guilt flooded my heart, because there was a part of me wishing he’d had a lover as well. “My affection for Hollis is fixed and irrevocable. If you want me to sign this, then you need to know her signature will be beside mine.”
The shame came in waves, crashing again and again. He’d put me in the queen’s rooms, and he’d let me wear jewels reserved for royalty, and here he was, ready to put my name on a matter of state.
A holy man raised his hand, and Jameson nodded at him to speak.
“Your Majesty, while you have made your intentions clear as regards Lady Hollis, by law you cannot put her name on the document before you are married.”
Jameson huffed. “This is a ridiculous triviality. She’s as good as my wife.”
My stomach roiled, and I was grateful I hadn’t eaten yet.
You already knew he was going to marry you, I told myself. But still . . . he had never said it like that before. Like there was no way out.
I waited for the voice in my head to tell me I was wrong, that there was a way I could still please my parents, still elevate Delia Grace, still protect the Eastoffes, and still be a faithful subject to Jameson without a ring and a crown. It never came.
“Your ancestors had good intent,” the holy man insisted, “but if we wished to change it, by law we would have to wait for the next meeting of the lords and holy men, and that wouldn’t be until early fall. For now, we must obey the law. For if we undo one . . .”
“We undo them all,” Jameson huffed. It was the same rhyme I’d learned as a child, the reason we studied every little rule passed down, not wanting to break a single one, because it was as good as breaking all of them. “If the law says to wait, then we shall wait.”
“Agreed,” King Quinten added, for the first time adding a hint of reverence to his tone. Isolte was a land of many laws itself, though I didn’t know theirs at all. At least to this, we all consented: the law was the law. “Let it have our names only, so the treaty is set. Once Hadrian is married, he and his wife can sign it, along with you and yours, in an amendment added, say, this time next year.”
Jameson nodded heartily. “Agreed. And seeing as it’s your line this affects most directly, the contract should go with you. We will make the journey to sign it next year.”
I squinted. What arrangement was being made that it involved Prince Hadrian?
“So let us both be in agreement,” Jameson stated firmly, looking directly at King Quinten. “Our eldest daughter will go to the eldest son of Prince Hadrian, but only if we also produce a son to have a direct male heir. But because girls are not passed over in succession in Coroa, if we only have girls, our second-oldest daughter shall be his bride instead. Is that acceptable?”
I felt my knees go weak. He was signing away our children? He was giving them to Isolte? I gripped the back of his chair tightly, trying to keep myself upright.
King Quinten grimaced, as if weighing whether he could make a better bargain, as if him taking my daughter wasn’t enough. Finally, he pushed forward, reaching for the quill.
Valentina and I stood by quietly as the contract was signed, and I realized that, even though my name wasn’t on the paper, it bound me to Quinten, Valentina, and Hadrian as family.
He had our daughter. And so, he’d taken a part of me as well.
Everyone in the room applauded, and as Jameson and Quinten shook hands, I walked over to Valentina, embracing her.
“Did you know?” I whispered.
“No. I would have warned you. I hope you trust me enough to believe that.”
“I do. You’re the only one who knows what it’s like to be me.”
She took me by the hand and pulled me toward the wall. “About last night,” she whispered in a rush. “I was very out of sorts. Sometimes when you’re carrying a child, your mind feels strange, and I—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I do,” she insisted. “I wasn’t speaking clearly, and you mustn’t take any of what I said seriously. Besides,” she said, stroking her stomach, “I was sick this morning. That’s why I was late. That’s a very good sign.”
I put my hands on top of hers. “Congratulations.