Fit for a queen. She thought as Renna and Amalla helped her step into a laced, ocean and sky blue dress. “Does this one work, Your Grace?” Amalla, the youngest of the two handmaids, with her black skin like onyx, asked with a bow.

  “It’s perfectly fine, Amalla. See if Lord Durcy’s wife has those brown shoes she wore to Samosay’s Feast.” Amalla left the room with another bow while Renna finished Sophie’s face. White powder fluffing into the air, getting caught in the sun’s rays. They sat in a room off to the side of her bedchamber. Her bed was veiled, columns and arches holding the curtain. The elven marble that one could see in the past was covered by new stone pillars and gray stone walls. The marble was probably beautiful. Shame what they did.

  “Amalla told me that your parents are coming to the feast.” Renna said as she began to brush Sophie’s mahogany hair. “How wonderful for you.”

  “It will be nice to see them. They don’t visit as much as I would hope.” The queen said remembering when she would play in the palace in Udello while her father held court. Ducking under the legs of lords and admiring the ladies’ dresses. Her mother would swat her for disturbing the nobles. Eventually they sent her away to the old, but handsome king in Viguran to be wed. And just like a good daughter she followed through with no complaints. Renna applied makeup to Sophie’s cheek, usually done to hide the redness. “When was the last time you saw your parents?”

  “Years before I entered your service. They left Zhepatev to wander east and left me with my sister. Eventually I went west and found Viguran.”

  “I always wanted to go to Eotros.” Sophie imagined the huge eastern continent was full of new wonders and new foods and languages she’d never heard. “My father told me it was unlike anything he saw on Adedor. ‘A fog of mystery surrounds that place’, he told me.”

  “I don’t know about mystery.” Renna said. “Why was your father in Eotros?”

  “To treat with your king in Masa Naq. I was left in Aele with my uncles. My parents were gone a whole month, which is a long time when your young and have nothing to do. They danced some strange dance and heard instruments they’d never seen before. Ate spiced food from Saamrakaa; millet porridge, which my father said was surprisingly delightful; and heard stories of travelers in the east. Perhaps your parents were among those.”

  “My king sits the throne of Viguran.” Renna said in a show of loyalty that Sophie didn’t need. “Though I’m sure I can teach you a strange dance.”

  “My parents told me of boats that sail over grasslands, racing with the winds.”

  “I’m not sure of that.” The Masani girl said. “But I’ve never been over the Kii La’ar, the mountains in Masa Naq.”

  “That’s a long way away anyhow. Do you miss your parents?” Renna nodded and went back to work.

  They sat in silence, save for Sophie’s hair being pulled and yanked by the brush, until Amalla came back with brown, flat shoes. She lifted the large train and Amalla slipped the shoes on while Renna fastened a yellow armlet to her, then a brown leather belt. Stepping toward the mirror, she grabbed her silver diadem, with the light bouncing off the large sapphire, and fastened it to her hair. Renna carefully placed the yellow veil over her head. She was ready.

  “Where are you going today that you dressed in your house colors?” Amalla puzzled.

  “Just to hear some gossip,” and to see a certain king’s brother. Something her handmaids need not know. Guards stood outside her door, bowing as she exited her chamber. Slaves too but they were cleaning the dirt off the floor and dead bugs from the wall. That was something she still hadn’t gotten used to. There were no slaves in Terrop, servants yes, but not ones with chains around their ankles if they misbehaved. The worst her mother ever did to a servant was send her to a working mine in the Asara and the occasional whipping, but nothing as heinous as done to these slaves.

  Sir Achen followed closely behind her, his metal boots thumping atop the parquet. Lords and ladies littered the halls throughout the palace. The feast was still weeks away, but some had to come early, make alliances or trading compacts or gossip. Sophie kept her eyes down. Looks and whispers followed her as close as Sir Achen. He drew closer, putting a gloved hand on her back. “Your Grace, there is nothing to fear. You are not among the common folk of Vigur, but lords and ladies of great houses and ruling dynasties.”

  “Should I not fear them?”

