The Debutante (Season Series #2)

Chapter 46: A Conniving Queen

**A/N (Jan 2017): To those of you reading this with The Heiress Queen in mind, please note that this chapter has NOT been edited to reflect the plot of The Heiress Queen. That story took a few turns from how I'd originally plotted it, which means that parts of this chapter might not make sense. I hope to get to editing it at some point, but for now please ignore the plot and continuity errors that don't line up with The Heiress Queen. Thanks :)**

The silence stretched between the monarchs in the royal apartments, the clinking of the king's silverware the only sound in the room. The queen stared at him, wondering how she hadn't realized that her husband had become so cruel. She'd left Andrew and Elizabeth to themselves, cancelling the celebratory dinner that had been planned for that night. Princess Dulciana had already fled the palace, while Adelaide Winters would surely be unwilling to participate in such a farce if she thought that Andrew and Elizabeth were already engaged. The entire day had turned into a great mess and she was staring at the man responsible.

"You should eat," the king said flatly, glancing at his wife's untouched plate.

"I'd like to read the treaty," the queen said, still staring at him with the same intensity as when she'd silently taken the seat opposite him. With a sigh, the king set down his cutlery and looked across the table at her, her face glowing in the candlelight. For a brief moment, the flickering shadows smoothed the fine lines on her face, bringing him back to their first dinner together in this suite, a pair of young newlyweds who barely knew one another.

He'd chosen her because she was practical and quick-witted. Well, practical, quick-witted and beautiful, if he was being honest. She had a kind heart, which was an asset not a single member of the royal bloodline possessed. As a pragmatic crown prince, he'd chosen her to help soften the hard edges his crown was forcing upon him.

Seeing her now, in this light, after what he'd done to Andrew, he wondered whether she had softened those edges of his at all.

"Why?" the king asked, more curious than combative.

"Because I refuse to force my son to marry some entitled brat of a princess when he's already proposed to someone else," she said. The king's jaw muscle pulsed.

"I've had enough of an earful from our son about that meddlesome girl and I-" he started.

"Then give me the treaty," the queen interrupted, "I'm not interested in arguing with you, I'm interested in what you signed and why. Perhaps upon reading it I'll understand whether you've turned into your father or not."

The king regarded his wife thoughtfully, the barb she'd tossed his way barely glancing off his ego. He'd been thinking the exact same thing all afternoon, wondering whether his treatment of his favourite son had anything to do with the way his own father had treated him. True, he'd been allowed to choose his bride, but his mind hadn't been clouded by useless things like feelings. He'd chosen Isabelle because she cemented their alliance with the wayward Fontaine family, drawing their sizeable estates back from the brink of an alliance with Daesland to the east. It was only after they were married that he realized how brilliant his wife truly was, which was why he now attempted to follow her train of thought in order to reveal her true motive.

The queen held her husband's gaze, hoping he wouldn't read too much into her request. She would play the part of the affronted mother, angry with him because he'd hurt their son. He didn't need to know that she was seething with anger, hating him for taking yet another step towards becoming his tyrant of a father.

"You told me she wasn't fit to marry him," he said, "Why are you bothering yourself with this when it's already signed and sealed?"

"Because I've changed my mind about her. I witnessed his proposal, Graham, three of us did. You know that makes it as legal and binding as any treaty, even if you won't admit it," she said, struggling to keep the edge from her voice. If their conversation deteriorated into a shouting match, any hope for Andrew's happiness was lost. She could afford to bite her tongue if it meant saving her eldest son from an arranged marriage he didn't deserve.