Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Imogen set her plate down on the sideboard and bowed her head. Now her chest ached along with her stomach. “That’s ridiculous,” she said.

  “Is it?” Dorenna said. “Any time you come home from one of these social things, half the things you tell us are about what your King did, or said. Have you heard us teasing you about him lately? It stopped being fun the minute it was clear you really did care about him.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Imogen whispered. “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated in a louder voice. “I have a responsibility that’s more important than how I feel.” As she said the words, she felt her perspective shift. The warrior would pursue Jeffrey and damn the consequences. The ambassador would put her people first. And she was the ambassador.

  “Imogen, think. What if this never comes again?” Areli said. “What if—”

  “I’m barely twenty, Areli. I’ll find someone else.” She felt as if she were going to be sick. “Someone who’s Kirkellan, probably, someone who grew up the way I did, someone I can talk to without groping for words all the time and who rides well and doesn’t have all these—” She left her plate and walked away.

  Safely in her rooms, she lay on her unmade bed and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t tell him in a message, even if it weren’t a cold thing to do. She’d have to see if she could get him somewhere private at the ball tonight. Maybe he wouldn’t be terribly disappointed. It was just kissing, that was all, nothing binding on either of them. They could still be friends, couldn’t they? She remembered his gentle touch on her face, his lips on hers, and went to the bathing chamber to scrub those memories away.

  She and the tiermatha were late to the Spring Ball. Imogen didn’t want to spend any more time there than she had to. She still dreaded the moment when someone would ask her to dance and she’d have to turn him down because she didn’t know the steps. She took a tall glass of straw-pale wine as soon as she reached the floor, reasoning that having her hands full might deter any would-be partners.

  She did not see Jeffrey. She did see Diana almost immediately, as if the woman were picked out by a ring of lights. She was conversing with a man and a woman Imogen didn’t know, though her attention seemed divided between her conversation and the rest of the room; her eyes roved constantly, as if she were looking for someone, probably Jeffrey. Imogen felt a sharp pang of jealousy and suppressed it. She had no right to feel jealous. On the other hand, she felt she had every right as Jeffrey’s friend to wish Diana would find a large hole and jump down it headfirst.

  “Madam ambassador.” She turned to find Maxwell Burgess at her elbow. At least he hadn’t taken hold of it. Yet. “The ambassador from Veribold would like a moment of your time.” He wasn’t smiling, and for a moment Imogen was afraid something awful had happened. Bixhenta had found out about her evening with Jeffrey and wanted to break off all diplomatic ties with the Kirkellan. He wanted to break off ties with Tremontane, and Burgess blamed her even though Jeffrey had kissed her first.

  “Madam ambassador, are you well?” Burgess asked, and now he did take her elbow and his expression was of normal concern. He smiled at her. “Bixhenta is intimidating, but he’s not going to eat you.”

  Imogen managed a smile at the weak witticism and let Burgess steer her in the direction of the ambassador’s seat, near—oh, heaven, there Jeffrey was, he was sitting on the chair that wasn’t quite a throne, and he was talking to his mother so he hadn’t seen her yet, but any moment now he’d turn his head—she fixed her eyes on the Voice of Bixhenta, who was staring at her as if wishing she were somewhere else, preferably the Eidestal.

  Imogen bowed to the Voice, barely aware of what she was doing. It probably wasn’t a very good bow, but it was the best she could manage in her barely-concealed agitation. You’re behaving like a child having her first courtship. Grow up, Imogen.

  “Madam ambassador, the Proxy of Veribold greets you,” the Voice said, the coolness of her voice belied by the tightness in her jaw.

  “I am pleased to be welcomed by the Proxy. I enjoy our meetings,” Imogen replied. She smiled pleasantly at the Voice and saw the tension in the woman’s jaw increase. She really shouldn’t torment the woman so, but it was too easy and Imogen was tense enough herself to feel the need for some kind of release.

  The Voice bent to speak to Bixhenta and receive his words in return. “The Proxy invites you to attend on him at the embassy tomorrow morning to continue the conversation you had on your previous visit.” Imogen by now knew to watch Bixhenta’s face for clues, and aside from a slow blink on “attend” it seemed the Voice had relayed his instructions exactly.

