by Bec McMaster
“How dare you cast such aspersions?” Princess Imogen squared her shoulders. “Eugene had nothing to do with this far-fetched plot you claim.”
“On that we agree. Eugene can barely tie his own shoes without supervision. He would be an excellent placeholder for some power behind the throne to manipulate.”
There. A faint flicker of fear in her eyes.
“You made one fatal mistake, you know?”
Princess Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “A mistake? What mistake?”
“It’s a common occurrence among the nobility. They tend to think that servants are invisible, and carry on all manner of meetings in front of them.” He shook his head. “And although fear is a powerful motivator, when one has spent decades treating the servants appallingly, it takes very little more than a promise of protection—say, from someone even more powerful—to draw a confession forth.”
“What the hell are you talking about Malloryn?”
“Two of the undermaids recall seeing a magnificent brooch with similar scrollwork to this on your dresser. One of them claims you had several such trinkets in your jewelry box, and when I searched it this morning, I found this.” He tossed a golden scarab beetle toward her. “It was created by a mech who served in the Ironmonger enclaves, by the name of MacGregor. You bought it a year ago because you thought it was regal, and it links you to an assassination.”
Princess Imogen slapped the thing aside as if he’d thrown a ticking bomb at her. “How dare you enter my chambers? I should have you whipped. And that… that thing has nothing to do with me. I’ve never seen it before in my life!”
Malloryn smiled. “It’s just a brooch. Is it not?”
She froze.
“Although,” he drew the word out with relish, “according to Mr. MacGregor, you did have something to do with its inception. I had him view the court from one of the galleries an hour ago, and he pointed you out without a qualm. You ordered the scarab made two months ago. A gift for a rival, you told him, and he is willing to testify in court.”
Princess Imogen hissed under her breath, tipping her chin high. “Is this some little plot you’ve formed, Malloryn? A way to cast such aspersions on my character and have me removed from court? You’re not the only one with power, you know. I have friends in high places, and I shall see you flogged for this.”
“I doubt it.” Princess Imogen should have been a blue blood of the Echelon. She owned the same arrogance and sense of invulnerability. His smile slipped. “I’m not done yet, and I doubt even your friends can save you. I have a witness who saw you with the cook who slipped cyanide into the queen’s honey cakes and cordial. I have your mech’s confession. I have the boy you paid to deliver a rope to the dungeons so Guardsman Wallach could hang himself.”
He tugged a small slip of paper from his coat pocket. “And this is a withdrawal slip from your bank. For the precise sum of five thousand pounds, which, conveniently enough, is the exact sum someone used to bribe Wallach. I can bury you in court with a half dozen witnesses. You are finished.”
Princess Imogen moved to slap him, but he caught her wrist.
“You piece of filth,” she hissed. “Unhand me! Servants? You think to use those unwashed ingrates to bring me down? You have nothing, Malloryn. You probably paid them yourself.”
“Don’t make another mistake,” he warned her coldly. “You may be the queen’s cousin, but I’m not certain she’s feeling very fond of you at the moment. Besides…” He leaned closer, to enjoy playing the trump card. “I don’t just have the servants in hand, you little bitch. I have Eugene too. Your dear little brother bleated like a lamb and told me everything.”
“That idiot!” Princess Imogen tore at his grip. “It should have been me on the throne! The prince consort was courting me before Alexandra stole him away! He would have married me and put me on the throne, but she couldn’t have that, could she? She took everything. She always took everything! My uncle spent years failing to have a child, and he finally managed to beget that sniveling little spawn on his bitch of a wife? Eugene was named his heir. And she stole it all!”
“By being born?” Malloryn shook his head. “You fool. You have riches, an estate, more than most people could possibly imagine—”
“The crown was ours! And it would have been ours again. I just had to take it! But she couldn’t even have the good grace to die!”
There.
A confession.
Finally.
Malloryn let her go. “Thank you, Princess.” He stepped aside as Sir Gregor strode out from the nearest drawing room, followed by a pair of guards. “Have you heard enough, Sir Gregor?”
Her Royal Highness gasped.
“Quite.” The captain of the Coldrush Guards grabbed the princess by the arm, his expression one of loathing. “Your Highness, you may consider yourself under arrest for the attempted assassination of the queen.”
“Malloryn!” she screamed, trying to throw herself at him and rake those nails down his face. “You bastard!”
He clasped both hands on the cane. “Enjoy your confinement, Your Highness. And your new notoriety. I’m going to make sure your likeness is plastered across every newspaper in London. Perhaps we’ll use the Frogmore caricature, shall we? I believe that was your favorite, following your ill-fated rendezvous with the Spanish ambassador. You’ll be the most famous woman in London.”
Princess Imogen’s snarls of rage echoed in his ears as she was dragged, rather unceremoniously, to her cell.
Chapter 16
The Duke of Malloryn climbed the tower slowly, rubbing at his knuckles. He’d dealt with the Imogen situation and then requested a private audience with the queen.
There were a thousand conversations he’d rather be having right now.
