Royal Fools

XII. Then Came the Storm

She rose on her elbow, closing her eyes against the dizziness. "Why was I crying?"

"Your words were garbled. I couldn't catch a thing."

Florence moaned, falling back into the pillow. "Have you broken fast?"

"No. Henry is still cooking."

She frowned. "Where's Emory?"

"He left very early with two of the guards."

She sat up. "To where?"

"We don't know. Henry said it's official business."

"But isn't the roads unsafe?"

"Henry said he knows the terrain better than anyone." Lucy suddenly joined her in bed with an excited smile. "I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"I strongly believe that the king is starting to like you."

She frowned, remembering his scowling face in the tree house. And she was certain, although the details are quite foggy in her brain, that his face looked dangerously furious when he got up and left her outside the manor. "Why do you say so?" she asked.

"I tested him, of course. I suggested a match between you and Henry and he didn't like it. He was definitely jealous." Lucy giddily grabbed her hands. "Maybe the only thing that's stopping him is he thinks you're not Florence. In his mind, it's wrong to like the cousin of his betrothed. Mayhap, if we tell him the truth, he'll—"

"He'll kill me."

"No, he'll be angry, but then he'll forgive you." Lucy squeezed her hands. "Let's test my theory some more before telling the truth."

Florence winced, because her confidence had started to wane in the past few days. She grew to like Henry and the friendship they built, and she learned a lot about Emory—What he liked, what he hated the most—and based on those, she was quite convinced she would never be the queen he'd want. She was already contemplating giving up. Leave Sutherland and escape somewhere else.

But now this? A spark of hope? She hated hoping, because that was everything she did since she was young. "You really think he can like me?"

"Flo, I think he already does."

Impossible. But for the first time since they arrived, she was finally seeing some optimism in Lucy. Mayhap her cousin was seeing something she couldn't and she should believe it.

Emory didn't return that afternoon, nor that evening. They waited for him, even worried, but Henry assured them the following morning that of all that he was good at, Emory was best at traveling through the snowy Birchfield road. "Trust me on this," he said. "That man can reach Birchfield even with his eyes closed." When they continued to stare, he belatedly added, "Apart from the king, of course." Florence bit into a smile as Henry struggled to explain. "As the king's closest adviser, he frequented this place numerous times."

Afternoon came and there was still no sign of Emory. However, just as they were to retire for bed that night, they heard the horses from outside. Florence rushed to the window and ran downstairs with Lucy, throwing coat over their nightdress. Henry was already waiting in the hall when they arrived.

"See?" he told them. "He's back."

The door opened and Emory's eyes landed on Florence first. Then, with his deadpan eyes, his eyes jumped to Henry. "We need to talk."

Without much of a word, he brushed past the two ladies. Henry shrugged before following his cousin to the library.

"Well, he's apparently alive and well," Lucy said. "You can rest easy now."