They argued back and forth, voices growing more and more heated.
"Why not set a trap for him?" Adele suggested. It made perfect sense to her. If they couldn't counter the threat, then they could contain it.
Every head in the room swiveled to look at her.
"How do we set a trap?" Gemma asked. "What do we bait it with? Malloryn?"
"We could tie a target to his chest," Byrnes drawled.
"Paint him pink," Charlie added.
Malloryn focused on her, his mouth thinning with displeasure. "If you're about to suggest yourself, I'll warn you to save your breath."
"Well, technically, not myself."
"Technically?" His voice dipped several octaves.
"We use the queen."
Chapter 32
Her Highness was not amused.
"You want me to do what?"
Malloryn stood before her in the Council Chambers, his hands clasped patiently behind his back. "I want to use you to set a trap for Balfour. And to do that, I need the real 'you' to disappear."
"So you're going to replace me with a body double?" she repeated, as if to confirm what he'd said earlier.
"While I'm certain I can lure Balfour to his doom, I'm not about to put you at risk. Especially since the realm has no heir."
If anything, Alexandra's eyes narrowed further. It was a point of long-standing contention between them. While he could understand her reticence in refusing to take a consort following her disastrous marriage, the country didn't have the luxury of it.
The rest of the Council of Dukes hastily averted their eyes.
Cowards.
"But what about my anniversary?" she demanded. "The parade? The ball? I've been planning this for nearly a year now. The people need to see—"
"And they will see a queen," he replied smoothly. "Unless…. We can make it a state funeral, if you wish? Though I'm sure Balfour will have the final say on that, not us."
Faint color mottled her cheeks.
"I cannot overemphasize the risk, Your Highness." Malloryn knew he had to push now, or risk losing her. "Balfour wants every single person in this room dead. At this point, I don't even know if he's concerned about who he will replace them with, or whether vengeance has completely consumed him. He's not acting the way he usually does."
"You think you've finally pushed him over the edge?" Rosalind Lynch asked.
"I think he's lost enough to make him dangerously unpredictable." He shot the duchess a look. "I have a half dozen threads of his schemes at my disposal, but I don't know precisely where the push is going to come from."
"So you give him a chance to make his play," Barrons mused, rubbing at his jaw. "You gift wrap him an opportunity too irresistible to pass up."
"We shall still have our parade. Our ball. But the queen will be spirited away before it's all begins. Balfour will know it's a trap, but he's always thought himself smarter than I am. He'll take the opportunity, just to prove he can. And we will be prepared for whichever thread he chooses to play."
"You're playing dangerous games, Malloryn," the queen warned.
"Aren't they all? I cannot give him the chance to slip away and escape. Not this time. This confrontation must be the end. All I need is for you to play your role."
Queen Alexandra pushed to her feet slowly, her silk skirts hissing as they fell around her ankles. "And just who did you have in mind to sit on my throne?"
The doors opened behind him, right on cue.
"Your Highness." He gestured to the woman who entered the Council Chambers behind him. "Please meet Her Highness."
The queen's mouth dropped open as she beheld the woman who entered.
Adele's bearing was as regal as any royal's as she tilted her chin toward her monarch. They'd dyed her hair yesterday to the rich, sleek brown of the queen's. A pair of colored occipital lenses—used by most of his agents at some stage—turned her green eyes the same hazel as Alexandra's. They were of a height. Of a similar build.
And Adele lived and breathed court etiquette when required.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Adele murmured, "for my poor imitation."
It was not a poor imitation at all.
With the right powders, jewelry, and gowns, Adele could easily be mistaken for the queen unless one was particularly close or knew Alexandra well.
And if he played his cards right, Balfour would never get close enough to realize the mistake.
"Your wife?" The queen's eyebrows almost hit the roof. "Are you insane?"
"Adele volunteered," he replied.
Insisted, despite his best arguments, if he was being honest.
"Then where am I to go?" the queen demanded. "What am I to do?"
Sir Gideon Scott leaned back in his chair. "That is where I come in. I have a small country estate very few people know about. You and I are going to slip out of the tower via one of Malloryn's secret passages and vanish to the country until Balfour is brought to heel. I have a carriage awaiting you as we speak."
"You planned this?" she gasped.
Scott scrubbed at his jaw. "I happen to agree with Malloryn on this matter. Balfour needs to be dealt with, and Malloryn has proof confirming the Ivory Tower is a target. The Coldrush Guards are compromised. The Echelon is full of Rising Sons. So we either remove the lot of them while we try to ascertain which of them are Balfour's, or we tempt them to make their play."
The queen looked at all of her councilors in turn, but Malloryn had spent half the night in secret meetings. They needed to present a united front.
"How intriguing," the queen drawled. "Not a one of you is protesting this idiot scheme. Do I even bother calling for a council vote? Or have you already had one?"