  Rubbing her head, they went through a small door used only by slaves. Sir Achen let out a small sigh. “I want to remind you that I hate going this way, My queen.”

  “And I quite enjoy it.” The slaves bowed their heads at the sight of Sophie’s diadem. “All my life I was ushered down grand staircases to the applause and gasps of many a fat lord and pale lady. I would rather sneak about and keep some of my sanity.”

  Achen gave a nod. Surely he understands me by now. I spend enough time with eyes on me. You’re not the only one who enjoys sneaking in back corridors.” Her knight said.

  She played with the rings on her fingers, especially the one given to her by her grandmother. “I’ve yet to be assassinated,” she said knowing Achen would never let any harm come to her.

  At that moment glass shattered. Her household guard was in front of her with a knife, while a scream bounced up the stairs. A small slave girl cowered. A bottle of wine broken at her feet, the red liquid spilling down the stone steps. Achen took a breath and sheathed his dagger. The slave got to work, cleaning. Scraping broken glass into her hands, pricking her dark skin, the blood getting lost in wine. Sophie and her knight carefully passed her. “If the masters hear of this,” Sir Achen said, “she won’t carry another bottle again.”

  “Good thing they won’t find out.”

  The knight didn’t speak again. He stood outside the door with palace guards as she entered a small solar where five other ladies were present, her ladies in waiting, sipping on wine and eating goat cheese. When they saw her they stood and curtsied. “My queen.” They all said as Sophie sat, trying to keep the wrinkles from her dress. Quickly, the gossip began again. The ‘Queen’s Council’ is what they called it, where the whispers of sex and scandal spread as quick as ivy. It reminded Sophie of her friend group in Aele, when she was just a child.

  “I hear the Lady Daisa has rejected her marriage proposal, spurning the Lord of the Seeded Field.” Lady Abre Volles said, her violet hair wrapping around her cheeks. “Never as such a match been denied in the Flewthlands.”

  “I can tell you,” Countess Filra whispered, “I hear Daisa is with babe, fathered by a close cousin.”

  The ladies gasped. Sophie smiled but paid them no mind. Marriages of lesser lords and ladies did not concern her, she wondered what Ultiir would tell her today. I have seen him eyeing me more of late, and eyeing that crown. The king’s brother was always ambitious. Somehow he convinced Hurvir to raise him to chief consultant even though Ultiir had only ever managed his home of Goldfield with his mother by his side. The looks he would give Sophie were full of lust and hunger. She would merely smile. He had treasonous thoughts and she tried to pay them no mind.

  “Your Grace?” Lady Rila said. Sophie leaned in. “We were talking about marriage. Some of us did not have the pleasure of being here when you married His Grace, the king. We were wondering if you would tell us what it was like?”

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  The queen cleared her throat and drank some wine. “Of course.” She chewed off a piece of white cheese so she could think. “I was in Vallnioc when my father agreed to the betrothal. The snow had just melted away, and I was riding my horse through the dead flower gardens when my doma came to fetch me. It was magical, being whisked away to Vigur on a ship. The city was a marvel, in truth, I should have made a pilgrimage years before. Though learning your dialect scared me, it proved easy. Before I knew it, it was the day. My mother was ecstatic. She chose a beautiful golden gown for the ceremony, and Hurvir was so handsome in his red.” And old, and grumpy. “The high doma said some prayers and we were wed.” The ladies seemed to want more, but Sophie had nothing else to say. Later that night, just as her parents commanded her to, she and Hurvir consummated the marriage. Of course Hurvir could barely do that from all the drinking, and Sophie heard rumors of the curse that afflicted his seed. “It was the greatest day of my life.” She drank more wine to swallow the lie.

  The ladies fawned and told of their own weddings. Lady Betal’s marriage aboard a ship, Baroness Mara’s in the mountains, Countess Filra’s in the domaton. All sound better than mine own. Sir Achen knocked on the door before stepping in. “My queen, the Lord of Goldfield has requested an audience.”

  Sophie stood. “Thank you, my ladies.”

