Conquering the Queen (9 page)

Cynric learned that Lady Fleur’s sweet countenance hid not just a strong will, but a deep well of hurt and resentment. The young lord her sister Rose had been married to after Xander was betrothed to Avin was no ordinary lord, but the object of Fleur’s infatuation.

For years, she’d blamed Rose and Avin for ruining her happiness. Now she sought revenge and status by netting a bigger prize.

On the day of the feast, a hunt was held for the noblemen while the ladies were given an opportunity to tour Windbourne now that it was part of a realm united under one king. Cynric quickly situated himself as the guide for Lady Breton, and arranged seating in the same carriage as Lady Fleur Breton. He was surprised when he climbed in to find not only Lady Breton, but Lord Reginald as well.

“I thought you’d be preparing for the hunt with the others,” Cynric said, but Lord Reginald waved him off. “That’s a young man’s sport,” he said. “I’ll see them off, but I prefer to spend time with the fairer company.” He chuckled. “And who could be fairer than our guest?”

“Few exist who could be fairer,” Cynric agreed, seeking to disarm Fleur with a compliment. But he knew it would take more than flattery to lower her guard.

By the time he sat across from her, Cynric had a better picture of a young woman he believed was as shrewd as she was beautiful. Lady Fleur smiled frequently, but the sweet innocence of her expression never seemed to reach her eyes, which were as cunning as his own.

She was also intelligent, and as the carriage moved through Windbourne, she was asking questions about Windbourne’s history and architecture. She already possessed a knowledge of the north that impressed not just her host, but a begrudging Cynric as well. It was clear she’d been studying the region.

“I find new places fascinating,” she said with a convincing sweet enthusiasm, “especially when they become part of the realm.”

“She is clever, is she not, Cynric?” Across from him, Lord Reginald smiled. Cynric inclined his head in the old lord’s direction. “Indeed she is.”

The carriage had turned down a street so narrow that the merchant carts moved to alleys so the royal carriages could pass. Here, the stone buildings loomed, and women with small children rushed to run alongside the carriage, begging for coins.

“Stop!” Lady Fleur raised her voice, much to the surprise of everyone but Cynric, who took note of her determined expression as she moved to exit the vehicle with her lady-in-waiting. He watched as Lady Fleur turned to the other woman, who passed her a large bag of coins. The entire procession of lords and ladies was forced to stop behind them; many heads poked from their carriage windows to see what was holding up progress, only to find the young, elegant noblewoman in a bright yellow gown handing out money as she questioned poor mothers as to the needs of their children.

Smart
, Cynric thought.
And ambitious.
He knew that it was not genuine concern that motivated Lady Fleur, but politics. By day’s end, every noble within the king’s earshot would be talking of how she’d reached out to the people, and how the people loved her.

Cynric felt his eyes drawn to Lord Reginald, who was staring at him, and he realized then that this was not Lady Fleur’s plan alone. The king’s father grinned at Cynric, his expression satisfied.

“It is soothing, is it not, Cynric, for the people to see a noblewoman treat them with grace after a long winter of ill use by a cold harridan?” Outside, a tiny girl with a dirty face and scraggly blond hair was pulling on Fleur’s fine dress. Fleur tried to step back, and when the child clung to her, she handed her a gold coin. Only Cynric noticed how the young woman’s expression changed in that instant. Revulsion replaced compassion as she turned her head away from the mother who’d pulled the child away, and she rapidly wiped her hands on a kerchief slipped to her by the lady-in-waiting.

With the coins dispensed and Lady Breton and her companion rushing back, Cynric inclined his ear toward the window, his keen hearing catching snatches of conversation between the two as they mounted the steps of the carriage.

“They touched me! I told you not to let the children touch me! When we get back, you shall draw a bath for me immediately! I’ll not be tainted by their filth!”

“I’m sorry, my lady… so sorry…”

But Lady Fleur’s expression had once again morphed into false concern as she retook her place in the carriage.

“Those poor people,” she said. “So starved for affection and caring. How could their former queen have let them be so reduced?” She sighed. “It is hard to believe that a man such as King Xander could have ever loved someone so cold.”

