“It doesn’t seem to be so good for her,” Eloisa observed. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“She is sworn to you. Yours to command. Given that she cannot be bound, I think you need to keep her on a tight leash, milady. Make her understand who is in control. Before she becomes a threat.”
“A threat? Sophie? She’s sweet. Hardly a threat.”
“That was before. Now she is unbound. And much higher in the succession. If others discover her power, then she could become a useful tool for them. A focus. The court is unsettled, and you need to take control. And keep it. Which means it would be foolish not to master any . . . advantage offered to you.”
“Still,” Eloisa said. “Wouldn’t it be better to bind her? It’s always safer to remove a wild card. If she’s married to the Mackenzie boy, then her children will be further down the line. The Mackenzies lack the blood direct.”
“I agree with the marriage. That keeps the illusion intact. But I have not found another way to bind her yet.”
“Keep looking,” Eloisa said.
“I will,” the Domina said. “But until then, I recommend you treat her with the caution she warrants.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cameron gave up on sleep after a few hours of fitful tossing and turning. Apparently, the redwort was still in his system. He had hours before he had to report for duty, but if he stayed where he was, he had no doubt Liam would be grilling him more about his unexpected betrothal. Or worse, about estate matters, now that their father was dead.
Cameron was in no mood to discuss his father yet. Or what his death might mean for Cameron himself. He was near certain that Liam would raise the possibility, or rather the command couched as a possibility, of his leaving the Red Guard and taking over one of the family properties. Either that or stay and play courtier with his royal witch wife. Better, perhaps, to go outside, try to get some exercise, and see if he could wear the last of the ’wort from his system before he wound up having to take another dose.
He slipped out of Liam’s apartment and headed toward the westward rose garden. In the tail end of summer, the flowers were past their best and the heat pooled in the stone walls, making it less popular with the court, so he might be undisturbed there to walk and think.
He would prefer to ride, of course, but he needed his horse rested in case he was assigned to something more active than guarding the still convalescent queen-to-be.
And there was something else better not thought about.
In truth, he hadn’t really thought about Eloisa today. Sophie had been on his mind, though. He’d thought her hair redder at breakfast, a reminder of what she had become.
A royal witch. Soon to be his wife. Sharing his bed.
Despite the lingering guilt over Eloisa, he found himself increasingly thinking of his wedding night. Of another taste of Sophie.
Who was standing smack-dab in the middle of the rose garden, right beside the place where one of the ley lines cut the garden in half.
He made himself stay a safe distance away. Eager or not, they couldn’t afford a repeat of what had happened in Caloteen. Particularly not here in the middle of the palace grounds, where they were guaranteed to be seen.
The queen-to-be would not thank him for breaching her trust, and he rather suspected that Domina Skey would try to skin him alive.
“Milady, it might be best if you stayed a little farther away from the ley line for now,” he called.
Sophie jumped and turned. Her face seemed alarmingly pale in the sunlight, the red tinge in her hair even more obvious against the faded gold tone of her skin. She swayed as he turned, and he stopped thinking and moved to catch her before she fell.
She protested as he reached her, lifted her, and carried her over to the nearest bench. It was a wrench to let her go, but he made himself do it. Too risky to keep her in his arms. Instead he crouched by her legs, keeping hold of her hands, which were icy despite the heat of the day.
“Sophie, what’s wrong?” he said.
She shook her head. Tried to tug her hands free. “Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.” In fact, he fancied he could feel the lie in the pulse of her power moving through him. “You’re freezing, and it’s roasting out here. What happened? Did you touch the ley line again?”
“N-no,” she said, teeth half chattering. “I tried, but I couldn’t reach it.”
“Couldn’t?” That didn’t sound good. He tugged off his jacket, which was too damned hot anyway, despite its being court wear made of linen rather than the wool of his uniform, and settled it around her shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“The Domina, she said I needed to. After. And I tried, but I couldn’t.”
“The Domina told you to touch the ley line?” He tried not to let the surprise show in his voice. Battle mages had their contact with ley lines strictly controlled until they could demonstrate that they had control of their magic. To avoid the sort of thing that had happened to him and Sophie or other more deadly accidents. A newly minted royal witch, especially one who hadn’t been bound to the goddess—whatever that meant—was even more likely to come to grief if she were exposed to too much power. “Sophie? Is that right?”
Sophie nodded, shivering again.
“Why? What did she do?” The only reason to tap a ley line directly, unless you were going to attempt something that required a hell of a lot of power, the sort of thing someone with Sophie’s lack of experience should not be attempting, was to replenish your energy when it had been drained by magic.
“She was helping the princess,” Sophie said, voice still shaky.