Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“In passing.”

There was a little more small talk before he realized that the knight was escorting him to the king’s chamber. He’d expected to go to the great hall. The rest of the walk was made in silence, nervous on his part and companionable on the knight’s end.

“This is Sir Ransom, come on the queen’s orders,” said Sir Graun once they arrived outside the guarded door.

One of the guards knocked on the door and opened it. He said something, and out came the chamberlain, a silver-haired man in a velvet tunic, with a chain of office around his neck. Coming behind the chamberlain was Lord Archer, the Duke of Glosstyr. Ransom recognized him immediately and felt his stomach clench with dread when he saw the duke scowl at him. The man said nothing as he passed.

“Welcome, Sir Ransom. Please, come in,” said the chamberlain with a bright smile. “I am Sir Iain. I’ve served Her Majesty for many years. Oh, don’t mind the gruff duke. He’s always surly like that. You are very welcome.”

Ransom entered the chamber, expecting to see only the queen, but when he stepped farther inside, he caught sight of King Devon leaning against the wall, cradling a goblet in one hand. Ransom’s knees began to tremble.

“There he is,” said Devon with a shrewd smile. He pushed away from the wall and started pacing the room with a restless energy. His free arm gesticulated. “The lost sheep has been found. A rather expensive sheep, I daresay.”

“Husband, be kind,” said Queen Emiloh, rising from a sofa on the other side of the room.

“I’m always courteous, if not always kind. Welcome again to Kingfountain, Sir Ransom. Your reputation for needing saving precedes you.”

The words were a blow, but Ransom didn’t flinch.

“Devon, please. Be civil.”

“I am being civil. He cost five thousand livres. I wouldn’t have paid half that for one of my own sons.”

Ransom stared at the king in surprise, trying to tame his surging feelings of humiliation and dread when he saw a smile flicker on the king’s mouth. He realized that the man was toying with him, trying to get a reaction.

“I’m certain Your Majesty would have paid ten times as much for one of his own sons,” Ransom said, bowing slightly.

The king beamed, striding toward him. “See, Emiloh? I knew he could handle my jests.”

“You didn’t know. You’ve never met him before,” she said with a sigh. “My apologies for my husband’s rude sense of humor.”

“It’s not rude, how dare you suggest that! I’m offended.”

“If you’re offended, then I’m a duckling,” she said. As she approached him, Ransom knelt before her, and she held out her hand with the royal ring on her finger. Ransom kissed the gem.

“Rise, Sir Ransom,” she said.

“Yes, on your feet,” said the king. “I can’t bear such tedious formalities behind closed doors. I may yawn to death. He’s here, and we’ve shooed away Lord Archer to speak with him. Best he knows why and soon.”

“We will finish talking about Lord Archer later,” said the queen. “He has a right to be concerned.”

“I don’t give a fig about his right to be concerned,” said the king in a dismissive manner. “He has a duty to be loyal. If it were not for me, he never would have won Legault, and his daughter wouldn’t have the right to choose her husband anyway. I gave it to him, and so he owes me his allegiance. It’s really quite simple; I don’t see why he’s so upset about it.”

Ransom’s stomach shriveled. So the rumors were true—they intended to pressure Claire into marrying their youngest son.

“It’s still too soon,” the queen said. “Jon-Landon is but a boy.”

“Is there not the same gap in age between my lady and myself?” Devon said. “I was no more than Sir Ransom’s age, I declare, when I wooed you for myself.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” said the queen with flaring nostrils.

The king set his goblet down, folded his arms, and approached Ransom. “What? Would it have been more romantic if I’d laid siege to Auxaunce? If I’d starved your populace into surrender? You are so bloodthirsty, my lady.” He gave her a knowing smile.

The queen arched her brow. “The business at hand, my lord?”

“Ah, yes. Sir Ransom.” He stroked his beard, appraising Ransom like he would a destrier. “You are young, handsome, and well trained, which I’ve been assured of by Lord Kinghorn himself. A capable man. Has an eye for these things. You are not prone to outbursts, which we’ve just proven. Circumspect, I like that.”

“Husband . . . there are pressing matters still to attend to. Just tell him what you intend.”

“I’m getting to it, I’m getting to it,” he said with a dismissive gesture. Ransom felt his insides squirm, but he maintained a calm expression. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the king and queen had very different personalities. He seemed more hot-headed, she cool and careful. “You’re here to be of service, lad, are you not?”

“Y-yes, my lord,” Ransom stammered.

“You do feel a sort of obligation, do you not? Five thousand livres is quite a ransom . . . Ransom.” The king grinned.

“It is.”

“Are you Fountain-blessed?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” Ransom answered.