Allegiance (9 page)

“His Highness left it for you, my lady,” Sahdienne explained, eyes shining with admiration for my spouse. I moved to sit at my dressing table so she could add the finishing touch, crowning me with my gold-and-pearl tiara.

“Your Majesty…” Sahdienne sighed, enchanted by my appearance. “I don't believe I've seen a lovelier gown in all my life. The King is a remarkable man indeed.”

She began to fuss with the items on my dressing table,
straightening what did not need to be straightened, flustered by her forward remark.

“That he is,” I concurred, with a note of bitterness I could not disguise.

I walked with the seamstress through the parlor, dismissing her with my genuine thanks and assurance that her work was exemplary, then marched back into my bedroom.

“I'm terribly sorry to have upset you, Your Highness,” Sahdienne said, obviously believing herself at fault for my crossness. “I was too familiar before.”

“Oh, hush, you're not to blame for my bad humor. The King can take credit for that. Now help me out of this dress.”

Sahdienne obeyed, muttering additional apologies, then left me alone to examine the gorgeous gown that was laid out upon my bed. I would not wear it. I could not wear it. Suddenly remembering the necklace, I removed it none too gently from around my neck. Even I could not deny that these were magnificent gifts, but they came at a price. This was Steldor's way of gaining dominion over me. If I consented to put on that gown to attend my sister's birthday, he would expect something in return, believing he had won our odd little game. And I certainly could not permit that.

ON THE NIGHT OF MIRANNA'S DINNER PARTY, I put on a white chemise with long, billowing sleeves underneath a sky-blue dress with a front-laced bodice. It was less formal than the gown Steldor had commissioned for me but attractive nonetheless. Most important, it was as far from ivory and gold as I could get, and so was bound to clash with Steldor's attire, whatever it might be. I glanced slyly at my reflection in the mirror above my dressing table, delighted not only with my gown, but with my hair, artfully transformed into a bouquet of curls at the back of my head and crowned with a silver-and-diamond tiara.

Thoroughly satisfied, I left my bedroom and stepped into the parlor to find Steldor sitting on the sofa, his feet, in freshly shined black boots, crossed at the ankles and resting on the low sofa table. His eyebrows lifted at sight of me, but I met his gaze tenaciously, daring him to challenge my choices.

“Darling,” he said. “What have you been doing all this time if not getting ready for your sister's dinner?”

“I am ready to meet our guests whenever you are,” I
replied, tone cordial yet firm. I moved across the room to stand beside the door, and Steldor came to his feet, bemused.

“You're not wearing
that,
” he informed me.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You'll look ridiculous.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said, affronted.

“There's nothing wrong with your dress, or the way it fits you,” he clarified with a roll of his eyes, as if he were explaining the obvious to a simpleton. “But it just won't do.”

“And why not?”

“Your attire doesn't complement mine at all.”

This was entirely accurate and pleased me greatly. He wore black pants and an ivory shirt under a fitted gold-and-emerald-green doublet, an ensemble that made him appear annoyingly godlike, but which was very near horrendous next to sky blue.

“Then our garb will complement our personalities,” I retorted.

He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Go change.”

“I will not.” My hands were on my hips, my jaw set.

“Think of it this way, Alera,” he began, and I could tell from the glint in his eyes that his next words would be manipulative. “Everyone will assume that you planned our clothing for the evening and that you intended for us to look well together. If we go as is, you will be held accountable for this atrocious misdemeanor against the laws of fashion. On the other hand, if you change into the gown that I provided, I will defer to you, and you will be admired for your magnificent taste. The choice is yours. Either way, I will be
faultless. So ask yourself, would you rather take credit for an eyesore or for a work of art?”

His speech complete, he sank onto the sofa, stretching his arms out across its back, a grin spreading across his face. I had not thought this through, that much was evident, but now that I had commenced it, I would not give in to him.

“You could change. More easily than could I.”

“True,” he acknowledged with a chuckle. “But I look perfect.”

“Well, I'm sure you could look perfect in something else.”

“Oh, doubtless, but why duplicate what is perfect when one could improve what is not?”

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to close that infuriatingly divine mouth once and for all, and if ending his life were the way to do it, I was willing to take that step. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried again.

“If I change, my hair will be ruined.”

“You know, dear, something really should be done about your hair in any case. I told you to wear it down. And mind you switch tiaras.”

“We're almost late as it is,” I blustered, trying to keep my tone civil, though inside I was burning. “You could change more quickly.”

