Queen & Conqueror (The Queens Red Guard Book 1), page 12
For him to say such a thing, so callously stated, so coldly intoned, made her want to jump from his horse and storm back to her ships. Did he not know that people died and women were raped for this collection of stones? He asphyxiated her and she became angry at herself for allowing him to get her rattled. She must learn to control her temper and emotions if she was to find some semblance of life in this palace.
Her breaths became short. The sun was too intense. The heat was overwhelming. She longed for a sea breeze, the smell of salt. Nothing, no air–she gasped in desperation. The whole world was on her shoulders and without warning she slumped forward.
King Alton stopped the horse and dismounted. He quickly removed her from the saddle and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t realize how weak she’d become. She collapsed under her own theatrical demands. He set her down and she swayed forward, her hands desperately clutching his breastplate.
“Take this damn thing off her!” he yelled.
She couldn’t tell whose hands pulled at the headpiece despite her protests, but the relief was immediate. Her joints cracked and she gasped. Her neck was slick with sweat and heat welts.
The king stared down at her with dark green eyes. “Whose brilliant idea was that?”
“Mine,” she said.
His face transformed into such fury that, had she not been on the edge of fainting, she would have yelled at him. All she could do was let out an indignant yelp when he lifted her up once more and walked through the doors of the castle.
She was not truly certain she fainted. She hoped, later when she came to, that she was just tired, hot, and sleepy. She concocted all these plans of entering the castle in red glory—instead she entered lackadaisically in the arms of the king. She remembered voices and gasps and people talking as she was taken upstairs. Many, many stairs—all the while still pressed against him. When she fluttered her eyes open, the king placed her on a bed while her father and Sanaa hovered.
She managed to say she felt better, that it was the heat. The king backed away and Almira struggled not to crumble on the bed sheets. This had gone terribly. It made him seem heroic and noble, carrying her through the castle, defenseless and weak in his arms. What a mighty entrance for the heir of Suid and Istok. She flushed at the thought.
However, he didn’t return her anger. He simply bowed and walked out.
When Almira woke again, she was greeted by Hira, M, and her maids who helped her bathe and allowed her a moment to take in the queen’s quarters. These used to be the queen mother’s rooms. While she explored her own apartments, her Suidian workforce was busy settling into their designated rooms in the south wing. Although she expected that the mountains cocooning Easima would darken the castle, she was pleasantly surprised to find that the open windows brought warmth and light into the large rooms.
Despite the refreshing bath, she could not help but conjure the faces of the nobles who saw her faint, helpless in the king’s arms.
“How bad did it look?” Almira asked Hira and M.
Her younger cousin seemed uncertain. Perhaps she didn’t understand enough of court life to digest the implications. “It wasn’t awful. Most people were simply worried,” Hira said.
M bristled and crossed her arms. “It was bad. Wasn’t only you going under, m’lady, but the king was yelling at servants, screamed at your father–”
Almira pressed her hands against her eyes. “Oh, no.”
Hira forced a smile. “Uncle was worried. We all were.”
Almira could see the chaos. This was to be her triumphant moment. How she mucked it up! “I should’ve never worn that stupid headpiece. M, bring me Hester.”
M nodded and left.
Almira’s hands shook and she had to hold them against her stomach. Shame was burning a hole in it until it almost felt like hunger. She allowed the maids to dress and plait her hair to bring her some semblance of composure. They brushed the bottom strands and oiled the curls to ensure a soft texture.
M and Keilly arrived with Hester between them. The seamstress stormed right to Almira but Keilly placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.
“Know your place, Hester,” Keilly said.
Almira stood to face Hester who glared without blinking. “You were right.”
Hester, not needing Almira’s confirmation, scowled. “I thought that man would clap me in the dungeon when he found out I was your little seamstress. I said to him, have you met my lady, majesty? She gets these ideas in her head, and no one can help but scurry to meet her demands. That’s what I said to him.”
