“He didn’t tell you?”
“I thought it was a secret,” Arrago said.
“You told Edmund.”
Arrago waved a dismissive hand. “He doesn’t count.”
“You proposed marriage to her while her life is being threatened? Days ago, she was brutally attacked on the road, and you comfort her with a marriage proposal?” Rayner demanded. Then, in a softer tone, he added, “Majesty.”
“No! I asked her before she left for Wyllow.”
Stanley stared at Bethany. “Lady Bethany, that was over a year ago!”
“I had to think about it!” Bethany said defensively. “Could we go back to planning how to keep Arrago alive, please?”
“Lady Bethany!” Lord Stanley said. “The king asked for your hand in marriage. A year ago!”
“You are the daughter of Apexia!” Rayner exclaimed and scratched at the tuft of white hair on his head. “The King married to the daughter of Apexia.”
“Apexia’s mercy, Ray, sit down before you have a stroke,” Stanley chided.
Rayner took his old friend’s advice and collapsed in a chair. “Lady Bethany, I don’t wish to be crass, but...”
“But I know you will be anyway,” Bethany said. She stretched her hands behind her head and listened to Lord Rayner’s sputtering for what seemed like an eternity, as he obviously tried to wrap his head around the nightmare of her ever becoming queen.
“Rayner! Just spit it out and get it over with,” Bethany finally said.
“If you intend on marrying the King, then perhaps we could have a quiet ceremony so that any attempt on your life would be, in fact, treason.”
Bethany looked up at Rayner, realization dawning. “You want me to marry him today?”
“We could announce your betrothal, but frankly that would simply bring more vultures into the fray. We can do this,” Rayner said.
Arrago looked at her and said, “I think...this is a decision Bethany and I need to make in private and...without...No.” He smiled at her, a sad, disappointed expression and said, “Don’t worry. We’re on your schedule, not anyone else’s. You can take all the time you need. I’ll still be here.”
When Bethany didn’t reply immediately, Rayner stepped in to protest Arrago not forcing the issue.
“I said no,” Arrago said firmly, and his tone put a smile on her face. She knew how badly he wanted to marry her. He’d said it before, that he’d planned to ask her before the Temple of Tranquil Mercies was blown into little pieces into the ocean. He’d loved her then, and he loved her still.
She’d considered her answer for the last year, and Bethany had come to the startling realization that what she felt for Arrago was more than just curiosity or the blush of a young person’s desire for intimacy. Instead, she longed for the quiet that came after the storm. She’d fight the battle and then she’d come home to peace. He’d peel her out of her gear and wash the cuts on her face, and would feed her cheese and wine until she slept. And when the nightmares attacked, he would hold her and tell her she wasn’t alone.
Bethany had never felt at home the way she felt it with Arrago. What was that called? Love was too short of a word to describe the peace he helped give her.
He made the pain worth bearing.
“Yes,” Bethany said quietly to a question not even asked.
“What did you say?” Arrago asked.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes.”
Arrago flicked his gaze to his advisors and leaned forward. “Bethany, you don’t have to. We’ll figure out another way to protect you from Jud.”
“This has nothing to do with him. This is about me and what I want. I don’t care about anyone else.” She smiled at him. “I’ll marry you, if that will make you feel safer.”
“This isn’t about me, either,” Arrago protested. “Bethany, I know this is difficult for you, so please, don’t...”
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Bethany said sternly. “This is what I want. Now, if you don’t want to, or if you have second thoughts...”
Arrago crouched down and put his hands on her knees. “Bethany, I love you. I don’t...I love you.”
“Then let’s get married,” Bethany said, and the words made her both laugh and tear up.
“Merciful Apexia,” Rayner breathed.
Bethany looked over at Rayner and said, “Lord Stanley, could you fetch Rayner a glass of wine before he faints.”
“But...when...” Arrago said, laughing. He reached up and touched her scarred cheek. “When?”
“I’m free right now.”
