The silence in the room crystallizes into something brittle. “That same contract binds you to me as wife, binds you to my orders, my decisions. It gives you no power to act as your own sovereign power.”

“Then tell me, Your Majesty, what was I to do? Every time I tried to speak to you of Brittany, you turned your back. You did not want to discuss politics or governing with your wife, a wife who has been involved in politics since she was four. A wife who has governed since she was twelve. A wife who brought one of the most valuable dowries in Europe. I could not sit by and risk that some pompous noble’s scheming would take that from us. So I sent someone I trusted to scout out the situation and report back. And here he is.”

The king shakes his head, still trying to dislodge his disbelief. “I gave you no leave.”

“Sire, if I suspected a noble to be working against his king, how could I not act? What loyal subject could stand by and let such a thing happen?”

This, finally, gets through, and the king’s face grows less fraught. I want to cheer for the queen’s wit at finding this one small crack to slip inside.

“Your Majesty.” General Cassel’s voice rumbles into the silence of the room, breaking the fragile truce the queen’s words have wrought. “While it is true that the queen, being a woman, did not know the enormous disservice she did you by overruling your wishes, of a certainty, her captain did.” His cold blue eyes fix upon Beast as he slowly walks toward him. “You knew you did not have the king’s permission, else you would not have snuck into the stables like a thief in the night.”

Beast keeps his stony gaze affixed to the wall, refusing to look into the face of the man—his father—who is accusing him of treason. “I am captain of the queen’s guard and serve at her pleasure, by permission of His Majesty himself.”

General Cassel whips his head back around to the king. “You gave him such permission?”

The king is scowling in memory. “I gave him permission to lead the queen’s guard, but only when my own was not available.”

“And they were not available for this.” Beast’s voice is deeper than Cassel’s, and even though it has a rougher edge, his words are more polished.

Cassel’s face grows red. “You are playing word games. You know your authority comes direct from the king, not his lady wife.”

Beast does look at Cassel then. “My lord,” he rumbles, the threat in his voice clear to all. “You will address our queen with respect.”

Cassel takes a step closer. “Or what?”

Beast doesn’t move, but somehow seems to grow even larger, taking up more space in the room. “Or you will dishonor both her and our king and be forced to make amends.”

Cassel clenches his jaw so tightly that I feel my hand begin to drift to my knives, unsure what he intends to do. Unsure if the king will—or can—stop him, I take a step forward. “Your Majesty, mayhap it would help the queen understand what is happening in Brittany if you would share with her your reasons for appointing Viscount Rohan as governor.”

General Cassel shifts his attention from Beast to me. “Are you suggesting the king needs to explain himself to anyone?”

“Not anyone. His queen, who was granted a certain amount of autonomy in overseeing her former duchy.” I smile playfully. “Are you married, general? If so, you would understand that the surest way to a harmonious marriage is trust.”

“No,” he grinds out. “I am not married.”

“Oh?” I ask, feigning coyness. “Is that why you followed me into the stable, then?”

Beast grows rigid even as the general looks discomfited.

“How did you come to choose Viscount Rohan, my lord?” The queen’s question is perfectly timed to reduce the tension in the room.

“He was suggested to me.”

“By whom?”

“Your Majesty.” The regent’s voice comes from the edge of the room as if she has only just arrived.

“Ah, there she is now,” the king mutters.

She is smiling like a barn cat who found the cream, Captain Stuart trailing behind her. As she draws closer to Beast, her eyes sweep over him. “Don’t you see?” Her voice is light, almost gay. “Here is the answer to all the mysteries that have plagued us.”

Panic begins hammering against my ribs as I discern where she is going with this. She raises a finger and points to Beast. “It was he, not Fremin’s men, who stole the girls from their room in the dead of night!”

Chapter 59

The king frowns, his irritation not inclining him to humor her. “Whatever you are trying to say, just say it. Do not force us to tease it out of you.”