“Hester!” Almira gaped. Surely the king would demand Hester be removed from his castle.
“Then he laughed, straight laughed at me for all to see. He said make her next piece heavier so it’s too heavy for her to open her mouth.” Hester seemed to keep herself from being amused but Almira was certain she appreciated the king’s joke.
That didn’t take away from the fact that he’d said such a statement before many to hear. Her insides soured in embarrassment as she imagined the scene.
“Everybody out!” She pointed at Hester. “Not you. Guards, stand outside the door. If I end up dead, you’ll know who did it.”
Almira began to compulsively pace. She must manipulate the nobility in her favor and make up for today’s incident. She had to outsmart General Hestian, he was likely in glee over the faux pas. She had to learn to control her husband-to-be so the entire court didn’t find out what he thought of her… mouth.
“You’re working yourself into knots. You fainted, and he had to carry you. It happens. Focus on the wedding. Most people didn’t see you–the common folk, that is. Regardless, the nobility wasn’t going to like a southern queen. They can rot in a shitter,” Hester said.
She walked to the balcony and Almira followed her. The seamstress found a giant vine of flowers. Her gnarled hands softly caressed them, rich purple and black roses. Their petals looked wet. They glittered in the fading sun.
“I’m not familiar with these. The petals feel like silk,” Almira said.
“Ouestern roses, quite rare. Many houses have them on their emblems.” She looked at Almira. “They would make a lovely trim on the wedding gown. Wouldn’t weigh you down, and easy to add to your dress.”
Almira thought about how a southern queen would look decked in Ouestern roses, sparkling in the sun as she married their king. Such a spectacle would certainly overshadow today’s mishap.
“Do it. Take all the roses,” Almira said resolutely.
The door to her rooms opened and Sanaa entered with her father. They seemed worried but Almira offered them a smile and went to them. She hoped her refreshing attire and adorned hair would calm them.
“I am well, embarrassed but well,” she said before she could be chastised.
The last thing she needed was a speech from her father. He didn’t understand the politics of garments. She’d learned that entirely from her aunt, the Lady Marai.
Sanaa cleared her throat. “My lady, his majesty asked that you be reminded of your bargain.”
She felt her father’s sharp eyes on her. Dinner. Every night. It was the least important clause to their agreement, the last thing on her mind. Yet here he was demanding his husband's right. Impossible man! Why did he want to see her anyways? What could he possibly gain? Did he not realize she would not interfere with his privacy? She would be happy to simply see him in festive occasions.
She turned to the window and watched the golden sun illuminate the city below. It shaped the shadows against the many buildings and caressed the last stroke of gold before the dark night began.
“It’s been a long day for you. Perhaps I can speak to the king,” her father said.
She looked back to them. “No, I made an agreement. Captain, tell the king I’m coming.”
Chapter Fourteen
ALTON
He was waiting for her. Unbelievable. Where the devil was she? What could be taking so long? He paced and cursed the amount of wood thrown into the fire. It was entirely too hot, less than a day in his castle and things were already not working properly. His insides were raging. She threw all his serenity out of the castle balcony. Her scent was still fused into his nostrils from carrying her. He washed his hands four times and still he felt her there, as if she’d embedded herself into his hands.
At long last he heard them by the door, but still she didn’t enter. He marched over to yank it open and demand they commence, but he heard Ley Wallace laugh. He didn’t know the man was capable of laughing.
Like a prying servant, he rested his ear flush against the door, and strained to capture their words.
“My lady, I’m glad you’re well. Our summers are far more violent than the southern ones. Yet, we will all miss them come the winter,” Ley Wallace said.
“Indeed. I’m quite refreshed and ready for matters at hand,” his little queen said.
“His majesty awaits you. The king eats alone, my lady. No guards accompany him.”
Good man, the king thought. The last thing he wanted was those red women analyzing each word he said. He could only imagine what they said about him within her quarters.
