The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,70

In Hansen’s bedchamber.

Last night our argument at dinner ended only when my mother arrived: She was there to announce her dramatic plan, concocted with the Chief Assassin and my aunt. Hansen didn’t protest. It sounded sensible, he said, and quite exciting. My mother’s withering glare seemed to have no effect on his boyish enthusiasm for a secret escape. I knew, of course, that his enthusiasm had another cause: If my mother leaves Mont, it means Cal can be sent away as well.

The smile soon fell from his face when she laid down her various conditions, including an immediate move to his apartments and the dismissal of my ladies.

“And another lady,” she said, in her most imperious tone. “Lady Cecilia, I believe she is called.”

Hansen turned bright pink—or brighter pink, I should say, because he was already flushed from drinking quite a lot of wine.

“I would request that Your Majesty dismiss her from court, as well, in the morning.”

He seemed to think for a moment, then nodded.

“A new start,” my mother said, and took both our hands. I don’t know who was more miserable—me or Hansen.

“We wish you a safe journey, ma’am, and the most protected of sanctuaries in Renovia,” he says. He can make a pretty speech when required, I suppose. “And here in Mont we will do our best to live up to your expectations, and those of my late parents. You can be assured of that.”

Lady Cecilia won’t be happy, I thought, but why should any of us be happy in this miserable place? How will Cal and I ever be alone together again? How long will Cal be permitted to stay in Mont?

Now daylight is upon us, and this stupid day I’ve long dreaded is here. By tonight this will be my private space no longer. I know what I have to do. I can’t betray the crown. I have to give up my happiness. After my mother left this morning, I locked the secret door and threw away the key. I had to. My heart broke when I did it, but I had to. What is love compared with the safety of our kingdom? Of our people?

Everything is over.

I don’t wait for my ladies to arrive to wash my face in the basin near the chest or to pull a simple woolen gown over my linen shift. I pull back my hair into a short bun. There’s no time today to fuss over appearances. They must effect my move to the king’s chambers and then make their farewells.

There’s a tap on the door, a little earlier than I expect, and Lady Marguerite’s worried face pokes in.

“Your Majesty is already awake and about?” She looks surprised.

“Yes,” I say, hanging my mother’s ornate traveling cloak over the back of a chair. She left the room in nothing but her shift and a woolen robe, planning to take a servant’s cloak downstairs for the journey. It’s essential that her fine clothes and shoes remain here, so my ladies believe she’s still in residence. “Queen Lilianna is breakfasting with the king. There is much to do today.”

“And I bring news, ma’am,” Lady Marguerite says, slithering into the room and closing the door behind her. “Terrible news, I’m afraid. There has been another murder. The Chief Physician has been found dead—quite dead, with the black marks around his mouth—in the same manner as your priest. His throat cut, too, with something sharp that also left a black residue.”

“Obsidian,” I say, my heart thumping. Varya’s vision in the flames of my fireplace was not just a fanciful notion. It was a warning. The Obsidian Monk is here in the castle.

“He was found last night,” Lady Marguerite continues. “By that apprentice of the Chief Assassin—the girl with the red hair. She was visiting him, she said, so he could examine her injured leg. But can we trust her, ma’am? Might she not be the killer, with her superior skills? I hear she knows the magic of the Guild, and is as strong as three or four men. And her leg does not seem particularly injured. I myself saw her striding about the yard yesterday, among all the guards, without any impediment.”

“Let us not speculate, Lady Marguerite,” I snap. Who knows if Rhema can be trusted? Who knows anything?

Martyn is dead. Why has he been killed? Why Father Juniper? Did they see something, or know something, that someone else wished to remain hidden?

At my desk I scribble a note to the Duke of Auvigne.