She shot him a dirty look. The others wouldn’t have understood his hidden meaning, but she did plainly enough. Arrago had offered her the position when he’d offered his hand in marriage. She knew he’d give her the position with or without the marriage, but it was put in there to sweeten the deal for her.
Of course, Arrago didn’t see it that way. He merely wanted her to know she could always be a soldier. He knew how much she loved training, and this was his way of putting her talents to use.
Still, his little quip was meant to needle her and she didn’t appreciate it.
“Not now,” she growled at him.
His grin grew wider when Lord Rayner asked, “What is this?”
“Nothing,” Bethany said. “Rayner, Stanley? Can we talk later?”
“Of course,” Stanley said, bowing his head.
“Is there anything else I can do?” the Dowager asked.
“And me,” Lendra. “I’ve been completely left out of this plan.”
Bethany sucked in a deep breath and knew she was about to hate the words that would tumble from her mouth. “I need both of you, plus Cassandra, to assist me.”
“With what?” Lendra asked, scowling. “Do you want me to hide in my suites like a good little girl while Bethany charges around?”
“Don’t be a brat,” Bethany chided.
“What do you require, Lady Bethany?” the Dowager asked.
Bethany steeled herself against the words about to leave her mouth.
Chapter 8
In her decades-long career, Bethany had thought she’d seen and done it all. Once, she posed as a slaver to rescue dozens of Elorians who’d been kidnapped. During a training exercise, Bethany got separated from her team and spent a week surviving on her own in the mountains...in winter. A war broke out during Bethany’s vowing trials—surprisingly, not her fault—and she was trapped between two armies.
She’d ordered the executions of hundreds during the Magic War. She stopped counting her battlefield kills decades ago. Bethany was an elven harbinger of death and destruction, and that was exactly the way she liked it. She’d cultivated her reputation flawlessly and did nothing to dissuade the masses.
But for all of her experience, Bethany had never worn a ball gown to a fight.
Bethany followed the Dowager down the royal wing’s corridor and kept her head down. She wore one of Arrago’s large cloaks and had pulled the hood up to obscure her features. With Cassandra and Lendra flanking her, along with six knights, the servants were too busy getting out of the way to gawk at the cloaked figure.
The old woman shouted orders at the servants with more conviction than most military commanders. Bethany kept pace easily enough with the shorter, elderly woman, but her demands caused the legion of servants around them to rush around out of breath to meet her desires. Most of her requests were designed to distract the servants, and it was working rather well.
They arrived at a nondescript door. The footman rushed to unlock said door, and bowed deeply at the Dowager. She ignored him and waited for him to light the candles inside the room. Once he stepped out, they all entered and Cassandra pointedly shut the door behind them.
Bethany pulled back her hood and stared at the room in awe. It was long and narrow, though the room widened at the back where a raised platform rested in the middle of the area. From floor to ceiling, the walls were lined with trunks, shelves, and pegs. Hat boxes of various sizes lined the uppermost shelves, skimming the vaulted ceiling, accessible by the wooden ladder near the back of the room. Trunks rested on the floor all around the room, a layer of dust over each other. White sheets were
wrapped around various unknown items on the shelves. There were more trunks, smaller this time, and boxes of various materials. Hanging from the pegs were items covered in white sheets or in cloth bags with drawstring handles.
Gibbering sounds escaped Lendra.
“What is all this stuff?” Bethany ran a hand along the sheets on one of the shelves and her fingers came back grey.
“This is where the former queen of Taftlin stored her clothes,” the Dowager said. “Daniel’s mother, to be specific.”
Cassandra brushed the dust off one of the trunks before opening it. She pulled away the papers and linens to reveal a purple silk dress with gold embroidery at the high neckline.
“Is that gold thread?” Bethany asked.
“Wow,” Lendra whispered.
Cassandra nodded and covered the dress back up. “Most of this is out of fashion, though.”
“A skilled seamstress could revive some of this,” the Dowager countered. “And the furs and the shoes will never go out of fashion.”
