“My carriage, Mother.” Her racing thoughts could wait. It had been Garin’s magic that had tormented her—would continue to. It could wait, everything and everyone could wait until she was with him again. “Yanna and Isabel were kind in preparing it for me at such short notice.”
Her mother let out a strangled laugh, eyeing the others dining in the room. “You haven’t told us of your plans for the evening. Why don’t you join us for dessert? We have a busy week ahead of us.”
“But if I am present, then what would you all talk about?”
Her father placed his hand on Marguerite’s knee under the table, but she shook it off.
Lilac’s chair scraped against the floor as the room watched her rise. She curtsied in place. “Mother. Father. Good evening.”
Marguerite stood. “But you have an important meeting tomorrow.”
Lilac didn’t care. Her mother couldn’t say anything to deter her from her plan to leave. Whatever they were scheming could wait a day or two. She’d already stepped out from the table. Every head followed her as she stalked toward the courtyard door.
“There is a diplomat who wants to see you.”
At her mother’s words, Lilac froze halfway across the room. The guard bumped into her, and she waved away his apology.
“Tomorrow morning,” Henri clarified, washing his mouthful of food with a swig of ale then skewering more roasted potatoes upon his fork. Glimpsing his daughter’s infuriated stare, he turned to Marguerite. “However, there’s been many a meeting I’ve attended after an evening of dancing and imbibing. The past several days have been difficult. She’s in need of reprieve.”
Marguerite shot him a look. “She is aqueen, Henri. She cannot be seen tossing back tankards as she’s done here, throwing up in a pot, sneaking off with the nearest sentry doing God knows what just hours before hosting.”
That shut Henri up. Lilac reddened immediately as everyone else in the room diverted their gaze, the staff busying themselves and pretending not to hear.
“Lilac must not only be present, but coherent to greet him upon his arrival.” Her mother looked like she might collapse. “Imagine, he arrives and our feral queen is lost to the woods yet again.”
“No one wanted to inform me of this earlier?”
“After realizing you were in crisis, we were advised against it. Until you improved.” Her father swallowed the last of his potatoes. “As you might imagine, the past few days were not the most ideal for our attempts at communication.”
“I’ve been ill. Traveler’s illness.”
“Yes,” Marguerite said before Henri could stop her. “We had Kemble determine it wasthat, and not anything else concerning.”
Lilac’s chest constricted. “When?”
“She took your urine from the pot during one of your tantrums, before you ordered everyone out to rot in bed.”
“You tested me?” Her body began to quake with a silent fury. “Without my permission?”
“Why?” Marguerite squinted. “There is no concern for pregnancy, is there?”
“No,” she answered truthfully, lifting her lip in disgust. “Not at all.”
“Good. Because the last thing you need is some bastard child before you’re even crowned.”
Henri’s face was swallowed by his tankard. “Fortunately, none of the barley or wheat sprouted,” he commented into it.
“Still, she hasn’t been herself. What could it be?” Her mother began to count on her fingers, reciting the options and turning back to Lilac. “Is it the season? The heavy bloom? The heat? The weather has been favorable, it is bound to be a joyous summer. Has the food not been to your liking? We can change anything on your menus.”
Ears ringing, Lilac shook her head.A diplomat. Barley.This was why she was so upset with him. Upset was not the word. She never put it past the likes of her parents to cross a line, yet it was the last thing she expected from Garin. She needed to see him, to understand his reasoning. To make him regret pushing her to marry.
To feel him again.
“Is it a boy?” Marguerite’s clipped tone cut through her reverie.
Lilac held her tongue and the wave of anger that followed.
“Forget him quickly,” her mother advised with a darkened glance at Henri.
