“Nonsense. That was chivalry at its finest.” The claim is followed by a round of laughter.
“That was a guilty conscience, that was,” a dour voice interjects.
“I haven’t heard that much weeping and wringing of hands since that troubadour from Paris was here last winter.”
“And that was before the Princess Marguerite started talking!”
Another round of guffaws.
The dour voice speaks again. “Eh, they should return the girl to her father and be done with it. It’s bad enough his feelings for the queen caused him to break his vows to the princess. It is even less honorable to string her along like this.”
There is the sound of a thump as someone claps him on the back. “This is politics, man! The princess is a most excellent pawn in the disputes between Maximilian and the crown. You can’t expect them to hand over such a useful tool without maximizing its advantage.”
“So much for chivalry,” the dour fellow mutters. “The princess deserves better than that.”
“Hush! You don’t want anyone to hear you talk like that. Go sleep it off and be ready to greet your new queen tomorrow.”
The knot of five men passes but two arm lengths in front of me. I hold my breath and press myself closer to the wall at my back, giving thanks for the deep shadows.
It is only when they have safely passed and entered the palace that I let myself absorb the full meaning of what I have just heard. Marguerite has still not been returned to her father. Which gives Maximilian even more reason to retaliate against France, perhaps even attempt to abduct the new queen to ransom for his daughter.
And that is the least disturbing news I heard. The king was visiting his former betrothed. On the very night he should be welcoming his new bride.
That cannot bode well. Does his heart still belong to Marguerite? Or is it simple regret? Or something far more sinister that speaks to an intricate plot that could end up doing great harm to the queen?
A heartbeat behind me scuttles my thoughts. My knife is out of its sheath and in my hand before I turn around.
“Usually you can tell it is me.” Beast sounds slightly put out.
“I could tell it was you.”
He glances pointedly at the knife.
“After I drew,” I concede, returning it to its sheath.
He looks to the right, then the left, before taking my hand and pulling me into the shelter of the stable wall, where we will not be seen. “What are you doing out here?”
“Answers as to why the king was not available to greet the queen will not come knocking on my chamber door. I must seek them out.”
He stares down at me a long, hard moment. “Please don’t tell me you were spying on the king.”
I lean up against the wall of his chest. “Very well. I will not tell you that.”
He closes his eyes and appears to be counting. Or praying. I cannot tell which. “Would you like to know what I have learned?” I offer, trying to distract him from that line of thought.
He scrubs his face with his hand. “Yes, but only so if they hang you for treason I can know whether or not the information was worth it.”
“My, you are in a dark humor tonight.”
“Yes,” he says heavily. “Yes, I am.”
I am instantly on alert. “Why? Have you learned something more?”
He throws his hands out to his sides. “Do we need more? We’ve lost Captain Dunois, Captain Lannion, and a half dozen other good men, the regent threatens us at every turn, and the queen’s new home looks more like a prison than a palace. I’d say that warrants a foul humor.”
I grimace. “You’ll get no argument from me. Where are you and the queen’s guard assigned to?”
“The garrison.”
“The garrison? How will you protect the queen from there?”
“My question exactly. For now, we will be posting two of our guards at her door until we can find a way to settle this matter. Even if I have to take it to the king himself,” he mutters. “Speaking of which, what did you learn about his whereabouts?”
“He was not here to greet his new queen because he was off visiting the former dauphine, Princess Marguerite.”
“You mean she has not been returned to her father?”
“No. She is less than half a day’s ride away.”
“To what end?”
“I do not know if she is still here because of the king’s affection for her or as a political advantage meant to keep Maximilian from retaliating over the marriage.”
“Or perhaps they are reluctant to give up her dowry. It was a great deal of land, and the French are greedy in that regard.”
“Or,” I say more slowly, “could they still be holding out hope that Marguerite will one day be queen of France? With this latest revelation the king could easily have been behind the ambush and Dunois’s death in a desperate move to acquire Brittany while still honoring his betrothal to Marguerite. Just how far are they willing to go to see that happen?”
Beast shakes his head. “I cannot believe it of the king, Sybella. Or that the Duke of Bourbon would agree to such a plan.”
“Not willingly, no. But I have yet to see him stand up to his wife.” There are other explanations, I assure myself. Some of them even benign.
?Chapter 47
Genevieve
araud regards me quizzically. “You want me to do what?”
We are in a bigger room, surrounded by the light of three torches rather than the feeble dribble from a single one. We are not here because Maraud asked, but because he is right—the oubliette is far too small to be of much use. We have practiced every move and strategy that I could employ in such close quarters. “Hold your wrists out so that I may secure them.”
In the additional light, I can see that his eyes are not only large, but fiercely intelligent, his lips well-shaped, and beneath the beard, his cheekbones sharp and defined.
“And this will improve your swordsmanship how?”
“Today we are working on something other than swordsmanship.” I do not like that he is getting precisely what he wants. It feels like a fool’s bargain, and I am no fool. We will use the bigger room in a way he does not expect. I have not brought my short sword with me, and no weapons for him at all. We will be practicing a different kind of fighting, although it is tricky. He is larger than I, and a more skilled fighter. Practicing the moves I wish to practice means getting physically close to him.
“Give me your hands, please.”
He hesitates.
“I will not hurt you, if that is what you are afraid of.”
He snorts.
While he is weaponless, I carry four knives, a thin piece of wire, a thick piece of rope, and my needles. He will only know about the rope. The rest are insurance. Should he try anything other than what I tell him to, he will quickly learn about the other weapons—in a most painful way. “If you do not wish to cooperate, I can find better things to do with my day.”