Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

He leans in close to whisper in my ear, “The deed is done, the proof exhibited, and I believe the duchess would benefit greatly from your company.”

I frown in confusion. “The regent expressly told me I was not to return until morning.”

He shakes his head in faint exasperation. “And when in the name of the Nine has that ever stopped you before?”

His words are as bracing as a slap to my cheek, chasing away the effects of the wine as well as the taste of defeat. Without another word, I lift my skirts and hurry toward the palace.

“Thank you for your hospitality to Lady Sybella,” Beast calls back to the others before catching up to me.

I glance at him. “You cannot accompany me to the duchess’s chambers.” Embarrassment at my obedience to the regent’s order makes my words more curt than I intend.

“No,” he agrees. “But I can see you safely to the grand salon and ensure you do not gut some witless Frenchman who is too dumb to steer clear of you tonight.”

My lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “You do have your purposes.”

“I like to think so.”

* * *

When I arrive at the queen’s chamber, I find her alone in bed while the three ladies in waiting assigned by Madame Regent busy themselves hanging up her cloth of gold wedding gown and being certain none of the seed pearls are in danger of coming loose.

I take one look at the new queen huddled against the pillows with the covers up to her chin, then spring into action. “Where is the bath?” I bark.

The other ladies turn and stare at me. “What bath?” the tallest one asks. “The regent did not order a bath.”

“The regent did not just endure her deflowering. Send for a hot bath, with lavender and comfrey.” They stare at me a long moment. I clap my hands at them. “Now!” I am shocked at how similar to the regent my own voice sounds.

Finally the featherbrained women begin to move. “And have these linens changed while the queen is at her bath.”

“But,” a small-faced woman protests, “she will be leaving for Plessis-lès-Tours in the morning,”

I draw to my full height so that I am towering over her. “But she must sleep in them tonight, and surely you would agree a new queen should not have to sleep in her own blood?”

The woman flinches and glances at the queen, finally remembering this is a young woman and not some pawn in a game of the regent’s. “Very well, my lady.”

Only when they have left and I am alone with the queen do I allow myself to approach the bed. She stares up at me, her brown eyes enormous in her pale face. “Thank you,” she whispers. Unexpectedly, she scoots over, making room for me to sit.

“Are you very uncomfortable?” I ask.

She wiggles around a little and grimaces. “Some.”

I nod. “A warm bath should help.”

She peers more closely at me, wrinkling her nose. “Lady Sybella, did you perchance fall into a vat of wine?”

I wince. “No, Your Majesty. ’Twas but a clumsy Frenchman who stumbled and spilled his wine on my gown.”

“Did he, now,” she muses dryly.

Just then the door opens and a throng of servants parade in bearing a copper tub, ewers of steaming water, and fresh bed linens. I help the queen into a robe and quickly braid her hair before wrapping it in a coil on the top of her head. When I am finished, the bath is ready and the last of the servants lingers at the door. “Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?”

It takes the queen a moment to realize he is talking to her. “No, that will be all. Thank you.”

When we are alone again, I take the robe from her shoulders and she steps into the bath, wincing a bit as the warm water reaches tender places.

I rack my mind for something comforting to tell her. Between my family and my work for the convent, I have far more experience with the unpleasant nature of the intimacies between the sexes rather than the gentler ones. “If he is a kind man, and I think he is, this should be the worst of it.”

She glances up, blushing. “I am glad to know it will get better. If it is like that every time, I am not sure how women can ever have any babies.”

Babies. My mind shies away from the word, and I abruptly turn and fetch the linen cloths from the washstand. “He was kind, was he not?” I dip one of the cloths in the warm water, then allow it to trickle down her back.

“He was, yes. Chivalrous, even, and seemed eager that I should be happy. Considering all the men who have laid claim to my hand, I should be—?I am—?relieved that he appears solicitous. It is just . . .” She shrugs her slender shoulders.

I do not know what makes me so certain what she is keeping herself from saying, but I lean down and whisper, “It is just that you are accustomed to ruling, taking your own council, giving the orders. And now it is hard to know how much of that will be left to you.”

She spins around to look at me. “Yes! That is exactly what I fear.”

My hand clenches around the wet cloth. The regent’s plan to weaken the queen’s faith in herself is already taking root. “In most men’s lives, there is room for only one woman from whom they will take counsel. We must ensure that woman is you and not his sister.”

“But can we do that? She has had his ear for so long. Overseen his education and been governing in his name for years.”

I begin scooping up the warm water once more. “And that will work in our favor, Your Grace. No young man—?and certainly not a king—?wishes to be under the thumb of his older sister. Especially one who made decisions he thought he should have been able to make himself. I imagine that we need only faintly fan those flames of resentment. Besides—” I stop, fearing I am about to go too far.

“Besides what?” the duchess prompts.

“I am not certain it is my place to say some of these things to you.” In truth, my upbringing probably demands that I be the last woman on earth to share such things with her.

“Who else will do it?” she asks fiercely. “My dead mother? Madame Dinan, who chose to betray me? The regent, who has only her own interests and love of power?” The duchess laughs, a fragile, bitter sound. “Her ladies in waiting whom she is trying to surround me with rather than my own? Of a certainty, they will not tell me.”

She is right. “Very well, Your Grace, but know that my view of the relations between men and women is somewhat . . . cynical and worldly.”

“It cannot be more cynical than being inspected like a brood mare or prize milking cow.”

“True enough. The other advantage you will have is that you are his young, nubile bride.” Her cheeks grow pink. “As such, you will offer the king certain advantages that a mere sister cannot. You will also have access to him in his more vulnerable moments, which can work in a woman’s favor.”

The queen sets her mouth in a resolute line, as if she has just been handed a weapon and is determined to use it to its best advantage.

“And lastly,” I continue, “if you give the king a son, he is sure to grant you high favor and indulge you whenever possible. Many men act thusly when presented with their first son, a king even more so.”

The water has begun to cool now, so I help her out of the tub and dry her with linen towels. She grimaces. “You were right. The bath did help.”

I pull back the clean linens on the bed and she climbs in. Unable to help myself, I tuck the covers up under her chin. “Is there anything else I can get, Your Majesty?” Her new title feels strange on my tongue and will take some getting used to.

“Stay, if you please. The king will not be returning. With my other ladies dismissed, there is no one else, and I would rather not be alone.”

Chapter 42

Genevieve

nce I am certain everyone is asleep for the night, I rise from my bed, wrap a thick cloak around my night shift, and slip into my boots. My excuse, should I meet anyone, is that I felt a need to pray in the chapel. It is well in keeping with my behavior of late.