The next hour was a blur of Lord Stanley rushing around the palace gathering enough nobility who’d arrived early for the ball. Their presence was apparently necessary to make the union legal, but Bethany did ask he keep it to people who’d not hurl insults at her during the ceremony. Stanley huffed at that and said no one would ever be so crass. It had been a joke, but Stanley spent most of the preparations complaining about her comment.
Most of the nobility didn’t even know Bethany was in the country, let alone marrying the king, so at least Stanley sought out the discreet ones, as opposed to whoever’s apartments were the closest to the royal wing.
Lendra fussed and fussed, but Bethany put her foot down. She would be wed in her trousers and tunic, and Lendra needed to keep her opinions to herself or Bethany would be wed in mail and swords. And a helmet.
Not to be outdone, Arrago wore his old trousers and tunic that he’d worn in the war. This action drove Rayner to fits. Thankfully, the Dowager was on hand to share the smelling salts, and Rayner eventually recovered.
In the end, twenty-five people were crowded into Lord Stanley’s study. Myra, Jackson, and Jonas were all there, of course, along with an impossibly grinning Amber and a jovial Edmund.
“Where’s Kiner?” Bethany demanded as Lendra fussed with pinning Bethany’s hair back in a soft braid against her neck. “If you stab me one more time...”
“You will stab me in the face. I wouldn’t keep poking you if you stood still.”
“I sent Rose to find him,” Cassandra said. And then she bowed, low, and said, “Majesty.”
Bethany stared at the group around her. They were all grinning like fools, and it dawned on her that she wasn’t just marrying a man. She was marrying a king. No, that wasn’t just it. Their king was marrying her.
Bethany knew there would be new power dynamics, but she hadn’t considered exactly how they would look in a day-to-day manner. She was about to become Majesty. The thought was terrifying. Arrago had promised her control over the royal guard and she would raise up a strong and loyal protective force the likes of the north had never seen by the time she finished.
Still, she was about to become a queen. To humans. In Taftlin. It could have been a joke, but she wasn’t laughing. This is where her life had ended up. Stripped of her position by her people, and accepted by the people she’d loathed for most of her life. They would not love her if they knew she’d helped wipe out a previous line of their royalty, but they didn’t know that. And that was a very long time ago, when the world was a very different place.
A light touch came on her arm, and she turned to look at Arrago. “Are you all right?”
The door opened and Rose came in, Kiner in tow. They were both huffing; obviously they’d rushed to get here. Kiner walked up to the front and grabbed Bethany in a tight squeeze. She hugged him back and then they both slapped each other’s backs affectionately.
“Jovan is going to kill you,” Kiner said, grinning.
“I told him to come to Taftlin when he quit,” Bethany said. She smiled at Kiner and turned to Arrago. “I’m all right now.”
Then the priest began the vows. Bethany and Arrago laughed during them, even the places they were supposed to be sober and somber. They knew the priest was marrying Apexia’s successors, even if the rest did not. For the briefest of moments, when the priest asked for Apexia’s blessing, Bethany’s smile faltered. Could her mother see
, now that her tether to the mortal world was severed? Did Apexia know her little girl was all grown up and moving on with her life? Did Apexia know how empty Bethany felt at this important moment to not have her mother there?
Arrago squeezed her hand, sensing she needed it. She squeezed back. The priest scowled at the touch, but did not say anything. Arrago was a king. She was Apexia’s daughter. They did not have to follow the rules.
And when they were pronounced husband and wife, and the crowd whooped and cheered, Arrago leaned over and kissed Bethany, very gently, on the lips. She glanced at the priest, whose scowled threatened to injure his mouth permanently.
Bethany smiled. “Well, Majesty. If you expect me to sleep with you in front of all of these people, I will murder you and all of our wedding guests.”
Arrago chuckled and whispered in her ear, “The first act as king was to overwrite that archaic law.”
“I knew I didn’t kill you for a reason.”
