Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,60

lord,” Ransom answered, bowing his head in greeting. “I need to speak with you.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t have interrupted my ablutions so rudely. Well, speak up, man! There is much to do today, and I must get to it!”

“Could we speak privately, my lord? What I have to say is of a sensitive nature.”

King Devon rolled his eyes and swatted at the manservant, who was holding up a pair of shoes he’d selected for the king. “Be gone! I can put on my own shoes today.” The servant departed through a side door and shut it behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

The king walked to the breakfast platter and picked up a cube of cheese. “Have you eaten yet? I’m about finished. They always give me much more food than I need.”

“I’m not hungry,” Ransom said, and it was true. His stomach squirmed with the knowledge of what he had to do.

“Speak, then. You are not going to refuse to marry the girl, are you? You can’t go back on it now, my boy.”

The endearment, so recently heard from Gervase, made Ransom flinch. The two kings couldn’t be more different in temperament. With Devon the Elder, there was always an edge of sarcasm, prepared to become sharp and cutting if the situation changed in a way that was not to his liking.

“I will if you still command me to. But in my desire to please you, I left out news that I should have shared. It may . . . change your mind.”

The king had been biting through another cube of cheese. His expression became wary, then angry, and he set the half-eaten morsel back down on the platter. “What are you saying, Ransom? You lied to me?”

“I withheld the full truth from you, my lord. And I am sorry. I’ve had two . . . restless nights now because of it. Let me be frank with you, my lord. I wanted to please you. I wanted to marry her, at least I thought I did.”

“You’re not making any sense,” the king growled. “Out with it!”

“I told you I knew Lady Alix. That she’s the one who healed me. But she is also a trained poisoner who served King Lewis and now answers to King Estian. She wants to serve you . . . or so she has claimed.”

The king’s face became pale with the news. He blinked quickly, absorbing the information. His cheek muscle twitched. “A poisoner?”

“Yes, my lord. There is more.”

“Did she . . . was she the one who killed my son?” he asked, his voice suddenly raspy.

“It was her,” Ransom said. “She was there at Beestone castle.”

The king glanced away. “There is . . . more, you say? You’ve already ruined my entire day. How much worse can this get?”

Ransom licked his lips. “Lady Alix . . . if that is her true name . . . this poisoner is also the daughter of . . .” Words failed him, but the king’s eyes widened with shock and understanding.

“Emiloh?” the king whispered in horror.

Ransom nodded. “I should have told you before.”

“By the blazes, yes, you should have!” the king thundered.

Ransom’s stomach shriveled. “I apologize, my lord. I discovered, two years ago, that she was the queen’s daughter. I also knew she was the one who had healed me. I had no notion that she was the Duke of Bayree’s niece. Except she isn’t, I think. I believe he took her in and claimed her as his own.” Ransom was talking too fast, so he shut his mouth.

The king stared down at the ground in disbelief, his face a mask of unspeakable pain. He shook his head, blinking rapidly.

“There is more,” Ransom said.

The king stared at him in disbelief. Shocked into silence.

“My lord. You should also know that she is Fountain-blessed. And so am I. I do not know what her powers are, but they are formidable. She has made me believe things that were not true.”

The king glanced around until he saw a chair. He went to it and sank down on the cushion, his shoulders slumped under the load of surprises unburdened on him. He stared at nothing, rubbing his lips with his finger, silent and thoughtful.

“I see now why you didn’t tell me,” he said finally. “You feared my reaction, and you were under her spell.” The king’s haunted eyes looked up at Ransom. “There are many deceits tangled into this mess. Is what she told you the truth . . .