  “I am pleased to visit with the Proxy tomorrow,” she replied, keeping her eyes on Bixhenta’s face. So it had something to do with the treaty. Could Mother have signed and returned it so soon? Anxiety over her personal problem subsided in the thrill she felt at the thought of further negotiations. She could think of a number of trade items she’d like to see the Kirkellan embrace, starting with chocolate.

  “Then you are dismissed,” the Voice said, and Imogen raised her eyebrows in surprise, because the woman hadn’t conveyed her last words to Bixhenta or received any instructions from him. Bixhenta continued impassive, but Imogen would bet the Voice would get an earful when they were back at the embassy. If she were Bixhenta, she’d find another Voice, one who wasn’t so prone to delivering her own ultimatums.

  “I think it is for Bixhenta to say if I am dismissed or not,” Imogen said, and bowed directly to the Proxy. To her shock, Bixhenta stood, moving each joint independently as if he were unfolding, then bowed to Imogen, not very low, but unmistakably a bow. Imogen was peripherally aware of the few people around them becoming motionless, but Bixhenta’s eyes remained fixed on her and she couldn’t look away. She bowed again to cover her confusion, then backed away three steps and turned to go at the fastest pace she could manage that wasn’t a run. She didn’t have a destination in mind, just a desire to get away. Bixhenta had bowed to her. Yes, it was probably just to humiliate the Voice, but he’d still bowed to her, and who knew what that meant in Veriboldan culture? Well, yes, she could think of one person who would know what it meant, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet.

  She bumped up against someone who said, “Clumsy—” and at the familiar voice, Imogen’s heart sank. Only one other person at this affair she wanted to see less than Jeffrey, and she had to run into her. Diana turned, and her anger instantly became much nastier. “I should have known it was you,” she said. “Tell me, are you awkward because you’re fat, or is the awkwardness something you were born with?”

  The unexpectedness of the attack left Imogen groping for words. “I—I am sorry to bump against you,” she said, and stepped out of Diana’s way. Diana moved to intercept her.

  “I suppose I should congratulate you on your conquest,” she said, and sipped her wine. It was the exact shade of her gown and her carefully rouged lips. Someone might have called her beautiful if they couldn’t hear her voice, smooth and filled with bitter spite. “I wouldn’t have thought Jeffrey so desperate, but then I suppose I never really knew him.”

  “I do not understand you. I do not make the conquest.” Wonderful, her grasp of Tremontanese was deserting her. She struggled to remember how angry Diana had made her just the night before. She could fight her if she could find something to hang onto, something to remind her she wasn’t ugly and bare-faced and wearing a dress that made her look lumpy.

  Diana grasped her forearm and squeezed, an innocent gesture that felt like the claw of some kind of raptor. “Oh, I won’t tell anyone,” she said in a low voice. “Heaven forbid I should embarrass the King of Tremontane when he’s doing such an excellent job of it himself.” She took another sip of wine. Her lips looked bloody in the brilliant light of the Devices hovering high above. “His loss, if he preferred you to me.”

  “I do not think he love you ever,” Imogen stuttered. “You are desperate and want his Crown and not him. That is not the fault of
anyone but you.”

  Diana’s claw gripped harder. “I’ve been his friend for years,” she hissed. “I know him better than anyone does. You have no idea what you’re interfering with, the relationship we’ve built. Jeffrey will come to his senses and you’ll be nothing again.” The hand holding the wine glass began to tremble, sending waves of ruby liquid splashing up the sides of the glass.

  Nothing. Diana’s words shook Imogen out of her stupor. As if she only had value because Jeffrey cared for her. She was a warrior of the Kirkellan and Diana couldn’t take that from her no matter what she said. She grabbed Diana’s claw with her free hand and broke her grip effortlessly. This deluded woman couldn’t hurt her with her words. Imogen, on the other hand, could break every bone in her claw with one twist. The thought tempted her, but she merely released Diana with a force that sent her hand swinging. “I am not a threat to you,” she said. “If your relationship is weak it is because you stomped on it with your giant feet and your hands that cannot keep to themselves. I am sorry for you but it does not mean I will not be friends with Jeffrey. I cannot make him love you because you make yourself unlovable.”