Chapter 11
Bethany patted her body one last time. The daggers were still in their sheaths. The dirk was still hidden by the folds of her skirt’s split side seams. She checked the front lacing, hidden behind gauzy fabric. They were untied and the entire dress was being held up with the simplest of stitches. Two pearl-tipped hair pins the size of her hand held her auburn hair at the nape of her neck. Stilettos in a pinch.
She stared at herself in the foggy mirror and did not recognize the woman staring back. The blue dress was embroidered with beads and silver threading. Somehow, they’d managed to find matching fabric to create the lower half of the skirt and had covered the attachment using handmade silver-thread lace from one of the other dresses.
The skirts billowed wide from her body thanks to the ingenuity of the seamstresses, who had inserted padded false-hips into the dress. Her breasts were not forced into a corset and only bound enough so that she could move with ease, so the neckline was covered with more gauzy fabric to detract from her lack of what the Dowager called an “appropriately appealing décolletage,” whatever that meant.
She drew the line at her boots and adjusted the fabric’s folds to hide the worn leather boots that came up just under the bend of her knees. If things broke into the fight she was expecting, she needed comfortable footwear that she could fight in. Plus, the boots carried a dagger each, and, in a pinch, she could kick someone to death with them. Unlike the gem encrusted torture devices the Dowager had wanted her to wear.
“Are you ready?”
Bethany smiled as she turned to face both duchesses and her sister. All three wore matching white dresses. Lendra’s straw-hued hair was piled into a massive concoction of pins and curls. The Dowager’s hair was demurely planted atop her head. The current duchess’ hair was an elegant, almost saucy, display of runaway tendrils and half-pinned strains.
She eyed the three women and said, “I feel out of place.”
“My dear Lady Bethany,” the Dowager said, “all of Taftlin knows you are his Majesty’s weapon. Embrace your place in history.”
Bethany sighed.
“I can’t believe you’re in a dress!” Lendra exclaimed. “An actual dress!”
“Yes, yes,” Bethany said sourly.
“But, it’s a dress! And you look like a girl in it.”
“I always look like a girl,” Bethany said. “Men don’t have my bone structure.”
Her Grace laughed. “Lady Bethany, I am so nervous, I’m giddy.”
“Just keep your calm, and it’ll all be fine. If we’re lucky, the others will catch the conspirators before the first dance.”
“I don’t know how to dance,” Lendra huffed.
Bethany snorted. “Yes, you do. If I know how to dance, so do you.”
“Yes, but not Taftlin dances wearing a Taftlin dress!”
“My sweet child,” the Dowager said, “you are the new Ambassador to our great nation. You are a foreigner, unfamiliar with our northern ways. I think you will find many wealthy, single young men who will be eager to teach a fair damsel how to dance.” She put significant emphasis on the last word.
“Where is Henry?” Bethany asked, fussing with the sleeves. The billowy fabric was catching on her clothing underneath.
The old lady smacked Bethany’s arm with her fan. It stung. A lot. “Ouch.”
“Don’t fuss with your clothes,” she instructed severely. “It is barely held together. One wrong move and it’ll be around your ankles.”
“And then you’ll be the talk of Taftlin for a month,” Her Grace said gleefully.
Bethany turned away from the mirror. “All right, remember the plan. Stick near Edmund at all times. If you are separated from Edmund, please stick with one of Arrago’s guards. Only some of them know what is happening tonight, but I suspect you’ll be safer with them than anyone else. If you get into trouble, try to get my attention. If you see anything, try to get word to me or Edmund. Try to do it discreetly. I’d rather not have the ballroom covered in blood.” She stared at three women. “I can’t believe you’re wearing white.”
The Dowager grinned. “My dear, this isn’t my first fight. Shall we begin?”
Bethany sucked in a breath and nodded. “Lead the way.”
****
Arrago couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He sat on the dais at the front of the ballroom and watched the dancing. He’d never seen this many elves in one place since the war. Half of the orchestra on the balcony were elves. Some hid their ears with hats, while others didn’t care and showed their pointed ears defiantly to any would-be attackers.
