young girls back to their family.”
The king whips his head around to spear Fremin with a look. “Who were these men who accompanied you?”
The lawyer swallows before speaking. “Their names do not matter, Your Majesty. What matters is that they are missing.”
“Oh, but their names do matter,” I continue, committing fully to this course of action. “I’ve no doubt some of your own men will have heard of Yann le Poisson.” There is an audible intake of breath. “Or of Maldon the Pious.” That name is followed by another susurration of whispers. “I know his exploits and strange taste for self-punishment have long been the source of rumor and gossip. And the Marquis? How many Frenchmen have been betrayed by him?”
From somewhere behind the king, a large man steps forward. “I have heard of these men.” His deep rumbling voice is so very familiar that I wrench my gaze from the king to look at him. “They are precisely as she claims.” He is uncommonly large—his nose, his jowls—everything but his eyes, which are small and narrow set. He has eschewed the more distinguished long robes of the king’s other advisors and instead wears a shorter military style, complete with vambraces. His deep blue mantle is held in place by two gold brooches.
By his sheer size and ugliness, he can only be Beast’s father, although his face has none of the charm or good humor that Beast’s possesses. I drop my eyes quickly lest he see the spark of recognition in them. Merde. Can the gods lob any more disasters at me this morning?
A new suspicion glints in the king’s eyes as he stares at Fremin. “What say you, lawyer? General Cassel has corroborated Lady Sybella’s claims.”
Cassel. The name goes off in my head like an alarm bell. Look . . . to . . . cas . . . tle were Captain Dunois’s—oh, how I miss his stolid presence!—words to me. Was he warning me of this man? But I cannot think about that now. Not with the king and Cassel himself watching me with coolly assessing eyes.
Fremin swallows again—a nervous habit I am quickly learning to recognize. “The road is a dangerous place, Your Majesty. Especially with so many mercenaries recently released from service. With such valuable cargo, of course Lord d’Albret would send his most skilled men.”
“There is skill, and then there is brutality,” I point out.
“Are you saying your brother would put your sisters in danger by sending brutish men to accompany them, Lady Sybella?” It is the first time the regent has spoken since we returned from my room.
Yes, I want to scream at her. They will always be in danger from him and their family. “I am saying he would send brutish men to retrieve them through unofficial channels should official channels not rule in his favor.”
With his eyes still on me, General Cassel leans down and speaks directly into the king’s ear. A flicker of annoyance crosses the regent’s face, and she leans ever so slightly closer in an attempt to hear.
When Cassel is finished, the king nods in agreement. “I must think upon this, for it is not as straightforward as first presented. Monsieur Fremin, you are excused for now. But do not leave the palace without consulting my marshal or General Cassel.” Fremin starts to protest. “I have not said I am putting the matter aside. You may rest assured that I will get to the bottom of this. Unless you doubt me?”
Fremin swallows the rest of his protestation and bows. “Never, Your Majesty.”
“Then leave. All of you,” the king growls.
Relieved at the dismissal, I sink into another deep curtsy. But as I move to disperse with the others, he stops me. “Stay a moment, Lady Sybella.” My brief hope of an easy victory crumples. He waves at the regent, Cassel, and the two bishops to stay, then studies me, mouth pursed in thought. “I am told that when they searched for you this morning, they found you in a chamber that . . . wasn’t your own.”
“That is true, Your Majesty.”
Since he is careful not to declare Genevieve’s identity, I do not either. He falls quiet again, and I can practically hear the wheels of his mind churning.
“So tell me, are you from the convent of Saint Mortain?”
The ground at my feet shifts and lurches, dread seeping into my bones. In the utter silence of the room, the regent looks sharply at the king. One of the bishops crosses himself,