  Diana was motionless, only her trembling hand and the splashing wine showing she hadn’t been struck dead. Imogen circled around her, her eyes never leaving the frozen Baroness. As unstable as Diana was, she might decide to attack Imogen, or at least throw her wine on her, and Imogen didn’t want a conflict that would end with one of them, not her, bloody on the ballroom floor. As soon as she was far enough away, she turned and fled again. This time, she stayed alert, not wanting to run into any more enemies. Surely Diana was the only one she’d made in Aurilien? The image of Hrovald showing up in the palace ballroom, wielding his sword and screaming for her head, amused her briefly.

  “Saevonna,” she said with relief, seeing her friend turn in her direction. She was eating something that dusted her lips with crumbs—good heaven, Saevonna was wearing cosmetics again. Imogen wished the world would stop spinning for just five minutes, just long enough for her to find her footing.

  “Imogen,” Saevonna said, “you look like you’re being chased.”

  “I feel like I’m being chased. Do you know who Diana Ashmore is? Yes? Is she following me?”

  “I don’t see—no, she’s talking to that man who’s always hauling you around by the elbow. Why, did you insult her?”

  “She insulted me first.” Imogen closed her eyes. “Do I look lumpy in this dress?”

  “What? Of course not. Your dressmaker is a marvel. Is that what the bitch told you? You realize we can make her disappear, right?”

  Imogen laughed weakly. “I almost broke her hand.”

  “I suppose it would have looked bad, but think how nice it would have felt. All those bones, so close to the surface….”

  “You’re so bloodthirsty.” Imogen took a deep breath, then registered the carefully blank look on Saevonna’s face. “She’s coming after me, isn’t she?”

  “Not her. But I hope you’ve made a decision, because you’re going to have to tell him something.” Saevonna’s blank look vanished, replaced by a smile and a bow. “Your Majesty,” she said in Tremontanese.

  “Good evening,” Jeffrey said. Imogen turned to face him. He’d been addressing Saevonna, but his eyes were entirely on Imogen, and his smile…everything that had passed between them the previous evening was in his smile. Without thinking of what he might make of it, she smiled back, and his smile broadened. “I believe you know this dance?” he said to her, and offered his hand. She took it, and felt the faintest of squeezes before he drew her along to the center of the floor and took her in his arms.

  She looked past him, over his shoulder at the other dancers. If she met his eyes, it would be all over for her. There was that young man who’d propositioned her at the garden party, whatever his name was. There was, ugh, Diana again, talking to a woman with some intensity and again glancing around the room as if looking for someone, or afraid someone was looking for her. At some point even the self-absorbed Diana would have to realize Jeffrey was never going to make her his Consort and give up her ridiculous attempts to gain his affection.

  “You’re not looking at me,” Jeffrey said. He turned her once and brought her close to him again.

  “I am afraid my eyes show everything,” she said, trying to remember the next steps.

  “You’re right. I know I’m having trouble controlling mine.” They danced in silence for a moment longer, then he said, “I’ve been completely useless all day. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you.”

  “I have thought of you as well.” True, though not the way he’d interpret it. She should have practiced what to say. Her fumbling command of Tremontanese was inadequate to expressing anything this important.

  “I’m glad. I’d hate to be the only one who found last night memorable.” He laughed, quietly. It felt as if they were dancing in an invisible sphere, their words audible only to themselves. “Will you attend the violin concert next week with my family? I’m sure I can find a coach that only seats four to take Mother and Elspeth and Owen home, and then I’d be forced to escort you myself, such a pity.”

  Here it was. “I cannot,” she said.

  “Really? That’s too bad. Well, I can think of some other pretext so we can be alone together. There’s always another play, of course…the trouble is I’m watched almost everywhere I go, so privacy is hard.”