There were more armed guards than he’d ever seen inside the palace, too. There were always guards, true, but it seemed like all of them were crammed into this one large room. He knew there were a hundred more spread out across the palace, and more still out on the grounds. But he knew the real culprit was probably already inside this room wearing finery and furs. Or, they’d wait until tomorrow when the palace was hungover and the guards smugly celebrating how they’d scared off an attack.
That’s what he would do. In fact, that had been what Arrago had done more than once during the civil war.
Movement at the main doors caught Arrago’s eye. He caught the sight of two tall women, a blonde and a redhead, and he grinned. Bethany and Lendra had arrived. The music died and the dancing soon ceased. The Dowager of Arsenia was introduced, as was Her Grace Cassandra. On Her Grace’s arm was the Duke. Arrago had never met the man before, as he spent most of his time hunting and carousing with his mistresses. But tonight he was at court, showing a united front. Arrago inclined his head to the Duke, who likewise did the same.
“Lendra, Daughter of Apexia, the Elven Ambassador to the Taftlin Court, sister of Lady Champion Bethany,” the squire shouted for the benefit of the crowd.
Lendra was a vision in her pale dress. It was hard to tell where her dress began and her skin ended, both the same hue of rich cream. She smiled and curtsied deeply to the crowd. They returned both the smiles and the bow. Protocol said they should bow first, but Lendra was the expert at endearing herself to anyone around her.
Bethany stepped into the room and there was a reverent hush. She wore blue and wore the colour well. The dress did not fit her well, but that was because Arrago knew which of the curves weren’t actually hers. Dresses weren’t meant to have a hundred weapons underneath them, nor were they meant to be worn over a breastplate. There must have been a lot of padding under that dress to smooth out all of the hard lines and bulk.
Still, in all of the silk and lace, the fierceness of Bethany’s eyes did not wane in the slightest.
“Lady Champion Bethany, Daughter of Apexia, hero of the Magic Wars, liberator of the Rygent Islands, defender of Taftlin, defender of the Temple of Tranquil Mercies.”
Lord Stanley, who was standing behind the throne, said, “And now the game begins.”
“Please accept her. Please accept her,” Rayner was chanting in a fevered pitch behind the throne.
Bethany did not b
ow to the crowd. She looked up at the throne and gave Arrago a little smile. She inclined her head to him. Just a tip of acknowledgement. She was a hero in this room. He wondered if Bethany understood the awe she was held in by the people of Taftlin. Many noble men fought alongside her. Many servants worked for her. Many common folk were saved and protected by her. She invaded Taftlin and instead of burning it to the ground, she supported the poor. She even defended them, like at the siege of Kershaw.
She was their war hero, and any elven attempt to discredit her would only bolster her importance.
The Dowager curtsied low to Bethany, her daughter and son-in-law joining in. Edmund, Lord Stanley, and Lord Rayner likewise mirrored the gesture. Soon, the entire room was bowing to Bethany.
Arrago stood up from his throne and approached her. The bowing intensified, which made gawking difficult for those in the back who wanted a better look. He’d gotten used to the bowing more or less by now, but it was still difficult not to laugh at the absurdity of it.
He held out a hand and said, “Would you dance with me, Lady Bethany?”
Bethany smiled and said, “Of course. Majesty.”
Arrago motioned for the crowd to stand. The Dowager snapped her fingers at the orchestra, who struck up their chords again. Arrago took Bethany’s hand and they began to waltz. His hand pressed against the hardness of her breastplate and he chuckled.
“How much gear are you wearing under that dress?”
“A lot. Cassandra’s seamstress had to work miracles to find room for everything. I had to leave my swords stashed with Brennus, though.”
“You’re swordless?”
“Hardly. A dirk at each hip, a dagger in each boot, some deadly hairpins, a few stilettos...I’m prepared.”
Arrago motioned for the others to join the dancing, too. “Come! This is a ball! Don’t put all of the pressure on me! Dance! Sir Isaac! Come, dance with your new wife!”
The crowd took up dancing once more, though they kept a respectful distance from Arrago and Bethany, providing a private dance space in the midst of hundreds of guests.
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