She’d been betrayed by almost everyone in her inner circle, and now her only remaining relatives had plotted to take the crown from her head. He felt a certain sense of pity.
At the top of the tower, the queen turned around with a whisk of her skirts. “Will it never end?” she demanded. “They stole my country from me and murdered my people. And when we finally won our freedom, they sought to cast me down. They burned my tower and tried to assassinate me again and again and again. And yesterday, a good man was nearly killed trying to save me! When will it end?”
“Your Majesty—"
“I mean it!” she cried. “I am done with these wretched plots. I am done being fair and benevolent to those who think to overthrow me. The blue bloods and the Echelon don’t want me ruling over them? Then fine. I’ll put them all in a bloody grave.”
“Alexandra,” he said, capturing her by the shoulders. “It wasn’t a blue blood.”
She froze. “Not a blue blood. Then who sent the guard? Who is behind this attempt? I want their head!”
Malloryn eased out a slow breath. “It appears we have a mole in the council chambers. It seems your cousin Imogen somehow heard we were considering naming Eugene as your heir, with a regency set in place. She sought to hasten matters and forestall a sudden marriage.”
“Imogen?”
“Yes, your cousin Imogen. I believe she’s been planning something like this for a while, as she’d ordered the brooch months ago.”
The queen pressed her fingers to her temples. “No matter where I turn, there is always treachery.”
“Not everywhere,” he reminded her.
She shook her head. “I wish I had never been born to this life. I sometimes wish I was just a common woman out there on the streets of London.”
“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “For those lowborn women have their own challenges, their own suffering. And you are the one who is in a position to do something about their lives.”
The queen sighed. “I just wish this wasn’t so complicated. And that Gideon….”
Her composure dropped, just for a second.
“Sir Gideon is safe,” Malloryn assured her, squeezing her shoulders. “His wounds will heal.”
�
�This time,” she whispered. “He took a bullet for me.”
“And he would do so again, if he saw another one coming.”
“But I don’t want that!” she cried. “I don’t want to lose any of you.”
“Any of us?” he asked gently. “Or mostly Sir Gideon?”
Faint circles of color crept into her cheeks. “I am fond of you all.”
“But fondest of him, I think.”
Their eyes met.
And perhaps it was time to reveal his cards. She’d suffered enough today, and as Adele had pointed out, sometimes he instinctively chose the more convoluted route when a simpler one would do.
“You should marry him.”
She blinked. “Marry whom?”
“Sir Gideon,” he said. Perhaps Adele had been right. Perhaps it was time for the games to end. “Forget the alliance. A foreign prince will never love you, nor you him. Not the way Sir Gideon would. And if you don’t marry him, then you will always wonder at the life you could have had with him. You will always wonder what it feels like to love and to know love.”
The queen’s mouth dropped open.
“I…. You…. How did you…?”
He took pity on her. “What did you think this entire affair was all about? It was clear the pair of you held feelings for each other. I was merely trying to push one of you into taking action. You were wrong, Alexandra. Sir Gideon was my choice all along.”
“You orchestrated this entire bloody husband hunt so I would finally act on my feelings for Sir Gideon?”
He shrugged. “I told you that you’d never guess which candidate I was backing. I told you it would be your choice.”
The queen balled her fists. “I swear I should kick you off this tower! This is beyond the pale, Malloryn. Beyond!”
“Why?” he goaded her. “Because he’s the one you want, and you hate it when I’m right?”
“I hate it when you always have to be right.”
“I’m your spymaster. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t have my finger on the pulse at all times. Marry him, Alexandra. Be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
“Good God.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Your wife has completely turned your life on its head, hasn’t she?”
Malloryn drew back. “Well, of course, she has. But I don’t see what that has to do with—”
“With you backing the sentimental choice?” she asked sweetly. “One year ago, you’d have never urged me to marry the man of my heart. You’d have been arguing about treaties and what is good for the country. You’d have been horrified I was even considering taking a human husband, when half the Echelon feels slighted following the revolution. You’ve changed, Malloryn.”
Malloryn shut his mouth.
The queen looked delighted. “You’ve turned into a fairy godmother from some story. You’re arranging marriages now. This is delightful.”
“The realm does need an heir.”
“Don’t pretend to be so cynical. How many marriages have you arranged now?”
He shut his mouth again. Most of the Company of Rogues had managed to sort their own affairs, but Gemma had required a bit of convincing to accept Obsidian’s proposal, believing marriage wasn’t the sort of thing for a woman with her upbringing and skills. And there’d been the under-butler and one of the housemaids….
Dear God.
It was true.
He had turned into a fairy godmother.
Drawing himself up, he arched an icy brow. “Several. I arrange everything, including the dining table. And most importantly, the future heir of the kingdom.”
“Speaking of heirs, Malloryn…, when is the baby due?”
His eyes narrowed. “Adele and I haven’t discussed the possibility of such an event just yet.”
The queen’s eyes sparkled deviously. “I would suggest you discuss it, and soon, Malloryn. Your wife is positively glowing these days, and if she’s not keeping a happy secret from you, then I will marry Sir Gideon and turn over all major decisions that involve the realm directly to you.”
