Had he even seen his brother—the new erl—since they had returned to Kingswell? Or had a moment to mourn his father? Did he mourn his father?
She shivered. She knew so little about him. She had grown to trust him during their time together. But she had known him only a few scant days. Days where he had kept her safe, true, but that had been only his duty. She had no idea if he even liked her. And yet they were going to be married. Married. For life.
True, there were far less appealing options for a husband in the court than Cameron Mackenzie, but still, the reality of marrying a stranger was more daunting than she had expected.
She shivered again.
“Milady? Are you cold?” Cameron asked.
What was he going to do? Take off his jacket and give it to her here in the middle of the palace? Unlikely. The Red Guard uniform was a badge of honor. She pulled the black shawl more tightly around her shoulders and shook her head. “No, not cold.” Kingswell was hot in the summer, though the inner rooms of the palace stayed cool. “Just tired, I think. It’s been a long day.” She offered an awkward smile. “I’m sorry—”
“We can talk once we reach the suite.” Cameron glanced around. The gallery they were walking through was deserted—the court was lacking its usual bustling throngs, which only added to the oddness of the day—but sound carried oddly in the palace, and anyone could be approaching around a corner or standing near one of the half-shattered windows on the other side of the outer wall.
Sophie ducked her head and nodded her agreement. Another shiver skimmed through her, and she began to realize she hadn’t been lying. She was exhausted and both hungry and queasy at the same time. She would be equally happy to eat, sleep, or burst into tears, and right now she had no idea which of the three was more likely to happen. Fortunately, they were almost at their destination.
Two guards stood outside the door to the Inglewood suite. Black armbands ringed the gray, blue and silver dress uniforms they wore. They stepped forward as Sophie and Cameron came around the turn in the corridor. The sharp expressions on their faces eased as they recognized Cameron, and they stepped back into place on either side of the door after quick bows.
Inside the suite, the first servant who caught sight of them looked briefly horrified before she bobbed a curtsy, wheeled around, and headed for the nearest doorway, the covered tray she was carrying seemingly forgotten.
She was probably going to fetch whoever the house servitor was. From the opposite direction, through another open door, there was a sound of low voices and clinking china.
Cameron took her arm, though she noticed he was careful not to touch her bare hand.
“This way,” he said, and headed for the doorway the sounds were coming through.
Apparently, they weren’t waiting for the servitor. Which made sense. A son of the household didn’t need to be announced, and he could bring whomever he chose with him.
At least, that’s how it would work in Sophie’s family.
But the Mackenzies, though not of the line direct like the Kendalls, were far grander than Sophie’s family. The Kendall line had a few bends in it. Her father’s mother—the Sophia she was named for—had been one of King Leo’s—Stefan’s father’s—four sisters, the youngest of them, to boot, and one of the two who had not manifested, which had eliminated her chances of ever succeeding her brother. Or rather, of holding the throne if she did. Anglion had had queens, but all of them had been witches.
Because of her lack of power, she’d been married to Anthony Kendall, a favorite of her father’s due to his skill with a sword, though a man of little enough fortune for a noble.
Sophia and Anthony had brought the estate a little more prosperity and three sons. Sophie’s father was the only one who’d survived past six years of age. Without brothers to go out and further the family fortunes, her father had merely solidified the work of his parents, marrying her mother, who was from a similarly low-level noble family. Which left Sophie with a pedigree that had some distinction at surface level but no fortune or hope of actual succession to lend her any true desirability to a court lord.
Until she had come into her power. That changed things a little.
A royal witch should be prize enough for the Mackenzies, who had always been part of first King Leo’s and then King Stefan’s inner circle of councilors.
If the former Lord Inglewood had still been alive, he probably would have been pleased with the match, power trumping pedigree, after all. He had been, the few times she’d had any close contact with him, hard and autocratic and clearly ambitious. No time for fools.
And he had raised Cameron.
What kind of man had he wrought?
One whose arm was strong and warm under her hand. One who kissed like one of Illvya’s fabled courtesans might teach a man to kiss.
Who had stood by her and offered himself up as culprit for the trouble she had caused.
She would hold to that.
The conversation died as they walked into the receiving room, heads turning to see who was interrupting. There were nine—no, ten—adults in the room and several young children, though they were mostly gathered around a small table, playing with a set of salt sticks.
The tallest of the men, who looked remarkably like Cameron, came to his feet abruptly.
Sophie had met Liam Mackenzie once, she thought. The first time she’d come to court, when she was nearly sixteen. Before he had married. Lord Inglewood had introduced his heir out of courtesy to Sophie’s heritage, but he’d married Liam off to Jeanne Listfold the next year to strengthen Inglewood’s alliances with the Erl of Airlight, her father.