“Not necessarily. You already know the gown into which you will change. I would have to search for something less elegant to match the dress you have on, but still formal enough for the occasion. And honestly, have you ever seen me in anything that might go with
sky blue?
”

I fell silent, for as much as I hated to admit it, he had a valid argument. He generally wore dark or rich colors, nothing similar to my gown. I despised myself for what I was about to do.

“I'll wait,” Steldor said, accurately reading my expression.

I stormed back into my bedroom and donned the gold-and-ivory gown, which I was adamant I must detest despite its unparalleled beauty. I clasped the gold-and-pearl chain about my neck and almost brutally let my hair down, jamming the tiara of Steldor's choice onto my head. Then I marched through the parlor and out the door without waiting for him.

I quickened my pace in the corridors, reaching the landing of the Grand Staircase well ahead of Steldor. Recognizing—though I was not on good terms with the knowledge—that the Queen could not waltz into a royal function without the King, I waited irascibly for him. He sauntered after me, pleased at having been the victor in our trivial argument. His attitude changed when he reached me, however, and he extended his arm with a winning smile, slipping on his characteristic charm like someone else would slip on a cloak.

Scowling in return, I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, permitting him to guide me down the stairs and to the first-floor dining room, where our guests had already gathered. Lanek awaited us and, at Steldor's nod, stepped into the room to announce our arrival.

“All hail King Steldor and his Queen, the Lady Alera.”

I surveyed the small group of guests who bowed or curtsied before us. While I was accustomed to this show of respect, it felt strange for my parents and my sister to be among the crowd. Steldor did not seem to share my discomfort.

Lanek excused himself, and my husband and I moved into the room. Tadark, who had been standing with London next to the doors through which we had just entered, hopped after Steldor, while London stayed in place, arms crossed over his chest, back against the wall. It was customary at these kinds of engagements to devote one Elite Guard to each member of the royal family, even though the possibility
of danger was nigh on nonexistent. London was, of course, assigned to me, and I could only assume that Cannan had been feeling vindictive when he'd attached Tadark to Steldor. The baby-faced guard tended to be clingy, overtalkative and rather excitable, despite his self-proclaimed dedication to duty. In short, if trouble brewed, it was far more likely Steldor would end up protecting Tadark than the other way around; if all remained tranquil, the annoying guard was likely to drive Steldor mad. Elite Guards had also been assigned to the rest of my family, with Destari and Orsiett, who had at one time been Miranna's secondary bodyguard, serving my father and mother, and Halias, as always, shadowing my sister.

The lords stood next to the farthest of the double marble fireplaces that served the room, while their wives chatted a few feet from them. My sister and the younger guests were huddled in front of the large bay window that granted a view of the West Courtyard.

My parents were the first to approach to greet us, my father warmly addressing Steldor but offering only a nod to me, my mother dividing her attention between us. Steldor cast me a quizzical glance as the former King stepped away, but I ignored it, concentrating on my mother's lilting voice instead.

“I'm very proud of the way you have adjusted to your new role, darling,” she said, apparently oblivious to my recent eyebrow-raising activities. She reached out to stroke my hair, although I suspected her gesture of affection was a way to tame an independent lock without embarrassing me, for I had not glanced in the mirror after adjusting my hairstyle.

“And I commend you on your choice of clothing. You have not always had patience for fashion, but you and Steldor
look splendid tonight, and your gown is simply exquisite. You make a stunning couple.”

My mother had made the assumption Steldor had known she would, but I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge the compliment. She looked at me, slightly baffled, and Steldor spoke up in my place.

“Alera really does have impeccable taste,” he agreed with a slight smirk meant just for me.

My mother moved on, and we continued to offer a few words to our other guests in turn. The men would talk with Steldor, and the women would pay me generous compliments. Although I would not admit it, Steldor had been right to insist on a change in my clothing and was being rather gentlemanly by allowing me to accept the praise.

When the area around us began to clear, Baroness Faramay rushed to her son, leaving Cannan to follow at a normal pace.

“Oh, Steldor, my angel, just look at you,” she exclaimed, reaching to unnecessarily straighten the collar of his shirt. Her chocolate-brown curls fell across her shoulders, accenting the arrestingly beautiful features and radiant smile that she had in common with her son.

“Hello, Mother,” Steldor replied, a drawl of resignation in his voice. He crossed his arms, his fingers gripping his biceps.

