The color drained from the footman’s face.
“My guess is that they mean to poison you to death. That’s why the rumor goes round that you may never leave England alive.”
Osiander loudly cleared his throat, but Marek ignored him. He had to voice his suspicions. “Those soldiers are here to take the queen and the princesses into so-called protective custody. But they won’t return to St. Edys if you die, Your Majesty. Felix will step in, use everything that happened here to make his case, and the queen and the princesses will be in danger.”
Marek didn’t know what he expected, but he didn’t expect the young man to suddenly fall to his knees and beg for mercy.
“Your Majesty, it wasn’t me,” he cried.
“Pardon?” The king stared down at the footman. A quick-thinking Osiander lifted a hand to signal one of the guards. “It’s all right, Heiner,” the king said. “Take a breath.”
Heiner took a breath. But he was shaking so badly that Marek feared he might be having a seizure. “I did what they said—they threatened my family and I’ve a newborn son.”
King Maksim put his hand on Heiner’s head. He looked up as the guard reached Heiner. “Take him. Then go to the queen and princesses and don’t let them from your sight,” he said calmly. Two more guards entered the room, and the king removed his hand from Heiner’s head. “God save you, Heiner,” he said to the young man as the guards took the footman in hand.
There was more commotion, more guards, and Marek had to cup his good ear to hear what the king said amid all the voices. He was asking questions. He was demanding that Dromio and Van be brought to him. He wanted the four soldiers rounded up, and to know who’d brought them to London and why. He asked if anyone in St. Edys was involved.
When Marek was finally dismissed, leaving Osiander with the king and his guards and personal secretary, the king looked even frailer than before. But it was not a frailty born of sickness—it was the frailty that comes with bearing the weight of the world on one’s shoulders.
As Marek bowed to the king to take his leave, the king asked Osiander, “Who is he again?”
I am your son.For a single moment, Marek felt compelled to admit the truth. To say it out loud.
“A civil servant of the crown, Your Majesty,” Osiander answered for him. “An expert of economics. A patriot.”
The king looked at Marek expectantly, as if he thought he might add to that brief description. Marek stood there mutely, his thoughts far outpacing his tongue. He noticed how weary the king looked. He thought of his farm and his animals, his quiet, peaceful existence. He thought of Hollis and how light he felt in her presence. He thought of how sick he was of living partially in two worlds, but not fully in either.
So he said nothing.
“Thank you, that will be all,” the king said to him.
Marek turned to go. It had been a tedious, anxious experience—all of it—from the day his aunt died until this moment. But Marek felt relieved. He’d made his choice. He knew where he was supposed to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Prince Albert has very graciously sent decorated Christmas trees to schools and barracks around Windsor to celebrate the spirit of the season. The trees are reportedly decorated with gingerbread figures that are suitable for eating.
Two Weslorian ministers were brought before King Maksim to review the newly signed trade agreement, as the king has found it lacking.
Might wedding bells sound in the New Year? Observers say that a widower of great means will offer for a peacock who has searched far and wide for her perfect match.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
THISWASSUPPOSEDto be a joyous time of year, a time to celebrate family and friends and the birth of new beginnings.
Hollis was anything but joyous. She hadn’t heard a word from Marek since he’d walked out of her house two days past. She’d heard nothing about what had happened at St. James with the king. The only thing she’d heard had come from Beck, who said the foreign contingents were busy preparing for their voyages home.
Marek wouldn’t leave London without saying farewell to her. At the very least, a letter.Something.
When she heard Donovan answer the door with a hearty “Happy Christmas!” on Christmas Eve, her heart leaped. He’d come! She raced down the hall, nearly colliding with Donovan in her haste to greet him. But when Donovan stepped back to admit entry, she stopped. Her face fell. It was Eliza and Caroline. “Oh,” she said.
“I beg your pardon!” Caroline responded. She and Eliza were holding a giant box between them.
“Happy Christmas, darling!” Eliza said as Donovan took the box from them.
“It’s heavy,” Donovan observed.
“Yes, well, her Christmas dress required extra fabric because your mistress will not make use of a proper corset,” Caroline said.
