Try as she might, Lilac could feel her sorry attempt at composure slipping. Realization sank in as Artus smiled up at her. That was his purpose in coming tonight. He wanted them to know of his connections to France, to remind her parents of it or inform them if they didn’t already know.
Thiswas what Sinclair’s family had dangled over their heads for so long. Lilac’s father was wed to her mother of Breton nobility, and didn’t have the same opportunities to fortify his kingdom against such militant threats through marriage.
She was the queen; an unclaimed bride, as far as the world knew.
Artus looked down, chuckling to himself. “Henri, your daughter is in bed with Daemons, running away from her responsibilities while France is at her door, and my family is your concern? Transfers of power occur all the time. Some by marriage. Others by force.”
Artus wasn’t even addressing her directly, speaking of her like she was an afterthought in the room, still the young black sheep of her family to be reprimanded with a slap on the wrist—or the snatching of the crown yet to be placed upon her head.
With her arcana lingua, she was bound to be.
Her stomach growled, and Lilac eyed the platters of pastries and tarts that Hedwig had worked hard to prepare for Marguerite’s early guests. It looked as though Artus had arrived in the middle of their dessert and made everyone else so uncomfortable that they left.
“If she merged our families like she was supposed to, like the whole kingdom expected her to, she might not find herself in such a predicament. My grandson is no madman; he’s beenpoisoned, and you lot had the nerve to remove him from his rightful place of care under his parents’ watch until a cause and remedy were found. They’ve hired the best physicians from Paris.” Suddenly, he gripped the table and hoisted himself to his feet. “Seeing as you have no other propositions, because who else would want to?—”
The doors swung open to admit first the guard, then John, looking aghast and a bit frightened in his pale blue nightgown and warm cap. Myrddin—still glamored as a confused Giles—trailed in last, shrugging into the hood of his robe and glancing hesitantly around the room.
Lilac greeted them with a solemn smile. It was time to make her intentions clear once and for all.
20
But first, food.
Lilac moved toward the table with the sweets. It appeared Myrddin had briefed Herlinde well on Lilac’s glamor; the witch stared warningly at her while the rest of the room tracked the pair who’d just entered. But the queen ignored the witch’s glare.
“Good evening, John. I’m sorry for waking you. I’m glad you and Giles could join us,” Lilac said, tiptoeing her fingers along the fruit and pastries, and landing on a still warm piece of bread. “There have been some changes I’d like to announce. Please, help yourselves and have a seat.” She offered a prim smile at Herlinde, Myrddin, and Piper as she took a plate of custard tarts, jam-slathered bread, and a plump apple to the chair at the head of the table.
They watched her dumbfoundedly. Myrddin nudged Herlinde.
“Your Majesty,” Herlinde offered hurriedly, covering her colorful nightgown with her robe when all eyes in the room shifted onto her. “Perhaps you would want to wait until after your announcement to eat?”
“I’m ravenous. Thank you, though.”
Herlinde silently stalked to the seat to Lilac’s left and sat. Myrddin mumbled something about having had something to eat on the carriage ride there, then lowered himself next to Herlinde. Piper still hovered overthe spread at the other end of the table, cutting off a piece of roast fowl and slathering it in jam. She piled a few pieces of rye onto her plate, then a dollop of butter, taking the serving knife with her. Smiling contentedly, Piper strode over to sit at Lilac’s right, where the queen tapped her fingers upon the table.
John had shuffled awkwardly off to Lilac’s side and stood at her armrest.
“Would you like something to eat, John? A cup of tea?” Lilac motioned to the iron kettle on the tea cart off to the side, but the scribe shook his head.
Watching over her spread, Hedwig was losing the battle of hiding an enormous grin. Deciding for John, she rolled the tea cart between the tables and poured him a steaming cup anyway, placing it to Piper’s right.
At Lilac’s second motion toward the bench, John looked tempted. He leaned in, clutching his quill box and parchment to his chest. “What about privacy, Your Majesty? Your notes?”
Across the room, Artus and his men were muttering among themselves. Lilac ignored them. “There is no need for privacy tonight. Thank you.”
The scribe bowed and seated himself next to Piper, who’d already finished one piece of bread and was piling pieces of the roast and jam onto her second.
Lilac directed her first statement at the scribe, who was ready with his dipped nib over the parchment. “Saturday, on the 21st of May, I will be married.”
Artus steadied himself on the back of the chair while her parents exchanged glances.
“ThisSaturday?” Marguerite said, kicking Henri under the table. “But that’s the day of your crowning.”
“It will precede my coronation. The wedding and coronation ceremony will be one in the same. My ball will follow in the early evening as previously scheduled.”
Henri coughed into his fist when Marguerite’s alarmed gaze darted to Artus. Her mother laughed. “Married, to…” She trailed off, observing the former duke who had risen from his seat looking as if Christ himself had come to him. “On second thought, we’ll need time to prepare. It might be too late to amend the invitations, after all, and you never know who else might be interested in your lovely hand.”
Lilac hummed. “Funny. Was it not you who suggested it before I departed for Paimpont last week?”
