this.
Myth cleared her throat. “There is a time to grieve and process everything that happened. That time is not now. Your father must be informed.” The words served as a reminder to Myth, too.
A smile briefly flickered in Arvel’s eyes. “Yes. Thanks, Myth. I’m glad you’re with me.”
His words convinced her she’d made a correct assessment. Besides, she didn’t trust herself to make a sound judgment at the moment, or she’d be tempted to read into things—like the casual way he spoke to her. Because common sense said most princes didn’t go around talking to their translators that way.
His uncle just tried to kill him, and his mother might have been involved, she reminded herself. He’s allowed to be goofy and do whatever he must to get ready for what awaits him. I might love him, but he’s the crown prince. That means I must understand that, for him, a new battle has just begun.
Arvel leaned forward slightly, peering past his father to watch for Queen Luciee’s exit from Haven’s palace.
Benjimir shifted on his other side, and past him stood Gwendafyn…a sword dangling from her belt.
Sending a message, are we?
He was vaguely aware that somewhere behind him stood Myth. He’d almost wanted to spare her this—seeing Queen Luciee again—before he’d concluded he was too selfish and he wanted Myth present just to have someone he cared about at his back.
Arvel felt a dissatisfying mix of emotions at the moment.
He was gleeful, because it was all over—finally.
After the attack, Julyan had been formally stripped of his title and sentenced to life in prison. The entire family had been denounced, removed from the ranks of nobility, and permanently lost the majority of their trading privileges. Queen Luciee—although claiming to be uninvolved in the attack that had nearly cost Arvel and Myth their lives—was to be quietly exiled to a small manor that was one of the many holdings the Fultons used to own. She was to remain there for the rest of her days, always guarded by an army fortification, and never allowed any visits from anyone besides locals.
The rest of the Fultons had been scattered. Their lands and properties had already been divided up and were now retained by the royal family until someone did something worth being granted a title and land. All of it was by Arvel’s design—King Petyrr had given him free rein in the judgment and made a public announcement that Arvel had also led the investigation that initially indicted the Fultons.
His father’s only request was that he be allowed to grant the Fultons’ largest mansion and the land that had been the seat of their power, as well as the Fultons’ town house. Arvel suspected one of the properties would go to Sir Arion and Tari. The pair had been instrumental to the country’s success for nearly a decade, and they deserved anything they were given. But he wasn’t quite sure what King Petyrr intended to do with the other property.
The horses in the front line of the massive army company that surrounded the waiting carriages neighed and pawed at the ground.
Arvel glanced up at the sunny sky and fought the inclination to fuss with the collar of his jacket. I should have known Mother would keep us all waiting until the last minute, and forgone my jacket. This summer heat is awful.
Two footmen opened the double doors, and Queen Luciee finally stepped out of the palace.
Her chin was raised, and her hair was perfect, but instead of the usual precious gems and expensive gowns, today she wore a serviceable, dark green dress designed for travel, and she carried a basket which held one of her beloved pugs. Arvel didn’t know when he last saw her so dressed down—probably when he was a child.
Two maids trailed her—each also carrying a basket that contained a pug—and they demurely followed the queen down the many stairs.
Arvel had to hand it to her—she had grit.
Even with the eyes of all the soldiers on her, Queen Luciee’s steps were sure, the tilt of her chin was proud, and she looked almost bored. She swept past King Petyrr without looking at him—though Arvel didn’t miss the way King Petyrr closed his eyes like a man in pain—and she seemed prepared to sweep past both him and Benjimir as well when suddenly, surprisingly, she stopped.
Queen Luciee turned to Arvel, her eyes as icy and cold as ever.
Here it comes, she’s going to let me have it one last time before she’s exiled