“Love is not always rational,” Lord Reginald said. “And sometimes we even cling to what is not in our best interests. It is the responsibility of those closest to us to work in our favor, even if it is without our consent, to shine the light of truth on the misguided.” He fixed his gaze on the advisor. “Those who would stand in the way of this light would find themselves in darkness.”

Cynric recognized a threat when he heard it. Lord Reginald was urging the advisor to fall in line, to conspire with him against Xander once more. But while he merely nodded to Lord Reginald, Cynric had no plan to aid the king’s father in this task. He’d promised not to betray Xander again through subterfuge; he would keep that promise.

For the first time, Cynric was finding his position a dangerous one. He was now more trapped between a good king and a kingmaker who sought to run it from behind the scenes.

Chapter Twelve

Although she realized Xander was busy wooing Ravenscroft nobles, Avin took some comfort in knowing where the king was. He’d told her roughly what his schedule would be—meetings with noblemen, a hunt, a feast, and then more meetings before the coronation.

“It’s a good day for the hunt.” Sal motioned toward the small barred window and Avin rose and walked over. From the tower she could see the rolling hills, the glittering streams snaking through the hollows between them.

“Yes,” Avin said. “I hope it is successful.”

This was, of course, a small lie. The deer were just starting to return to the kingswood. The villagers were able to hunt again. It seemed unjust for the nobles to take for sport what the people of Windbourne needed to survive.

“You can watch them ride out.” The maid moved a chair over to where Avin was standing. “It is a fine sight. At Ravenscroft, we used to line up by the stables—all us servants—and cheer them as they went. And we’d line up when they came back with stags slung over the backs of pack horses and footmen carrying trussed boars on poles. It was a dangerous business, and make no mistake. Lord Reginald’s favorite dog was once killed by a stag. There wasn’t a deer to be had the following year.”

“Why not?” Avin asked.

“Why, Lord Reginald was so angry over the loss of his dog that he vowed to wipe out the stag’s bloodline. Sent his men out daily to kill every deer in the Ravenswood.”

The older woman sounded almost proud, and Avin looked at her, horrified. “That’s almost too terrible to believe,” she said, but Sal only shrugged.

“Not if you know the man,” she said. “He is not to be crossed.”

Avin turned back to the window. Behind her, Sal was recounting other traditions she’d observed from her years in service at Castle Ravenscroft, and grumbling about how the Windbourne way was lacking by comparison. But Avin hardly heard her. She’d spotted the riders now, with Xander at the head. They were emerging into the courtyard from the stables, as the ladies in bright dresses spilled from the castle doorways.

One particularly fair one stuck out like a jewel. She was wearing a yellow dress, and her thick mahogany hair hung down in shiny waves down to her narrow waist. She walked to Xander’s horse, smiling as she went, and when she reached him, the king returned her smile as he leaned down and took the flower from her hand.

Avin knew this was simply a custom; the other ladies were also handing out roses to the departing hunters. But the kind look on Xander’s face, and the way her hand lingered on his—the way he let it—felt like a knife to her heart.

“That’s the Lady Fleur Breton,” Sal said, answering her charge’s unspoken question. “Her family has been close friends with the Gawens going back years.” She chuckled. “See how the king looks on her with such favor. But what man would not? She’s a jewel, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Avin said quietly. “She is.”

She turned away, unable to watch Xander chatting with the beautiful young noblewoman. Insecurity began to gnaw at her. She was no longer a queen, not even a noblewoman. She was a slave. She touched her fingers to the collar around her neck. Moments later, when she heard the thunder of hooves leaving the yard, she was glad for the solitude in which to cry. Sal had announced earlier that she had been asked to assist in some management of the other servants, and would see that Avin’s dinner was brought up if she could not do it herself. Knowing she was truly alone gave the former queen a rare chance to indulge in a bout of hopeless tears.

It was easier to cry when no one was watching. The weight of being strong had been such a burden. Xander’s control freed her from some of that, but fear of the unknown still dogged her.

