The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,102
do you suppose?”
“I told you, dear, the doctor assured me it is not,” he says calmly.
The fan shakes even faster. “Oh dear. I do hope it’s not . . . foul play . . .”
“People do get ill,” the duke says, dismissing her.
“I suppose you’re right. Terribly disappointing.” The duchess hands her yapping pup over to a footman and brushes hair off the front of her gown.
“Honestly, don’t you know better by now?” the duke says to her.
“Oh, hush,” she says. “Let’s go or we’ll be late!” She takes a long look at Cal. “Well, don’t you make a fine knight in shining armor, oh my!” She pats his shoulder with her fan on her way past him to the door. “And, Lady Lila, you look positively . . . interesting.”
The couple exits ahead of Cal and Shadow and climbs into the first waiting coach.
Once they’re settled in their own carriage and the clopping of hooves covers their voices better, Shadow whispers: “What do you think about the ambassador?”
“Certainly suspicious.”
“Do you think he was poisoned?”
“It’s possible. But I think it’s more likely he’s using illness as an excuse, like we did. Maybe he thinks it will be easily believed because it will seem like he caught it from us.”
“Not sure what to make of ‘the doctor assures me it’s not contagious.’”
Cal shrugs. “We don’t have enough information. And right now, it isn’t our concern. You need to get King Hansen to talk. Dance with him. See what you can find out, who is close to him. I think he’ll like dancing with you a lot more than me.”
“I’m not so sure about that. You look awfully dapper tonight, Lord Callum. I think you could loosen anyone’s lips.”
“Even yours?” he asks.
She turns toward the window, pink spreading across her cheeks.
* * *
THEIR CARRIAGE DRIVES UP the lane leading to King Hansen’s castle. It’s illuminated by torches all the way up to the curved approach in front of the entry. They pull up behind other carriages and wait their turn to exit and go inside. Footmen rush to open carriage doors, while royal guards stand outside the doorway. Yellow light spills out onto the front steps.
Finally, it’s their turn. A footman opens the coach door and Cal steps out. He turns and offers his gloved hand to Shadow. As she emerges, people stop to stare, dazzled by her beauty. Shadow seems not to notice, but Cal does, feeling a surge of pride at being her escort. She is mine, he thinks, before he can stop it.
The palace has been transformed since the last time they were there for the weekly audience. For one thing, it’s much more crowded, though Cal can’t tell if there are more people or if the elaborate gowns and capes are taking up all the space. There are thick green flowered garlands strung over every window and doorway. Tables are covered in shimmering white tablecloths that are accented in thin gold and silver thread. Urns of flowers are set up in every corner and at every table, along with gold candelabras holding bright white tapered candles. Blazing chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling, and hanging gems glitter in the firelight. A fire roars in the giant hearth. Musicians wearing green and white play merry tunes while guests dance or gather in groups, talking and laughing over plates heaped with food. A chef carves fresh meats from a spit in an adjoining room while footmen pour bottles of the finest Argonian wine into long-stemmed glasses.
King Hansen, in head to toe gold brocade and white lace, glides across the dance floor with a flaxen-haired maiden in a flouncy mint-green gown, one of the higher-ranked noblemen’s eligible daughters. “I wonder if that’s her,” Shadow says to Cal. “The one he’s meant to marry?”
He shakes his head and points to a line forming on the other side of the dance floor. At least a dozen similar-looking aristocratic young women stand there, waiting for a chance to dance with the king. It’s already clear they can’t get near Hansen. “Every woman in Mont wants a turn