Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 4: Questions

Sabine shifted on the bumpy straw-filled pallet, and pretended to absorb herself in the menial task of braiding her hair. She made a show of brushing it and restarted the plait twice as if it wasn't already satisfactory. She was biding time, to collect herself. Her mind was fuzzy and her body exhausted, little aftershocks still shaking her every time she squeezed her legs. She wished for nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but was well aware that this devilish man wouldn't allow it.

She had to recover her wits, and fast, if she wanted to outplay him. Her capture and interrogation had long been anticipated; she had known the odds were not in her favor when she agreed to lend her name and face to the rebellion against tax collectors. She had no delusion that she could resist if tortured, which was why they had devised a plan that would allow her to speak the truth without compromising her followers. This was what she had to sell to the courtier, in a way that would convince him she was entirely sincere. Then, maybe, she might be granted a swift and pain free death.

Roland waited patiently. Some things couldn't be rushed. The more she delayed, the more her fear would grow. It would be half of his work done. The angst of the horrors that could be inflicted was often sufficient to get the weakest ones to talk, and she didn't strike him as very strong. Stubborn, without doubt, but not strong. The executor would have her broken into a wailing ragdoll in no time. And while the King was usually reluctant to treat women harshly, he might make an exception for this one should she defy him.

Something Roland would rather avoid. It would count as a failure on his part, one that would have forced Louis to break character, and this kind of offense might cause Roland to fall out of grace. He could be banished from court, which would not only hurt his career, but also hinder his revenge. And this definitely could not happen.

Finally, Sabine tied the ribbon and put down the brush. She raised her head and met his eyes. "If we must talk, may I have a drink first? My throat is dry."

"Your wish is my command, mademoiselle," Roland fetched a tankard and filled it, presenting it to her with a gallant bow. While she drank, he turned his desk to face her and prepared ink and paper.

Sabine took her time quenching her thirst, but there was just so long one could stretch swallowing down a half-pint of water. When she put the pewter vessel down, she still wasn't fully ready. Well, she would have to make do.

Quill in hand, Roland waived at one of the many documents spread in front of him. "Let me start by recounting the events that led you here. I want to present his Majesty with the most accurate tale of your story. Feel free to interrupt me if I am wrong."

She nodded, although she didn't see the point. It wouldn't change her fate.

"Two years ago, you were pulled out of the Ursulines' Convent, where you were schooled, and returned to your castle to assist your father, Jean de Brissard, Baron de Veaulmes on his death bed. How old were you?"

Sabine frowned. How was that important? Yet answering his question would build his trust, and so she did. "I was seventeen, monsieur."

The quill squeaked on the paper as he took note. "After the funerals, you found yourself a wealthy heiress, as your parents' sole surviving child. I understand that your older brother was killed in King Henry's service?"

Another nod. She had no memories of Bertrand, she had been a toddler at the time. After five miscarriages, her mother had lost hope of carrying another pregnancy to term, until Sabine's birth.

Roland underlined the part about her brother. It might influence the King in her favor; Louis notoriously worshipped the memory of his father. "Your mother, née Marguerite de Meronge, had died in a hunting accident three years prior. It is very sad indeed. How comes you were not betrothed? Seventeen is a marriageable age, and with your wealth and figure, there should have been no shortage of suitors."