“The king also knows how to wield a sword and can defend himself should he be attacked. Seeing as I’m a lady, I was never encouraged to learn swordplay. I don’t know the amount of pressure required to snap a man’s neck to protect my life should it be threatened.”
She was a snake. He waited for the Ley to counter but, to his horror, the man laughed once more. He’d have to find himself a new Ley. This one would be decapitated by morning. Did she ever give that tongue of hers a rest? Would he never be able to find the appropriate opportunity to speak to her in confidence? Each cell in his body chanted what a terrible idea this entire marriage was. He had no mind for orchestrating, she was too quick a study and would see through his posturing.
The black knights moved from their post and Alton scrambled. Like a lad caught with a wench, he skidded to his chair. He stood behind it in his most imposing form. His stomach was a tight fist and he desperately longed for war in that moment.
Her ladyship entered and Alton fought to keep his face neutral. In the firelight, she filled the dim room and took up the empty space until the summer heat threatened to suffocate him.
“I’m not used to being kept waiting,” he said because he knew nothing else to say. His words were sluggish in his head.
Almira’s face revealed nothing. She daintily clasped her hands and made an angelic figure for a snake.
“I’m sure my lord will understand that I’ve had an eventful day.”
He looked at her Red Guard, one was the large captain, and the other was a Free Islander with a delicate face and deadly eyes. They watched him in disdain. He was certain they would kill him should she lose a lash.
“Do they ever leave your side? Even while you bathe?” Alton asked.
Almira smiled. “I’ve never had baths so large that I could fit all of them but now that his majesty has provided me with such comforts, I’m certain new practices can arise.”
He fought not to laugh; she was amusing if nothing else. He walked to her chair and offered it. She sat and her long hair brushed against his hand. It smelled like a garden in spring. He paused to stare at the strands then quickly moved to take his seat and they stared at one another. The collar of his tunic felt tight against his skin, and he tugged it lose.
Her little guard moved to the corner of the room. Prime seats for their theater. Wonderful.
“You look well,” he said.
She studied the room, her eyes on the curtains and the simplicity of his preferred dining setting. His hand wavered. What did she seek? Why did she study it? He’d never questioned the damn room and now wondered if it was in order. If it was to her liking. A part of him wanted her to dislike it. That would rise that dragon she kept well hidden. Damn her for making him fret. He poured himself a healthy helping of wine. He offered her some, but she raised a hand and shook her head.
“Where are your servants, my lord?”
He grasped a piece of meat. “I dine alone.”
Those black eyes of hers, encased in long, curled lashes, studied him like a map. Perhaps she sought to conquer him along with the rest of the world. Well, she wouldn’t succeed. He’d rather let her kill him first. He’d never let anyone conquer him again. He pushed back his memories, those demons that constantly danced in the back of his eyes, in the pockets of his ears. He felt exposed as she continued to stare at him, and he flushed.
“Dinner is two people enjoying a meal. If I’m the only one eating then it becomes a spectacle and I hate spectacles,” he snapped, harsher than he intended.
She reached for a meat pie to appease him. The silence was palpable, and he realized how noisily he ate. He drank more wine and poured himself another glass. Her eating was as fine as any other lady of noble blood but still her eyes raked over him as if committing to memory each thread of his shirt.
“My lord, seeing as we marry in one night’s time, perhaps tomorrow we can have a celebration dinner. A toast to the end of the war and to thank our guests for coming.”
His body stilled at her words and he fought to control his annoyance. Why must she come and change his routine? Things were fine as they were. He liked them this way. Dark, somber rooms had a comforting effect on him. Happiness and joviality at the dining table would feel most peculiar.
“No. All day I must deal with these people. I’d appreciate it if you would respect my need for some privacy at my dinner table. It’s all I ask.”
He refilled his glass again and she glanced away. Silence descended upon them once more until he thought he would choke. After he finished his third helping of wine, he let out a loud belch, and leaned back on his chair.
