"I know."
"No," she snapped. "No. I will not put it off. It's been nearly fifteen years since that bastard murdered my father and put me on my throne. Four years since I became queen in truth and not just name. I will not cancel my celebrations just because my husband's little lackey wants to take my crown. We've been planning this for months. The people are looking forward to the parade. Sir Gideon assures me it's vital they see me out in public, and not locked away up here like a spider toying with their lives. There's been so much unrest—"
"Most of it stirred by Balfour," he reminded her. "And as much as the people might wish to see their queen, I daresay it wouldn't do public morale any good if someone put a bullet through her head on the parade route."
She narrowed eyes at him.
"You think Balfour will make his play for revenge during the queen's celebrations." Sir Gideon stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
If he wanted Alexandra to consider what he was proposing, he'd need Sir Gideon's cool head on his side.
"Why would he not? It's very public, very visible. It would make a great spectacle and holds a certain sense of theatrics. I don't think he'll be able to help himself."
"Gideon?" the queen whispered.
"We can cancel the extraneous events," Sir Gideon proposed. "The parade will be more difficult, and the ball is meant to bring the Echelon back together. It's not just the human races who resent the lack of progress in recent times."
"Hang the blue blood aristocracy," the queen snapped. "They've caused me nothing but grief. Now. And then. And they're the prime cause of said lack of progress."
"Does this include me?" Malloryn asked coolly. "Lord Barrons? Lynch?" He saved the best for last. "Your dearest friend, the Duchess of Casavian?"
The queen's lips thinned.
"You are their queen too," he reminded her. "And while it frustrates you to see their rallies against your new laws, you cannot hate them all. You cannot crush them completely, or you are no better than your husband was."
Alexandra drew back as if slapped. "You dare?"
"Speak the truth?" he pointed out. "Blue bloods have the same right to exist as humans do. You will never weld this country together if you resent one and not the other. Change is happening. And yes, it is slower than you may like, and yes, there are always going to be teething problems with each new law we introduce, but if you take this stance then you play directly into Balfour's hands."
The queen paced like a cat backed into a corner. "Gideon?"
"For once I agree with Malloryn," Sir Gideon replied.
She turned on Malloryn, and he knew he'd won. "I will cancel all the parties and the fireworks. The parade will go on as planned. The ball will stay. In the meantime, find that bastard and bring me his head."
Malloryn met Sir Gideon's eyes as he bowed. "I will do my best."
"Do better than your best, Malloryn. This time, I want no failures."
Chapter 7
The war began on a Wednesday.
Malloryn would always remember that, afterwards.
It began at midafternoon when he was dressing for the day, meticulously knotting his cravat with half a mind as he played through the queen's demands for her forthcoming anniversary parade.
A sound caught his attention.
The flurry of movement next door.
Maids' murmurs. Heels coming and going, as if in a mad dash.
And his wife's voice. "Get rid of it all."
Malloryn met his valet's eyes.
Simmons looked away swiftly.
The servants all knew the duke and duchess kept separate bedchambers. The door between had never been breached, and he'd never intended it to be.
He completed the cravat—a task he never allowed Simmons to do—but his attention kept returning to the door as a maid gasped in shock behind it.
What the devil was going on in there?
"Has my wife broken her fast?" With blue bloods sleeping through most of the day and carrying out their revelries at night, London society had evolved to fit their schedules.
But sometimes Adele was out of bed early enough in the day to have it still be deemed morning.
"I believe she has, Your Grace. She's been about for several hours."
"Causing mayhem?"
Simmons coughed politely into his hand. "I believe it could be considered so. Will that be everything, Your Grace?"
Malloryn dismissed Simmons with a wave of his hand and moved toward that bloody door. He paused a moment before he turned the key. There was only one, of course, and it resided firmly upon this side.
There was absolutely no reason doing this should make him feel as though he crossed an irrevocable line. It was just a door. But he paused all the same. With a soft click, he eased the door open, encountering mayhem.
The duchess's chambers were in an uproar. Silk and velvet swathed everything. Hats cascaded across the divan and the carpets. Feathers and gowns adorned the bed.
And in the center of it all stood his wife, gowned in an exquisite concoction of seafoam green that made her look pure and innocent, all soft ruffles and a gauzy bodice overlay that hid the smoldering curves that were her best weapon. Curly hair bound back in a loose chignon. Breathtaking, to be sure, but... hardly the sort of battle visage he'd expected. Innocence wasn't the sort of thing to entice a man like him, and she'd made it clear she intended to bring him to his knees by fair means or foul.
Four maids stared at him with wide-eyed horror.
Adele hadn't noticed. No, she was too busy flinging her armoire open and considering the contents.
"Good grief," she said, hauling out a filmy nightgown she dropped on the floor. "What was I thinking?"
Adele tossed something behind her, and he caught it before it hit him in the face, glancing once at the four maids in dismissal. They bobbed a hasty deference and practically fled, and that was when his wife finally noticed him.
She spun in a swirl of green skirts.