“I love shoes,” Lendra whispered again, as if she was standing in the holy of holies of a temple.
Bethany smiled at her. For her sister, this probably was as close to finding religion and faith as she was likely ever to experience.
“This is all for one woman?” Bethany asked. She lifted a sheet and was greeted with silk shoes, dyed purple, decorated with silver thread embroidery and a painted wooden heel. “Wow.”
“I wonder if they’d fit me,” Lendra asked, elbowing Bethany out of the way for a better look.
“You have big feet,” Bethany said.
“I do not!” Lendra protested. “And you have huge feet.”
“I wear heavy boots. Your Grace, I don’t believe I’m going to find anything there. I only need a simple—”
The Dowager cut her off. “Royal blue.”
“Excuse me?”
“Royal blue. It will suit your pale skin. Seriously, child, you need to get some sun.”
Bethany’s mouth twitched. “I’m a red-headed half-elf, Your Grace. This is as tanned as I’m going to get.”
“You look sickly,” the Dowager said, shaking her head in disgust. “Well, there’s nothing to be done. And that red hair of yours. Yes, yes, royal blue it is.”
Cassandra pulled a white dress out of a trunk and held it up against Bethany. The hem of the dress skimmed Bethany’s knees. “Oh dear. We’ll have to bring in Nancy to help with this. You are quite tall for a woman.”
“Blame my elven father,” Bethany muttered. “I appreciate your help, Your Graces, but...I only need a basic dress to blend in for an hour or so.”
“You are a tall, redheaded half-elf,” Cassandra began.
“There will be no blending,” the Dowager finished. “You are the mistress of the king, are you not? Are you not the liberator of the entire Rygent Islands and the vanquisher of Magic? Are you not the daughter of our beloved Gentle Goddess? Are you not the third most important person in the famous elven army?”
“Well, not that last one,” Bethany said lamely.
“Lady Bethany, you must arrive and have all eyes on you. Stun them. Awe them. And, when they are not looking, crush those who stand in your way.”
Bethany stared slack-jawed at the Dowager. “Um...”
Why did this elderly, fur-clad woman make Bethany feel five years old? It was an eerie feeling that she’d very rarely experienced in her adult life. And it was a feeling she didn’t like repeating.
She tried a different tactic. Bethany pointed at the delicate dress in Cassandra’s hands. “If I wear that, children will be able to see my small clothes.”
“That’s what Nancy is for,” Cassandra said.
“Who is Nancy?” Bethany asked, growing frustrated. This was a bad idea. She wanted to stay close to Arrago and this had been her lame, pathetic, horrible plan. She should have just said she’d wear Taftlin ceremonial armour and asked for a fucking helmet that would fit her hair and her ears.
“There is a week until the ball. We shall have it altered appropriately for your unique needs.”
Bethany scratched her head, staring at the beaded white satin get-up. “Um, I need to have weapons. Boots. Armor.”
“You will be wearing whalebone and silk, my dear,” the Dowager said. “You will be heavily armoured.”
“Neither can stop arrows,” Bethany said, not bothering to hide the resignation in her voice.
If Lendra hadn’t been there, Bethany probably would have walked out. But Lendra was gleefully running her hands over silks and satins, linens and cottons, and Bethany didn’t have the heart to disappoint her sister. She managed a whole two hours before her patience snapped and she stormed out.
After she’d slammed the door, she heard Lendra giggling on the other side. “I can’t believe she lasted that long!”
Days like these existed to remind Bethany that convents were always an option for her.
Chapter 9
Arrago was disappointed to find his bedchamber empty. Bethany had said she’d meet him there once she was done working. Knowing her, she’d probably work all through the night, leaving him to worry in solitude.
He poured himself a glass of wine and downed it without stopping. They’d found nothing in two days. Either the threats were idle or the plan wasn’t in motion yet. Arrago pushed aside the ideas that they were either too late or too incompetent; that thinking would help no one. He poured another glass, though he drank it slower this time. It was nights like these where Arrago regretted so many of his life’s choices.