Avin walked over to a chest and pulled out the tapestry she’d been working on. It had helped her pass the long hours on other days when Xander had been busy, and she was always pleased to show him her progress when he visited.

It depicted a patch of woods where they used to ride in Ravenscroft—a patch where she’d once run from him in search of some herbs she wanted to make into a tincture. That incident had earned her a hard spanking. Even now she blushed as she remembered the very moment when—although a virgin—she realized that the feel of his hard hand punishing her bottom awoke a pleasure that offset the pain of correction.

This memory led to others, long nights spent in his embrace, nights in which she learned how to please a man, and how to accept pleasure without shame or embarrassment. The memory of the first time he’d tasted her, how she’d struggled against the taboo sensation of his mouth fastening itself to her throbbing clit, which he gently suckled until she exploded with shattering pleasure. That had been just the beginning. He’d pushed her further, awakening her to the deep submission of punishments to her pussy and bottom hole. Once when she’d disobeyed him by engaging in gossip with some court troublemakers, Xander had marched her to the bedchamber, forced her to present her bottom, and spread her cheeks as he spanked both those sensitive places with a thin strip of leather. Afterwards he inserted the dowel coated with more nettle cream. She’d writhed on the bed as he sat in a chair watching the display of her bottom wagging to and fro, as if she could shake off the pain. Afterwards, when her body was covered with sweat and she was exhausted from begging, he’d fucked her and, shamefully, she’d come harder than she’d ever come in her life.

She pulled the thread through the fabric, running her finger down a tree that was starting to take shape. Avin had lost track of time, so deep was she in thought. The sewing calmed her as she reflected on their past, and on the past days. He did love her, and she loved him. She was just being silly.

* * *

By the evening, Sal had returned and Avin had completed part of the tree on the tapestry. She was putting all her embroidery away when she heard a rap at the door. Before she could respond, the door opened and she saw a guard walk in.

“The prisoner is to come to the hall,” he said.

Avin exchanged a nervous glance with her maid.

“On whose orders?” Sal asked.

“Orders of the king,” he replied. “She’s to attend the feast.”

“There must be some mistake,” Avin said. “I’m to remain here until the coronation.”

“Orders of the king,” he repeated.

Avin felt her heart begin to pound. She wanted to demand to see Xander, but how could she? She was in no place to demand anything.

“My wrap,” she said to Sal.

“No wrap. And she’s to wear this.” The guard held out a threadbare shift. “Again, orders of the king.”

“You’ll wait outside then,” the maid barked. She muttered angrily as she changed Avin, who stood silent in her shock. She did not understand what was happening, but told herself that Xander loved her, and would do nothing without her best interest in mind. If he’d given the order, there was a reason for it.

Once she was changed, Avin told Sal she could retire to her adjoining chamber, and went with the guard. He said nothing as he led her down to the dining hall, which was empty. She immediately looked around the room, expecting Xander to enter, but he did not. She was not taken to the table, but to a pillar by the fireplace, where she was pushed onto a straw-filled cushion and chained by her crown to the wall. No sooner was she secure than a door on the other side of the room opened and five hounds bounded in, sniffing Avin curiously before flopping down beside her cushion. One nosed her hand while another rolled on its back, showing her its belly. She could see fleas crawling through the wiry gray coat. She noticed something else, too; the collars on the dogs were fashioned to look like the one she was wearing.

She felt a wave of nausea, which only grew worse when, moments later, the lords and ladies began to file in. Avin’s eyes scanned each well-dressed guest, searching the growing crowd for any sign of her beloved master and king. She recognized some of the smirking faces from her visits to Ravenscroft. She could see in them the satisfaction of her plight, this comeuppance to the woman who’d rejected their favorite son. She was seized by a desire to hide, but she was out in the open, exposed, with nowhere to go.

More guests filed in. The numbers at the table overlooking her cushion grew. Women stared and whispered behind their hands. Avin fought back tears, wondering why Xander had ordered her to be here under these humiliating circumstances. Had the people of Ravenscroft demanded it?

Then she heard the laughter. Some of the lords and ladies were looking at her and pointing.