His heart skipped a beat. “With child? Adele with child?”
“Oh, I do enjoy knowing something you don’t.” The queen rolled her eyes. “I expect to be named godmother, Malloryn. Now go and find your wife. I’m sure you have some things to discuss.” She brushed off her skirts, lifting her chin high. “And I have a certain knight to compromise.”
Malloryn found Adele in the midst of a whirlwind of silk in her bedchambers.
Dismissing the maids with a look, he curled his arms around her from behind, rubbing his cheek against the back of her neck.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” he murmured.
Adele stilled. “What do you mean?”
He slid his hand down her abdomen and cupped a handful of fabric. He couldn’t help capturing a breath. Hope had planted seeds in his heart, and he was half afraid he’d choke on them if she denied it.
Every inch of his wife went still, and then she punched him in the arm and escaped his grip.
“How?” she demanded.
It was true? A flutter of nerves overtook him. “Then you confirm it?”
“I was going to tell you. I just wanted… to be certain.” Her voice dropped. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but the midwives think I’m carrying well now.”
He opened his arms, and she stepped into them.
Malloryn squeezed her tight and rested his chin on her head. “And they think it’s safe now?”
“Yes,” she said, in a small voice. “There’s always a risk, but… They seemed very certain. And I’ve been so ill this time. It’s a good sign.”
They’d lost the first child they’d created, barely a week after Adele revealed the news to him. It had shattered her, and for the first time in his life, he hadn’t known what to do.
Except hold her. And kiss her. And let her sleep in his arms after she’d cried herself to sleep.
The breath went out of him. He hadn’t allowed himself to grow excited that first time, or to entertain thoughts of the child they’d share. But he couldn’t defy the surge of hope he felt now.
Hauling her up into his arms, he carried her toward the bed.
Adele landed in the middle of the mattress with a squeak, but he gave her no time to protest. Instead, he captured the gasp on her lips and kissed her until they were both dizzy.
“Malloryn!” she gasped, arching her throat back to reveal it. “It’s the middle of the day! What will the maids think?”
“That the duke adores his wife so completely that he’s lost all notion of propriety these days,” he said, returning his lips to her skin.
They lost themselves in each other, and he spent an inordinate amount of time kissing her belly before trailing his tongue lower.
Afterwards, they lay tangled in each other’s arms. Malloryn idly stroked his fingers up and down his wife’s back, enjoying the shiver that ran through her. “How was your day?”
“Hectic,” she admitted, snuggling against him. “Lena’s trying to prepare for her and Will’s forthcoming trip to Stockholm for the Russian-Scandi summit. There’s some sort of leadership squabble within the Scandinavian verwulfen clans, and she was a little concerned she was taking baby Alex into a verwulfen war. I said I may know someone who could provide some assistance for the embassy.”
“Consider it sorted,” he admitted. “Byrnes and Ingrid are going to be part of the ambassador’s party. They’ll keep an eye on things.”
A hint of tension went out of her, and he realized she’d been worried about her friend. “Is that truly wise?”
“Byrnes and Ingrid? Of course. She’s a little hotheaded, especially when it comes to verwulfen politics, but Byrnes is—”
He’d been about to say “cool and collected,” but when it came to his wife, Byrnes had a bad habit of losing his head.
“I was speaking of Ingrid’s injuries,” Adele said.
They lay still for a moment.
“The nerves in her spine have healed, the doctors tell me,” he said slowly. Ingrid had broken her back protecting Adele, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay her. Despite the veracity of the loupe virus, it had taken far longer than usual for Ingrid’s shattered nerves to reknit, and months of hard work for her to walk again, let alone anything more stimulating. Byrnes had hovered over her the entire time.
“I would hate to see her progress stalled,” Adele whispered. “Do you think it’s a little soon? What if she’s hurt again?”
The decision had vexed him for weeks. Ingrid and Byrnes were the perfect choice to infiltrate a verwulfen summit filled with both hotheaded warmongers who draped themselves in furs and carried axes, and the cold, vicious entourage of Russian blue bloods.
But he’d been there when Ingrid had forced herself to walk again.
He’d been the one she’d turned to when Byrnes wouldn’t let her do anything more strenuous than a run.
And he’d seen the need in her eyes, when she’d picked up her weapons and faced him in the practice ring, because some part of her had feared she’d never be able to fight again.
He’d been prepared to ease her into it gently, until Ingrid almost took his throat out.
“She needs this,” he told Adele. “And I doubt she’ll be placed directly in harm’s way. Their task is purely to protect our ambassador and his wife. They’re not to get involved in any Scandinavian politics or vengeful Blood Court assassinations. They’re on protection duty only. And possibly my eyes and ears.”
“I’m sure they won’t involve themselves at all,” she replied sweetly. “Byrnes and Ingrid following your orders? Absolutely. Without doubt. There will be no involvement in any mayhem. Nobody will die in mysterious circumstances. And Britain will definitely not have to deal with the complex political ramifications of the fallout.”
He pinched her bottom. “That’s why I’m sending the rest of them.”