Balancing his glass in his hand, Arrago crouched down in front of the worn trunk in the corner of his room. He’d not opened the box since the end of the war, when he’d arrived at the palace for the first time. He unlatched it and looked inside. His sword was there, still in its sheath. He’d not used it since the end of the war. Likewise, his old mail was there, a bloody flag, and the huge cloak that had been a former king’s.
Though tradition permitted Arrago to wear a sword at any time for self-defense, he’d not worn one since coming to the Imperial Palace. He ran his hand along the leather sheath. He’d thought by putting away the sword, he’d have put away the soul-destroying part of his past. Only the blade and Apexia knew how many lives had been snuffed out by its sharp edge. But he’d been fooling himself. It hadn’t gone away. He had the nightmares and the waking dreams, where flashes of movement would catch his eye and his heart would pound frantically. It had made him jumpy at times, though the edges were now softening.
He drained his glass and set it down on the floor. He heaved a sigh and fetched the sword, belt, and sheath. He came to his feet and tried it all on. An amused chuckle escaped him when he couldn’t get the loops as tight as he’d worn them during the war. He needed to get off his throne or he’d be yet another fat monarch for the Taftlin scholars to mock.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock and he turned to see Edmund standing in the doorway. “Have a minute?”
Arrago motioned for Edmund to join him, who pointedly shut the door behind him. “I need to take up a sport.”
“Where’s Bethany?” Edmund picked up the clean glass from the table and poured himself a glass of wine.
“Who knows? Probably off saving the world again.”
“She’s like that.” Edmund frowned down at the belt. “If you wear that, people will know you’re expecting trouble.”
“Good,” Arrago said sourly. “I mean it, Edmund. I’ve tried the friendly king act and what has it gotten me? Constant death threats. I have no army to speak of. I can’t trust Taftlins to guard me, so most of my royal guard are foreigners. Bethany is, once again, putting herself at risk for my life. Henry...goddess, he is growing up with a sword over his head. How can he grow into a compassionate and understanding man if his first life lessons are all on how to protect himself?”
Edmund remained silent as Arrago pulled off the sword belt and threw it down on the bed.
“There are days I
regret ever taking this post. I should have decreed women could rule and made Celeste queen. Or married you off to her and made you king. I should have done something.” Arrago put his hands down on the high bed and dropped his head. “I should have done more, but I didn’t. I was such an idiot. Such an idiot! Everyone knows it.”
Edmund didn’t answer.
Arrago slammed a hand against the bedpost. “I never wanted to be a leader.”
“Are you done?” Edmund asked in a neutral tone. He sipped at his wine.
Arrago snorted. “Yes.”
“Good. When you’re alone with me or Bethany, say whatever you need to say. But when you walk out that door, you are king. All of the people in the corridors need to see you act like a king.”
Arrago scoffed. “Why does it matter?”
“Why?” Edmund demanded. “All of your servants in this palace are freemen because of you. All of the elderly women you’ve brought into your palace to look after the flowers and help clean out the closets are here, employed and fed, because of you. Are you so self-absorbed that you cannot see the progress you’ve made?”
“A few poor people have jobs and that’s it. That’s all I’ve done. I could spend the next millennia trying to fix the problems here and I still wouldn’t have solved them all.”
“You better solve some of them because you don’t have millennia.”
“I do, not that it matters,” Arrago mumbled. He regretted the words as soon as he saw Edmund’s expression change.
A puzzle look spread across Edmund’s face before it was replaced with a wary expression. He took a step closer to Arrago. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“No, it was something. What did you mean?”
“I’m drunk,” Arrago said.
“You’re not. What are you not telling me?”
Arrago turned away from his friend and said, “It’s nothing.”
Edmund grabbed Arrago’s arm, pulling him around to face him. “It is something.”
“Get your hand off me,” Arrago demanded.
Edmund obeyed, making a show of it. He walked backwards, hands raised. “Of course, Majesty. Anything you say, Majesty. Would you like me to lick your boots while I’m at it, Majesty?”
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