Henri caught his wife before her head hit the steps. Several stifled gasps and murmurs rippled among the guards.
Artus’s face had turned purple, but he began to laugh. His men echoed him, chortling nervously.
Henri looked down at Marguerite, as if Lilac’s presumed mistake would be enough to wake her. “I think you mean Maximilian’scount. The letter and request to meet were from him. There is hope, but we cannot be so bold as to assume that this is why he wanted to meet.”
“It is no assumption. I heard it myself.” She paused as the room took in her lie. “I stopped in a tavern tonight for some food and drink, and overheard the barmaids whispering of a recent guest who’d been loose-tongued regarding his business in the area once the ale started flowing. He spoke Latin, was well-dressed, and said the emperor had sent him on his behalf to proposition the queen.”
The murmurs died down. Everyone stared. Her father steadied himself upon the nearest step.
“This Albrecht arriving tomorrow is Maximilian’semissary.”
The nervous laughter among Artus and his men cut off abruptly.
“That is—” Henri struggled to find the words, his face growing red despite his skeptical grimace. He groaned, wiping the sweat off his lip. “Is Maximilian traveling as we speak? The trip from Vienna takes weeks.”
“No. He offers me a proxy wedding and sent Albrecht to claim me. I overheard this when passing them in the halls,” she reassured her father. He looked like he might collapse. “There was no one else around.”
Artus’s fury melted into hopelessness as his men side eyed him, probably anticipating an outburst.
Defeated, her father exhaled and motioned to her. “Are you hurt, Lilac? Are you bleeding?”
“No. Most of it isn’t even my blood.”
Henri fell silent then. Piper’s gaze was fixed on the table, but Lilac could’ve sworn there was a glint of mistrust behind it.
She should’ve stopped there, but the shock on Artus’s face was too good to pass up. “I will also be working on making amendments to your law regarding Daemons, Father. I’ll be releasing my own decree.” She looked to John, who continued writing all this down. “Perhaps we can discuss this over tea tomorrow?”
“Indeed,” said John, without looking up.
Henri shifted, allowing his wife’s head to rest more comfortably on his broad thigh. He twisted this way and that, his hands brushing his belt. Not finding his flask, he swore under his breath and finally spoke. “Tomorrow morning, there will be many things happening at once. You’ll have your meeting with the emissary—after you’ve had a bath,” he added roughly. “I am also awaiting another briefing regarding the bordering towns.”
“The meeting with Albrecht shouldn’t be long. Just a document to sign—I assume,” Lilac added. Her voice was thick with building grief, but she kept a tight, hopeful smile. “These amendments will be effective immediately.”
Wood scraped against stone. Artus was standing. As he started toward her table, one of her guards swiftly blocked him with his blade. “My son will never agree to any of that. He’ll demand an audience!”
“He had one last week,” Lilac said.
The former duke’s face fell. As she’d hoped, word of Armand’s demise hadn’t reached him. He straightened, retaining his composure through sheer force of will. “What was the audience for? Sinclair’s appeal?”
“Sinclair is not granted an appeal at this time, Artus,” Henri said. “Your grandson is guilty of assault on my daughter on multiple occasions.”
Artus gave a skeptical laugh, but Lilac turned to him, stone-faced. “Armand came last Sunday during my Court of Common Appeals. He claimed he found Vivien murdered in their kitchen and Sinclair holding a wood ax. He then proceeded to blame me for her death before spilling his own guts all over this very floor. That, if you were wondering, is the reason Sinclair was moved from his home to my dungeons. Once this is all over I intend to appoint my own council, with whom I will convene to decide his fate.”
Artus slumped, his knees hitting the ground. “Armand is dead?”
“Yes,” she said, as Henri passed a slow hand over his face.
“We’ll aid in funeral proceedings,” Henri offered, “if you seek a Christian burial, but it will have to be held at the Paimpont abbey, given your family’s standing.”
“And what about a magistrate?” Artus asked. “For a property exchange?”
“You don’t have access to the Le Tallec estate, with or without Armand,” Lilac said, eager to end their impromptu meeting as quickly as Artus was to swing the subject of his son’s demise. “Neither does Sinclair, given his criminal status. You may not be aware, but your family’s standing with mine is nowverypublic, so don’t get any ideas. There will be no transfer of noble property or funding to you.”
Artus said nothing.
“John will be sending a notice regarding their burials,” continued Lilac. “Where should he send it?”
“You know where.”