“I haven't seen you since the coronation,” Faramay continued, adoration for her only child shining in her blue eyes. “And I do miss you so. I wish you would find time to visit. Surely your wife doesn't deserve all of your attention.”

She threw a petulant glance in my direction, and I wasn't certain if I should be offended or amused. Was she jealous of me? The very idea was absurd.

“Actually, Mother,
running the kingdom
has been deserving
of my attention,” Steldor said, and this time the bite in his tone was palpable.

Faramay extended a hand to brush the hair from Steldor's forehead, but he jerked away.

“Don't,” he snapped.

Cannan came to his wife's side at that moment, acknowledging me with a brief inclination of his head before placing an arm around her waist.

“Faramay, I think you've talked with the boy long enough,” he said, attempting to escort her elsewhere, but she ignored him and turned once more to Steldor.

“Come now, love, don't be cross,” she implored, laying a delicate hand upon his chest. “You know I don't have a head for politics.”

“Yes, of course. I forgive you. Just go.”

“But kitten…”

“Mother, everything's fine, but Alera and I have more guests to greet. Perhaps I'll have a chance to speak with you later.”

Faramay acquiesced with a sigh and placed her arm around Cannan's. Before they walked away, Steldor shot his father a disgruntled look, as though the captain had broken some agreement by allowing her to come near. Cannan responded with an almost imperceptible shrug, and I pondered what could cause Faramay to behave so obsessively toward Steldor. With a wave of empathy, I recalled that Steldor's younger brother had been snatched from his crib and murdered by the Cokyrians, enough to make any mother overprotective. Still, her pandering seemed excessive, for her remaining son was no longer a little boy in need of her care.

Steldor's charismatic attitude returned as Galen guided his companion, Lady Tiersia, to us. Steldor's cousins, Lady
Dahnath and Lady Shaselle, daughters of Cannan's brother, Lord Baelic, and his wife, Lady Lania, trailed closely behind.

Galen greeted me with a kiss on the hand, then he and Steldor fell into good-natured bickering, while the young women gossiped about recent happenings in the kingdom. Shaselle, bearing a close resemblance to her mother with hazel eyes and thick, straight brown hair, kept inching closer to the young men, apparently finding her cousin and his best friend more interesting than the rest of us. Tiersia's soft green eyes also flicked with frequency in the same direction, although for quite a different reason—Galen looked quite handsome in an amber-colored doublet. I was thankful to find that Dahnath, Shaselle's studious, auburn-haired older sister, had no more interest in the men than did I, and we conversed enjoyably for several minutes.

Miranna flounced over with Temerson and Semari in tow, attired in the iridescent pale blue gown we'd chosen. It seemed to float as she moved and was cut with a more daring bodice than was typical for her, another reminder that she was growing up. Her hair had begun the evening meticulously styled but was now coming loose, its coiling tresses framing her delicate features; somehow, though, her golden tiara mounted with shimmering opals remained in place. I greeted Miranna and her best friend with a kiss on the cheek, while Steldor clapped Temerson on the back so heartily that the poor boy took a stumbling step forward. My sister, excited almost beyond reason, easily became the center of attention as she chatted incessantly until it was time for dinner to be served.

When we moved to the linen-covered table, Steldor, as the King, took his seat at the head, with me on his left and Galen on his right. As the rest of the company took their places, I looked to where my father sat at the far end of
the table across from Baron Koranis and his wife, Baroness Alantonya, Semari's parents, an arrangement I favored, for it placed him as far away from me as possible.

Throughout the meal, Steldor was a perfect gentleman, charming our guests with his quick wit. I spoke little, giving the impression of a polite but reserved Queen and, I thought dryly, of a biddable wife. My mother smiled at me often, perhaps convinced that I had taken her advice to
give in to fate
and was, therefore, content in my role, even if I was not happy. As dinner drew to a close, my father caught Steldor's eye, then stood at the King's nod to make an announcement.

“My good friends.” He beamed, glancing around the table. “Many of you are my family, by blood or by marriage. Others I have known for so long that should justice be done, you would be counted among their numbers.”

At this, Koranis straightened in his chair, as though he and his family had just made an impressive rise in status.

“It is with high spirits on this nineteenth day of June that I announce our hope and intention to welcome the remaining guests into our family. Lieutenant Garrek and I have spoken, and I have granted permission for young Lord Temerson to court my daughter, Princess Miranna.”