  They all stood and bowed. “My queen.”

  As she left she heard Lady Ficca say, “the king’s brother,” to laughing ladies, but Sophie kept her eyes straight and her head high. The ladies wouldn’t know she heard their giggles.

  “Where does he wish to meet, my good sir?” She said after the door was closed.

  “The river.” Her knight led the way.

  Having avoided the rest of the court folk, she made it outside. They kept their distance from the slave fields, where some of the food for the palace was grown and harvested. Instead, walking through the gardens. Elegant plants of every color known to man lined the cobble walkway. Oranges and lemons were being plucked by the cooks. Apples and strawberries drawing the eye in the midst of green. Even a rowan tree grew in the garden, a symbol of peace between Viguran and Rowan. Stone pines lined the path to the river.

  “Will you wait.” Sophie said to her guard.

  “And risk a slave drowning you?” He shook his head. “I do not want the whole of Terrop wishing for my head on a pike. I’ll come to the river with you.”

  “Good thing it wasn’t a question.”

  Sir Achen started to puff, but Sophie ignored him. She made sure her veil was resting properly. Her dress free of scuffs and dust.

  Ultiir stood along the shore of the Ritae. The river of death. The place Vigura led the first man to a peaceful, eternal slumber. The king’s brother wore his gold cloak befit of the chief consultant, his blond hair pushed back, the river breeze grazing it. His tunic weaved with golden strands that made shapes of wheat and grass. Prince of Goldfield. The ancestral home of the de’Tro family, and the title given to the heir apparent. His smile wiped away any seriousness that was on his face. Sophie paused to breathe. If Hurvir finds me … She let the thought die, touching her cheek that was swollen last month after Hurvir found out she had a dinner with a lesser lord near her dowager lands of Eiselton. He just wanted to trade, she thought bitterly

  “My queen.” Ultiir bowed. After she curtsied, he grabbed her hands and kissed both. “I assume you never expected I would invite you for a walk along the shore.”

  She wiped the kiss from her hands when he looked to the sky. Sophie took in the smells of autumn. The lingering scent of rain and mud, the smell of the crisp air blowing from the mountains. To the north of the river small villages dotted the valleys between Valor’s Cliffs, behind the city bustled, but the world was quiet by the River Ritae. “It’s a beautiful day. I’m grateful you thought to invite me out.” The sun felt good as the breeze from the water washed over her. The river reflecting the blue of the sky. “I wish to enjoy time outdoors before the dreariness of winter blows from the Asara.”

  “Perhaps a vacation to Ealna is in order?” Ultiir crunched some red and yellow leaves beneath his boot before picking up a flat, smooth rock and rubbing the edges.

  “Too muggy.” She said while a fisherman waved to the Prince of Viguran. “I miss my home. Udello is lovely in the spring, perhaps I will go there for Swallow’s Feast.”

  “We could go together. I have yet to see Udello. The furthest I’ve sailed the Ters-Veck is Awara.” Ultiir gave a pleasant smile. “I would love to see your home.”

  Sophie hated when Hurvir went to Udello, always making a drunken fool of himself, she didn’t want to see how Ultiir acted. “Lord Gofrei was adamant he be the one sent to Udello to bring my parents to the city. Perhaps you could go with him.” Ultiir rubbed his chin and smiled. Pulling on her belt, she looked at the mountains in the distance. Eventually the peaks wouldn’t be the only thing covered in snow and death. “Are you excited for your brother’s feast?”

  Ultiir pulled away. He bounced the rock across the water. “Excited to waste thousands of coins on one man while thousands of people starve?”

  So that’s how he feels, she thought as she went over in her head if her true feelings would be safe with Ultiir, or if trusting him was foolish. But Ultiir always looked upset when he would see bruises on her. The only one outside her handmaids who seemed to care. “I’m not terribly excited either. Hundreds of lords of who knows where and their lady wives all clamoring to speak with me and ask me when a son will be put inside my belly.” Ultiir opened his mouth to speak then closed it. He wants a son. “Why have you never married? If Hurvir and you do not have legitimate sons the de’Tro name will die.”