“You’re used to far more festive dinner arrangements.” He studied her and she met his eyes unflinchingly. “You’ll get used to my preferred way, even come to look forward to the quiet, the lack of prying eyes and sharp tongues.”
She lifted her chin and the shadows moved around her face. “My lord seems to invariably dislike court life.”
Dislike was a mild term for what he thought of it. Since childhood those bastards haunted him, both hating his father and fearing him too much to negate their allegiance.
“I’m a swordsman. At least in the field a man will meet your eye as he stabs you. Here they stab you to the ground with smiles on their faces asking if his majesty is well.” He twirled his hand to indicate stabbing motions.
“The nobility is tricky to navigate.” There was a quirk to her full lips.
Interesting.
“You like it,” he said with surprise. “Maneuvering them, outsmarting them, and allowing them to underestimate you as you go for the killing blow.”
She looked away flushed. This was too delightful and wholly unexpected. He suspected it in Castlebock but this confirmed it. How he’d like to see her political persona crumble. Perhaps he’d find the real Almira in the ruins. He doubted she knew the real woman herself.
“Aye, don’t deny it,” he chuckled.
Her eyes zoomed to his goblet. He drank more and delighted in the souring of her lips embellished in soft pink.
“Lord Beltran raised quite the little politician. I was not afforded such luxuries. Those were left for my brother and his smiling face. My father placed a sword in my hand at age six and said that I either learned to be a warrior or he would cast me from the high tower. That’s the lot of the second son, the little spare.”
He delighted in surprising her but hated that he unearthed his own memories. At his age his father’s face was more of a shadow that lingered in darkened hallways. But he never forgot the man’s voice, his anger that made him spit as he yelled. He closed those memories and turned back to her.
“Had you any siblings?” he asked, desperate to end the silence she let linger.
“Yes, majesty. My little brother, Bach. He died on his fourth summer like many children do.”
Her words were even and lacking all sentiment. Amazing how she compartmentalized her feelings. He envied her ability to do so.
“So, you’ve been veiled, what–three times?” He looked her over. “Perhaps soon you’ll veil again if I die in glorious battle.”
Her hands tightened. She was almost at the edge. He couldn’t stop himself; he didn’t even truly comprehend his need to unravel her so. He shamed himself with his words, but they wouldn’t stop; he regurgitated words once flung on him as a child.
“But now that you’ve brought peace and prosperity to the kingdom there are no more glorious battles. We shall have to content ourselves with these grievous silences.” He drank. “Until we hate one another so much that we’d rather ingest poison than sit at this wretched table.”
“The dinners were your idea, majesty,” she snapped.
Her eyes turned an eerie shade of black. He liked her angry, she stopped being so poised and perfect in her pink dress and acted like the viper he knew her to be. The drink was making her a beauty this night. It had to be the drink. Granted, her skin was a smooth shade of brown he could never accomplish despite hours marching an army in the sun, her chin was square and strong, her cheekbones were high and elegant. But her brow was too severe. He would admit her hair was lovely. Rugged curls spoke of her mixed parentage, and they cascaded down her back, long and enticing. She had a soft body for such a sharp tongue with wide hips that swayed when she walked. Yes. The drink was making her a beauty.
“Aye, I wanted to punish you. Perhaps make you as miserable as I am, live in this dark hole with me. You strode into my tent with your imperious walk and handled my general like a pup. Yes, punish you, that’s what I wanted. I said to myself let her break under this weight, tip the corner of her proud chin.”
She studied him with distaste. “His majesty will be surprised to learn what I can endure.”
He made a derisive sound and waved in her general direction. “Oh, my lady, I’m certain you will kill us all with your plans and schemes. I knew from the moment I met you that I was allowing a viper into my castle. You stare at me with those black eyes of yours, studying me like one studies war maps. Do you remember I called you a dragon?”
