The steward was in deep conversation with the lead maid when Dareena arrived, but he was more than happy to send her packing so he could see Dareena. They spent the next few hours going over all the details and plans for both the wedding and coronation, and the ladies were more than happy to participate in the discussion. They all had excellent suggestions, especially Lyria, to Dareena’s surprise. But then again, she had thrown quite a few parties back in Hallowdale, so Dareena supposed she had plenty of experience.
“You’re going to want to order twice as many hors d’oeuvres,” she said as they were going through the numbers. “Guests love to stuff themselves with finger food even though they know a twelve-course dinner is being served later.” She rolled her eyes. “The last thing you want is to run out of food, especially at a royal wedding.”
“You’re quite right,” the steward said, making a note on his paper.
“I think you ought to order peonies rather than roses for your centerpieces,” Rantissa said. “They have a far more pleasant fragrance, which you’ll want with all those bodies packed into the room.”
“Oooh, I love peonies,” Soldian gushed, her eyes bright. “Are you going to include us in the wedding party, my lady? You will need bridesmaids.”
Dareena laughed. “True enough,” she said. She hadn’t really thought about bridesmaids, as the princes had not mentioned groomsmen, but as the future monarchs it seemed fitting to have a wedding party.
They finished going over the plans, and Dareena immediately got to work, commandeering a bevy of servants to move heavy, outdated furniture, ancient weapons, and various tasteless paintings and decorations into the attics. The ladies grumbled about this part a little despite not being required to lift anything heavier than a cushion, but they were in good spirits from being allowed to participate in the planning and did not complain too much.
“Yes, place it there,” Dareena ordered two strapping young men who were moving a marble bust. She was reorganizing one of the many staircase landings in the Keep, replacing rusting metal armor with beautiful art sculptures she’d found hidden away in the attics earlier. The men grunted as they moved the heavy sculpture, and she backed away into the staircase to give them room to maneuver.
As she stood there, she became aware of something rumbling down the stairs behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of a heavy wardrobe barreling straight down the stone steps.
“Look out!” she cried, jumping onto the railing. The wardrobe shot right past her, and though she tried to flatten herself against the wall, it rammed her elbow, sending a burst of agony through her. The men dove out of the way, dropping the bust they’d been carrying. It shattered as it hit the floor, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. The two guards who had been assigned to watch over her sprang into action, catching the wardrobe before it could hurtle down the second set of stairs and hurt even more people.
“My lady!” Soldian cried from below as the guards pushed the wardrobe out of the way. Her face paled as she looked at the mess. “Are you all right?” she asked as she helped Dareena down from the railing.
“I’m fine,” she said, placing a hand over her hammering heart. Her elbow ached fiercely, and there was a cut on her cheek from where one of the stray pieces of marble had hit her, but she was okay. “This will bruise tomorrow,” she said ruefully as she looked at her arm, which was already beginning to swell, “but it is hardly a life-threatening injury.”
“You are quite lucky,” Lyria said as she came down the staircase, Rantissa on her heels. The dragon born’s face was drawn into a fierce scowl, while Rantissa merely resembled a frightened mouse. “I told you this was a foolish idea,” she said.
“Did you push that wardrobe down the stairs?” Soldian accused, pointing a finger at Lyria. “It was sitting at the top of the landing, and you are strong enough.”
Lyria’s scowl turned thunderous. “The Dragon’s Gift and I may not be bosom buddies, like you are,” she said, “but I am loyal to Dragonfell and the royal family. Besides,” she said, tossing her red hair, “if I were going to kill anyone, I certainly wouldn’t use such sloppy, underhanded tactics. I would use a real weapon. That’s what this is for,” she said, pulling a knife from her sleeve.
“Bearing weapons in the Dragon’s Gift’s presence!” Rantissa cried, sounding scandalized. “We already know that someone has tried to kill her once. How do we know it’s not you?”
“That someone has tried to kill her once is precisely why I am carrying a knife,” Lyria said crossly. “The princes have ordered us to accompany her everywhere, which means if someone were to attack her, we will likely get hurt too. If you ask me, the three of you should be carrying knives as well.” She gave them all a scathing look.
“I do carry a knife,” Dareena said dryly, reaching into the hidden slit in her skirt. She withdrew the jade dragon knife Drystan had bought her and held it up for them to see. “Thank the gods I’ve never had to use it, but it brings me comfort nevertheless.” She’d been getting Alistair to teach her how to wield it, and they’d managed to squeeze in a few lessons. “I cannot fault Lyria for wanting to be armed, and for once, I actually agree with her. We shall go to the armory today and get weapons for both of you.”
“Not yet,” one of the guards said, placing himself in Dareena’s path. There was a stern look on his face as he looked down at her. “You need to see a healer for that arm, and your ladies need to stay put. We’ll be questioning them all, along with the servants.”
“Damn right, we will,” Drystan said, his voice echoing from up the staircase. He stalked into the space, his eyes glowing with anger as he surveyed the aftermath of Dareena’s near-death experience. “How did this happen?” he asked the servants, who had come rushing down to see what the commotion was about. “Did anyone see anything?”
“No, Your Highness,” one of the servants said. “I was helping two others carry a large table.”
“And we were busy rolling up old tapestries,” another one said, pointing to the woman next to her.
Drystan stared them all down. “One of you is responsible for this,” he growled. “I intend to find out who.”
“Drystan.” Dareena placed a hand on his arm, feeling sorry for the servants, who all looked terrified. “It is quite possible the wardrobe was tipped over by accident. I don’t think anyone meant to harm me.”
“If that is the case, then why has no one come forward to claim responsibility?” Drystan demanded. “If none of you intended ill will against my mate, then you have nothing to fear.”
When everyone remained silent, Drystan had the guards round them all up for inspection. Dareena stayed through it all, refusing to go back to her rooms even when Drystan insisted. All of the servants, including her ladies, were strip-searched for suspicious trinkets or jewelry, but that resulted in nothing but humiliation. Frustrated, Drystan sent them all away, then ordered her ladies to escort Dareena back to her room while he spoke with the captain of the guard.
“Leave me,” Dareena said irritably once she’d crossed the threshold of her suite. “I wish to be alone right now.”