  Ultiir’s face turned red. “I’ve yet to find the right woman.”

  “There must be hundreds of women calling for your hand in marriage. Who wouldn’t want to be the wife to the Lord of Goldfield?”

  The prince took Sophie by the hand. “It seems the best women are taken.”

  Sophie knew she was blushing, but her parents sent her to wed Hurvir, not his brother, not an heir who might never be king. Pulling her hand away she said, “I heard Lady Rista of Clear Port came to Goldfield looking for a husband. What happened to her?”

  “She’s older than my brother.”

  “And I’m younger than you while being married to your brother. I believe your mother was around fifty when you were born. Is age such a problem?”

  “I was a gift to my parents from the Four. My mother calls me her miracle child.” Ultiir brushed his hair from his eyes. The river seemed to be flowing upstream. The breeze from the mountains made her hair stand. They walked on the short grass toward the wall that separated them from the city. The spires and peaks of the old elvish town peering over the stone. “What if my brother was never born? What if I were king? Would you have still come to Vigur?”

  “I think my parents would’ve sent me anywhere with an eligible suitor.” Maertan would’ve been nice, perhaps even Plajul. Away from all the happenings of the world, too bad my parents need me here. Need me to strengthen our line. “Yes. I would still have come here. Married the king.” It would’ve been better for her to be born a commoner than have to deal with this king and prince. At least her parents would ask her to fetch water instead of placate royals.

  Ultiir brushed his hand on Sophie’s once swollen cheek. “If you were my queen, I would treat you like one.”

  They grew closer. Their lips guiding themselves to one another. Sophie stepped back. “We are always being watched.” Sir Achen swayed in the gardens. “The court doesn’t need a scandal on its hands, and your brother doesn’t need to execute you for treason.”

  “He doesn’t have another heir. He would never kill me.”

  “The bastard. My son-by-law.”

  “A bastard.” Ultiir sighed. “My brother’s poisoned seed has caused many problems for Viguran. All his dead wives and their parents mad at the failed alliances, now a bastard who could start a war like Barnet the Bastard or Urses the Slayer. Who knows how many whores he gave a child to. If I were king this would all have been avoided. My seed is strong, I know it. My queen would’ve bore numerous children, male children, all ready to take over when I die. Now, Hurvir grows old and he doesn’t care. The fate of our kingdom decided by his cursed loins.” His blue eyes bore into hers. “I could give you a child. Something to be proud of. Make your father and mother and all of Terrop happy at this alliance, more than that failed marriage with the Rowai.”

  Her eyes darted every way. This is treason. But my parents would be glad for a grandchild. “No one can hear of this.”

  His fingers intertwined with hers, she didn’t pull away, praying to the Four that Sir Achen wasn’t watching. “No one will know. I will be king. You my queen. We will raise an heir and help the people of our kingdom avoid further war and bloodshed.”

  “You? King?”

  “The council is planning something.” His face was only an inch away. “You mustn’t tell anyone, not your handmaids nor your knights, not your parents, or even the gods.” Sophie nodded, but hoped he didn’t want her to play a part, she didn’t think her parents would be happy if she committed murder. “The king’s feast will be his last. That is all you can know. I am Lord of Goldfield, next in line to the throne. You will help strengthen my claim when some lords start to question if the bastard should be king.”

  Her breathing quickened but she knew Ultiir wouldn’t like her silence. “I don’t know …” Sophie began.

  “You are one of the most popular queen’s in the history of this kingdom, you feed the hungry, help the poor, house the vagrants. You’re more popular than the queen mother is, the people adore you, the ladies envy you. I need you by my side.”

  She nodded again to bring the conversation to an end. She didn’t want to hear how much this man wished to be with her. Already she had to deal with his brother’s mood swings and outbursts, she didn’t need another. “I must be going before anyone sees us.”

  Ultiir didn’t seem to care. He pulled her tight and kissed her right on the lips. His own were dry. “Tell no one.”