dead from the blow I dealt him—would be if not for the promise Mortain made my mother. I wonder at the person she was, a woman who not only invited Death into her bed, but extracted two promises from him as well: that I would live and that her husband would never be allowed near her again, not even in the realm of death.
Chapter 98
Genevieve
Since there is no word from Beast or Sybella waiting for us as we draw near Nantes, Maraud and I decide to approach separately, especially given my history with the king, although I do not share that part of it with him. Unlike most men I have known, he has not brought up the subject of former lovers. Yet another mark in his favor.
As I dismount in the palace’s sprawling stable yard, I find myself surrounded by guards. Although not completely unexpected, it is most unwelcome.
“That was fast,” I say lightly to Captain Stuart, whose face tells me nothing.
“We have been told to watch for you.” The captain does not take me to the grand salon, but to the royal apartments, where a fuming king waits for me.
“Your Majesty.” Not knowing how much trouble I am in, I give my deepest curtsy. He leaves me with my nose nearly touching the floor as he slowly circles me, my gaze fixed on the tips of his cordovan leather boots.
“Where have you been?”
“In Brittany, sire. Helping to put down Rohan’s rebellious uprising.”
“You mean the queen’s.”
“No, Your Majesty. The queen was not involved, although Rohan had seen fit to ally with the English. If not for our actions, you would even now have four thousand English troops marching on French soil.”
“Why should I trust what you say? You have not only spurned my favor and aligned yourself with the queen, but taken up arms against me, adding salt to the wound. Of all those who betrayed me, your cut is the deepest.” His mind is more closed to me than it has ever been.
“Did Your Majesty not find the note I left you?”
He stops his circling. “The note that accused me of not being able to protect you? The note that doubted I possessed the wit to best my own sister?”
And there it is—the true source of the pain he is feeling.
“Why, Genevieve?” The harsh words are tinged with despair. “Why is your loyalty to the queen and not me?”
I risk looking up into his face, wanting him to see the truth it holds. “My loyalty is to both of you, sire. I thought that in securing Brittany, I was serving you as well as the queen. The regent made it impossible to continue serving you at court, so I sought to do so in another way.”
“Which meant running away without so much as begging my leave?”
“I did it to protect what was rightfully yours.”
“Get up. I grow tired of your groveling. You did it to serve the queen, not me.”
Once I am on my feet, it is all I can do to keep from giving him a bracing slap to restore his wits. “You loved her enough to turn the tides of war away from her. Why can you not find that love in your heart once more?”
“Because she wishes to take what is mine.”
He is not talking about Brittany, but power. “Sire, you are not a child to have his favorite toy snatched from his hand. You are a king, it is in your blood. No one can take that from you. Not even the queen, if she’d a mind to, but she doesn’t. She has no wish to wear the crown of France. That was only ever your sister’s dream—one she could never have. Bitterness and jealousy clouded her judgment and reason. In her head, she twisted everything the queen did into a power play because that was what she would do.
“The queen never played those games. She has no desire to do anything other than follow through on the promises she made to her people, and serve as your dutiful queen. It is what she was raised from birth to do.”
“Then why does she keep sticking her nose into the crown’s affairs?”
“Only when it is her business as well.” He starts to protest, but I stop him. “Think upon it! Every time she has become involved, it has revolved around Brittany or the safety of those who served her. Would you have your queen be less loyal? Less caring? Less giving of her Christian charity?”
He