Resentment flashes briefly in her eyes. “I am only remarking that his disappearance coincided with that of the two d’Albret girls. If ever a man appeared capable of vile acts, it is he.”

The stricken look in Beast’s eyes is so brief and fleeting that even I almost miss it. Or mayhap it never shows on his face and I simply feel the twist of pain in his heart. I imagine a lifetime of being accused of misdeeds simply because of his looks.

“Impossible.” The queen’s clear voice rings out. “I sent him out myself three days before Monsieur Fremin made his claims.”

My knees weaken with relief, but Beast’s rigidness does not leave him. Nor his fury. It emanates from him like steam from a bubbling pot.

It is there on the tip of the regent’s tongue—her wish to accuse the queen of colluding with Beast in this, except that even she cannot imagine what the motive might be. Madame whirls back to face the king. “Of course he would not announce his true intention to the queen. But the rebellion can only be an excuse to cover his unexplained trip to Brittany.”

The queen leans forward in her chair, bright spots of anger on her cheeks. “That is untrue.”

The regent raises a delicate brow. “If so, then the only other explanation is that this entire incident is a way for you to insert yourself into the king’s prerogative to rule. Is that what you are doing?” She tightens the jaws of the trap she has set, forcing the queen to choose between her own reputation or Beast’s.

The queen stares at her frostily. “Madame, are you suggesting that I am lying?”

“Either you are or he is.”

“Neither of us is lying about this.”

The king stares at his wife as if he has never seen her before. “Is this true? Did he abduct the girls?”

“No,” the queen answers forcefully. “He did no such thing.”

“You cannot believe her, Your Majesty.” The regent’s words are as smooth as glass. “What else would he be doing? How would she have even known such activity was afoot?”

“Answer,” the king orders.

“I received letters from my loyal advisors who still reside in Brittany.” Satisfaction glints in the queen’s eye as she sets a trap of her own.

The regent scoffs. “I have seen no such letters.” It is not until the words are out of her mouth that the regent realizes her mistake.

The queen tilts her head. “Have you been reading my letters?”

Even the king seems shocked. “You’ve done what?”

Madame shrugs, but she is not as indifferent as she would like to appear. “We had to know if she was loyal to her new husband or her old one.” T

he queen’s breath comes hard and fast at this affront to her honor.

“Enough!” The king’s voice lashes out like a whip. His face is stony, his heartbeat rapid. He turns to Beast. “When I agreed to have you serve as queen’s guard, I made it clear that it was to accompany her when I or my guard was not available. I did not authorize you to meddle in affairs of state on her behalf.”

“Your Majesty,” the queen tries again. “Surely you should hear what he has to say before you dismiss my concerns and his report out of hand! I believe he carries vital information.”

But it is too late. The king’s power has been threatened. “And what did you see that was so concerning?” The king’s scorn is so thick I am surprised it doesn’t choke him.

“Viscount Rohan appears to have called all his men-at-arms from his holdings in France to Brittany. Rennes is fully guarded, allowing no one into the city or out of it without the viscount’s permission. Every one of his holdings in Brittany is fully garrisoned, including the western and southern coasts.”

The queen looks at the king, any victory she feels at being right chased away by her concern. “There is no reason for his troops to be there,” she points out.

“There are no reasons for his troops to be there that the king has chosen to share with you,” General Cassel answers for the king, and he allows it. “There are many reasons he would take up such positions.”

“Such as?” the queen asks.

“Such as guarding against possible retaliation from the English for having secured Brittany against their effort to maintain its independence.”

“Then he should have told Her Majesty of such, surely,” I point out.

“Perhaps he did.”

The queen rears, as if struck. She turns to the king, who leans back in his throne, arms folded, watching the general. He does not look at her.

Finding no answer to her unspoken question, she asks Cassel. “But why seal off Rennes?”

“In a city that has recently been besieged, with mercenaries and remnants of opposing troops roaming the countryside, why wouldn’t a responsible leader secure his city in such a manner?”

Tags: Robin LaFevers His Fair Assassin Fantasy
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