  “It is to say I cannot go with you to be private. We cannot be a relationship.” That sounded wrong, but she didn’t dare look at his face for a clue.

  Jeffrey said nothing. His hand went rigid in hers. Imogen blurted, “I am ambassador and you are King. I cannot—it is that I am the face of the Kirkellan to all the nations and not just to Tremontane. If I am with you I cannot treat with Bixhenta and that is why I am here, to treat with the nations and to be…I cannot remember the word, but it is when you do not put one above the other.”

  “Impartial,” Jeffrey said, his voice distant.

  “That is the word. Impartial.” She wasn’t doing this right. She should have gotten him somewhere alone instead of doing this in the open, where anyone could see whatever it was her words were doing to his face. “But I don’t want to,” she said in Kirkellish. “I want you. I want you to kiss me again, over and over, and look at me with those eyes that find me beautiful. I want to discover if something more than physical attraction can grow between us, because I think it already has. But I am the ambassador and what I want doesn’t matter. And if I’d known this was what it meant to learn about the part of me that isn’t a warrior, I…I still would have done it.”

  She turned to look at Jeffrey finally. He, naturally, looked confused. “Can you translate that for me?” he said.

  Tears came to Imogen’s eyes. “It is that I do not want to, but I must if I am ambassador. But what it is I want is to take you into one of the little rooms where lovers go and kiss you more. So I am sorry I cannot do this.”

  Jeffrey suppressed a smile. “That has to be the most heartwarming rejection I’ve ever received,” he said.

  Imogen blinked the tears away. “I am sorry,” she repeated.

  “So am I. Imogen, I never thought of the position I was putting you in. I think of you as a woman first and an ambassador a far, far distant second. You’re right, you can’t stay impartial if we’re courting, and I can’t change that just by making sure no one finds out.” He looked away from her, out across the room. “Much as I might wish otherwise.”

  “I am afraid I hurt you.”

  “I won’t say I’m not incredibly disappointed, but that’s not your fault.” He looked back at her. “I think you should know one thing,” he said. “In less than a year, you won’t be an ambassador anymore, and when that happens, I will take you in my arms and kiss you until you beg me to stop.”

  “Which I think I will not do.” The weight on her heart vanished. He was smiling at her, he wasn’t angry or hurt and he understood, and he stil
l wanted her.

  “Fortunate for both of us.” He went back to scanning the room. “Not to destroy this not-so-tender moment we’re having, but is there a reason Diana is glaring at me?”

  “She thinks I steal you from her. We had a fight. I did not break her hand which I think is good for me that I show…restraint.”

  He snorted with laughter. “Restraint indeed. I’m sorry she feels so hurt, but I’m not going to follow her wishes just to make her happy.”

  “That is what I tell—told her. She did not like that.”

  Jeffrey snorted again. “I’m surprised you didn’t get into a fist fight, talking like that.”

  “She is crazy but not stupid enough to fight a Kirkellan warrior with no weapon. She is thin enough I can break her with my one hand. Do not laugh, I am serious.”

  “I know you are, it’s just…as beautiful as you are, I have trouble remembering you’re a warrior too.”

  “You think perhaps warriors cannot be beautiful?” She warmed all over at his words.

  “I think I should stop talking now before my mouth gets the rest of me in trouble.”

  “I think you are wise. And I think you should call me beautiful again, since it must last a whole year.”

  His blue eyes met hers. “You are beautiful,” he said, “and I’ll never forget what it was like to kiss you.”

  She shivered with pleasure. “I will not forget either, because I have never been kissed like you kiss before.

  He pulled her closer as the music came to an end. It was goodbye, but she felt like she was flying.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Voice didn’t greet Imogen when she returned to the Veriboldan embassy; the room where she’d spoken to Bixhenta before was empty. She stood and waited for a few minutes before the door opened and Bixhenta entered. “Forgive my tardiness, but I wished to conclude some other business so I could give you my full attention,” he said. “I apologize for my rudeness.”

  “Thank you,” Imogen said. “I was admiring this…it is a painting, isn’t it? I don’t understand much of Veriboldan art yet.”