The Golden Queen (#5 in the GOLDEN series) ✔

•F O R T Y - T H R E E•

The Duke of Spestein was nowhere to be seen.

Did he lurk in the hallways, gathering last-minute intelligence? Was he checking in with soldiers, securing the perimeter, verifying all the confiscated weapons?

Something was off, and the ominous sensation grew more dire as Sébastien took her by the arm and led her to her throne.

He whispered in her ear, "Henry has disappeared," then plastered a strained smile over his lips, pretending all was well.

Nothing was well. One meager detail—Henry's absence—was enough to destabilize the fragile objective for the evening, shifting Marguerite's confidence from low to nonexistent.

Peering into a crowd of folks she didn't know—and wasn't sure she wanted to—she feigned a weak grin, begging her stomach to stop gurgling. Someone among these visitors was against her. He or she paraded about in her favor, when in fact Cornelius had bought them, drawing them into a murder plot against the crown.

She was too dizzy to sit, her eyesight blurry from the dazzling jewels decorating head-gear, bodices, gown hems, wrapped around wrists and fingers—

"Maggie," said Sébastien, fixing the cluster of guests, "Henry was to speak. You must open the ball in his place."

Scouring attendees—and not spotting the devil Duke who wanted her dead, and his red-headed witch of a wife—she sucked in a breath and drew a step forward, to the edge of the dais.

Unrehearsed speeches were something she'd have to get used to, but a nervous fluttering erupted in her gut, reminding her of the day she'd announced her brother and mother's deaths.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, friends, newcomers, partners, future allies—welcome. Thank you for joining us tonight." Her lungs tightened, and every extremity swelled. "We gather this evening for introductions, overflowing beverages, and baked goods. For dancing and discussions, and to broker peace, to fortify our country against external attacks."

With no notion of Henry's speech, she sensed her improvisation skills running dry as she ran out of things to say. Without deeper knowledge of these people, how was she to shock them into showing their true faces?

"Tonight, we discard all hatred and grudges. I ask you all to refrain from violent thoughts or disturbing opinions, and I urge you against forging inappropriate alliances. We will deal with issues later; this evening, we celebrate."

Sébastien snuck a glass of yellow-tinted wine into her hand, and urged her to raise it. "Toast them," he mumbled, turning to the audience with another fake smirk.

"A toast; to your health, your happiness, and a prosperous future!"

A chorus of "long live Queen Marguerite!" echoed out, and warmed her heart for a few seconds.

Lowering into her seat, she glared at the doors, praying they'd burst open and Henry would stroll in, sporting some silk emerald coat or a pair of bright pink breeches, clapping at her speech, chuckling as if he'd stopped the end of the world with a wink.

But he never came. Instead, the herald popped up as her people lined up before the dais to formally introduce themselves, or request to be a contender.

Marguerite set her sweaty, gloved hands onto the throne's armrests. "Come forth."

The first man sashaying up to her was one she'd hoped not to meet so soon. "The Marquess of Tegrary!" yelled the herald, as the nobleman removed his charcoal hat and bowed. His peppered hair matched his twirling mustache, and though he was short, he was stout, strongly built.