Modina stared out her window as usual, watching the world with no real interest. It was late and she feared sleep. It always brought the dreams, the nightmares of the past, of her father, and of the dark place. She sat up most nights, studying the shadows and the clouds as they passed over the stars. A line of moonlight crossed the courtyard below. She noted how it climbed the statues and the far gate wall, just like the creeping ivy. Once green, the plant was now a dreary red. It would go dormant, appearing to die, but would still hang on to the wall. It would continue its desperate grip on the stone even as it withered. For it, at least, there would be a spring.
The hammering at her chamber door roused her. She turned, puzzled. No one ever knocked except for Gerald, who always used a light tap. Amilia came and went frequently but never knocked. Whoever it was, they beat the door with a fury.
The pounding landed harder and with such violence that the door latch bounced with a distinct metallic clank as it threatened to break. It never occurred to her to ask who was there. It never crossed her mind to be fearful. She slid back the bolt, letting the door swing inward.
Standing outside was a man she vaguely recognized. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy, and the collar to his shirt lay open.
“There you are,” he exclaimed. “At long last I am rewarded with your presence. Permit me to introduce myself again, in case you’ve forgotten me. I am Archibald Ballentyne, twelfth Earl of Chadwick.” He bowed low, taking an awkward step when he lost his balance. “May I come in?”
The empress said nothing, and the earl took this as an invitation, pushing his way into the chamber. He held a finger to his lips. “Shh, we need to be quiet, lest someone discover I’m here.” The earl stood wavering, his glazed eyes canvassing the full length of Modina’s small body. His mouth hung partially open and his head moved up and down, as if trying to save his eyes the effort.
Modina was dressed only in her thin nightgown but did not think to cover herself.
“You’re beautiful. I thought so from the first. I wanted to tell you before this, but they wouldn’t let me see you.” The earl pulled a bottle of liquor from his breast pocket and took a swallow. “After all, I’m the hero of your army, and it isn’t fair that Ethelred gets to have you. You should be mine. I earned you!” the earl shouted, raising his fist.
Pausing, he looked toward the open door. After a moment, he continued, “What has Ethelred ever done? It was my army that saved Aquesta and would have crushed Melengar if they had let me. But they didn’t want me to. Do you know why? They knew if I took Melengar, then I would be too great to hold back. They’re jealous of me, you know. And now Ethelred is planning to take you, but you’re mine. Mine, I say!” He shouted this last bit, then cringed. Once more he placed a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Modina watched the earl with mild curiosity.
“How can you want him?” He slammed his fist against his chest. “Am I not handsome? Am I not young?” He twirled around with his arms outstretched until he staggered. He steadied himself on the bedpost. “Ethelred is old, fat, and has pimples. Do you really want that? He doesn’t care about you. He’s only after the crown.”
The earl took a moment to glance around the empty room. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said in a harsh whisper. He leaned in so close he had to put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. “I want the crown, too—anyone saying different is a liar. Who wouldn’t want to be emperor of the world, but”—he held up a wavering finger—“I would have loved you.”
He paused, breathing hotly into her face. He licked his lips and caressed her skin through the thin nightgown. His hand left her shoulder and inched up her neck, his open fingers slipping into her hair. “Ethelred will never look at you like this.” Archibald took her hand and placed it against his chest. “His heart will never pound like mine just by being near you. I want power. I want the throne, but I also want you.” He looked into her eyes. “I love you, Modina. I love you and I want you for my own. You should be my wife.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth, pressing hard, pinching her lips to her teeth. She did not struggle—she did not care. He pulled back and searched her face. She did not respond except to blink.
“Modina?” Amilia called, entering the room. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Ballentyne said sadly. He looked at Modina. He searched her face again. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
He turned and left the room.
“Are you all right?” Amilia rushed to the empress, brushing her hair back and looking her over. “Did he hurt you?”
“Am I to marry Regent Ethelred?”
Amilia held her breath and bit her lip.