All she’d been able to think about was Garin. Even when she’d forced him from her mind, momentarily distracting herself by tending to her duties, she’dfeltit. Him, his dark absence. His power over her.
“And what of the investigation at the Le Tallec estate?” Lilac eyed Henri, who slowly looked up from his plate while Marguerite shifted her glare to him. “We agreed on one after Armand killed himself and I just assumed others might already know about it.” Lilac stuffed her irritation down and feigned confusion, lowering her voice. “Did it not occur yet?”
“It did the morning after you departed. The evidence was irrefutable. Sinclair is in the dungeon with double the guards.” Henri bit into a dripping turkey leg, quick to change the subject. “You didn’t see our caravan of carriages roll past in the square?”
“I suppose I was busy being fitted. Herlinde did not have anything to my liking, by the way,” she lied, for Marguerite’s benefit. “I’ve requested her to come fit me here. She will have it finished in plenty of time.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” said Henri. “We passed your carriage on the way to the estate. Outside of the Herwick Haberdashery.”
Lilac hummed, as if she’d simply forgotten. Henri was lying for her. They might’ve spotted Lilac’s carriage far ahead, but Giles had been driving them out of the square by the time Henri’s carriage pulled in.
“TheHemlockHaberdashery,” Marguerite corrected.
“That’s it, now.”
Lilac took her time chewing through her fig and cheese-covered bread as her mother waited for her to respond. “I must have been inside the shop at the time.”
Marguerite all but shuddered into her custard, and as an afterthought, said, “It is a wonder Herlinde bothered settling her second shop next to that pig’s trough.”
She said nothing as she finished the last scraps on her plate, grateful for the warm meal she could finally eat and keep down. Several unpleasant memories of the past three days flashed through her mind. The cold sweats and gnawing at her stomach, yet no appetite to eat when food was placed before her. The muscle spasms and heat. The unbidden images of Garin.
No proposals. It had brought great relief to her that morning, solving her most immediate problem of completing Garin’s demand of marriage.
There were, in truth, many reasons a king or noble should want herhand in marriage, offering Brittany immediate protection from looming crowns. Her kingdom had plenty of room for expanding agriculture, and would provide port access in exchange for quality agriculture, fishing, and coastal farming. Perhaps her arcana lingua had affected her prospects. Maybe other kingdoms also regarded her as a queen shrouded in dark myth and legend.
And if not? If a suitor eventually came along—was Garin truly willing to sacrifice what they’d grown to have? Did he not feel what she’d grown to feel?
Uneasy, her mind swam with questions. Was the Garin she remembered—who’d laid beside her, read to her—truly a figment of her dreams? Was this uncharacteristic kindness, tenderness from him something that only existed in her imagination? Even if it was, the vampire who had guided her through the worst of the woods last month, brought her to Adelaide’s cottage, was not. He was real.
She was queen, the topic of her pressure to marry should have occurred to either of them far earlier. But she was just as guilty, not wanting to believe it would come down to this. She’d assumed she had time. That they had time.
Yet, he’d demanded her to wed, and Lilac remained without any offers to consider. What came next? How much longer before that dreadful feeling of sickness and unease returned, all because she had not signed a marriage contract?
She stabbed her piece of turkey angrily, not bothering to cut it, bringing the slab of it to her mouth to tear off.
Lilac worked to steady her breathing as she swallowed the rest of her supper, gulping the rest of her wine and slamming the glass onto the table. Garin did not tell her he did not want her. He’d done far worse—demandedshe marry someone else.
If fate was not so cruel, she would have ridden him during that first night at The Fenfoss Inn. If only he’d left her alone, if only he hadn’t intended on using her as his pawn, she could have left and never seen him again. He might’ve come to mind on nights when the bed got cold. During winter months when the frost reminded her of his eyes and the hearth’s warmth, his touch. But she would’ve survived. Eventually.
At the very least, Garin could have pretended to not care for her. Then,keeping her distance from the one person she wanted might not feel like it was maiming her, and this meal would not be the first real one she’d consumed in a week. She wouldn’t have spent the last three days throwing herself at every administrative distraction, just to collapse in bed and chase sleep in a sweat-drenched stupor. She wouldn’t have battled an exhausted mind that refused to rest, in her deepest delusions willing Garin to appear on her balcony, just so she could push him off.
It might’ve been easier if she would just admit to herself one heart-wrenching truth: Lilac was but a girl—one of many—yearning for someone with dark hair, sharp teeth, and a lethal smile who did not yearn for her in the same way she did him.
She hated the thorough fire with which Garin consumed her, yet could not bring herself to douse it.
“Lilac.” Her mother stared at her. Henri was frozen over his plate. “Your guard is speaking to you.”
The queen blinked, and the guard who stood at the corner of the table came into focus.
“Your carriage is ready, Your Majesty.”
A prim smile of relief found its way onto her face, which she dabbed free of gravy. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
Marguerite wore a panicked grimace. “Dear.”
“Yes?”
“A carriage?”
