**A/N: Welcome back!! To those who read the sneak peek in my newsletter earlier this week, you can skip down to the ~*~ for the new content!
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The next morning, I woke to blinding light and my mother's most frustrated sigh. Blinking and fisting the sleep from my eyes, I shoved myself upright. Mother was standing beside the curtains she'd shoved open, admitting the very first of dawn's sunlight, and her brows had flattened to match the thin line of her lips. She was already dressed in a severe navy gown that buttoned all the way up, past the scarring on her neck.
"What?" I managed, voice hoarse from sleep.
"What in Fate's name are you thinking?" she demanded, nodding towards where Nisha was grumbling awake and shoving off her blankets on the chaise longue in the corner. Mother went on, "Since when are you the type to take lovers, Thomas? I raised you with more—"
With a grunt, I swung my legs out of bed and fought a yawn. "She's not my lover. Mother, this is Nisha. She's a Bazeran warrior and ally of Frederico's, come to help protect me and ferret out Dulciana's spy."
Mother started to speak, stopped, considered Nisha with a lifted eyebrow. Both Nisha's shoulders popped as she stretched, then sprang to her feet, lithe as a cat, and sank into a curtsey.
"Good morning, your Majesty," she said in accented Pretanian, fighting a yawn.
"What kind of Bazeran warrior lets an old woman sneak past her while she sleeps?" Mother asked in accented Ardal.
"Since when do you speak Ardal?" I demanded, as Nisha's head jerked back as if struck. But a smile bloomed on her face as she reassessed my mother.
Mother fixed me with a withering look. "I had to do something productive during all the hours I spend surrounded by gossiping ladies. Surely you didn't think all I read is love poetry?" She didn't wait for an answer and instead turned to Nisha, crossing her arms. "Well?"
"I recognized the scent of your perfume, your Majesty," Nisha said, folding her hands behind her back. "Anyone else would have met my blade before they crossed the room."
I massaged the bridge of my nose, trying not to imagine the chaos that would've ensued if Nisha had greeted my mother with a blade to her throat. "Why are you here, Mother?" I asked.
She was still assessing Nisha, who stood perfectly, professionally still as if she wasn't the least bit intimidated to be standing before a queen in the loose, plain shift she'd worn as a nightgown.
Mother didn't temper the bite from her words, or her glare, when she turned to me. "You did a rash thing last night. Especially when your father is supposed to be handling this."
My jaw clenched. I forced out a sigh. "Yes, well, it would be nice if he'd include me on planning exactly what handling all this actually means."
"Thomas." Mother's tone held a warning. "You'd do well to soften your tone when you meet with him. He's going to summon you before breakfast, and I strongly suggest you mind your manners and explain yourself as quickly as possible. There's been a new development."
I looked up at her. "What? What's happened?"
Mother opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Good morning, Your Majesty, Your Higness." Father's valet bowed. "His Majesty requests Prince Thomas' presence."
I didn't miss the way the valet's eyes darted to Nisha in the corner, still standing in her shift.
"Thank you, Everard," Mother said curtly. "Leave us."
The valet bowed and backed out.
"Do not dally, Thomas. I am having breakfast with Adelaide and Libby," she said, sweeping towards the door. "I will do my best to keep her away, but Nisha should make herself scarce until we've—"
"Nisha isn't going anywhere," I said.
Mother's jaw set. "If you insist on maintaining this charade, then you ought to consider that a real mistress would sneak out with the dawn, not wander the palace to antagonize your betrothed."
She left before I could reply, and part of me disliked that she had a point.
"I like her," Nisha said with an approving nod, after Mother had left.
"Then we'd best get back on her good side. She has a point, so stay here until I come back."
"But what good am I if I can't even—"
"I know. But I can't risk them kicking you out of the palace."
Nisha huffed. "They can try. I'll just break in again, like a stubborn stray cat."
I sighed. "Let's see what my father has to say, and then we'll decide."
~*~
The halls were quiet in the early morning light that filtered through the windows. It was still too early for most except the servants to be awake, and I fought yawn after yawn as I hurried towards my father's study, regretting that I hadn't rung for Giles to bring me a strong cup of tea first.
But I hadn't been able to dally, not after Mother had mentioned some new development. Hope fought against dread's stranglehold on my chest, and both of them made it feel hard to breathe when I raised my hand to knock on father's study door.
I blinked in surprise when Andrew answered it. His eyes were circled, as if he hadn't slept well.
"Good morning," I said warily, glancing past him towards father's desk.
My stomach sank. A candle had burned all the way down, leaking wax all over the candlestick—a sure sign that Father had been awake through most of the night, poring over the piles of papers on his desk. Behind it, Father didn't even look up.
"Sit down," he said, quill scratching across the sheet before him.
I glaned at Andrew, who simply nodded towards the second chair set before the desk. A teapot had been brought up, but with only two cups that had already been poured for the pair of them. My jaw clenched. Only two cups, as if they didn't expect me to stay long enough to merit one of my own.
Calm, I told myself. I needed to remain calm.
"Mother said there's been a new development," I said, as I took my seat.
Father's quill paused, then resumed. "That is not why I summoned you."
"She's not really a merchant's daughter," I said, ignoring the uncomfortable twisting of my stomach and guessing at the real reason he'd summoned me so I wouldn't try his patience. "She's a Bazeran warrior allied with Frederico, sent here to—"
"I don't care who she is," Father said, his tone flat, quiet, and dangerous. I swallowed the rest of my words when he looked up at me, his eyes cold as steel. "I want to know why you're so damned determined to disobey me at every turn."
I glanced at Andrew, but he was focused on stirring cream into his tea. "I—I'm sorry," I managed, "But she's here to help. I had to—"
"Do you think I give a damn about some Bazeran warrior masquerading as a merchant's daughter to get into my son's bed?" I opened my mouth to protest, to explain that it wasn't like that, but Father shoved away from his desk so violently that it nearly upset his teacup and inkpot. "No, what I give a damn about is news of Germanian troop movements near the border with Kentshire and Umberwood."
I froze. My stomach dropped right though the bottom of my chair.
That was not the development I'd hoped for. Not in the least.
"Do you understand now?" Father demanded, his eyes never leaving my face. "Do you understand why antagonizing your false betrothed—the daughter of the Earl of Umberwood—is the last possible thing you should be doing at a time like this? A time when you're asking me to lend troops to a foreign war?"
I swallowed against the dryness in my mouth. Of course I understood. If we sent troops south to Ardalone, that left Umberwood, Kentshire, and every other duchy to the north vulnerable to attack by Germania. And in slighting Adelaide, there was nothing now but Mother's friendship with Sam Winters, the Earl of Umberwood, keeping him from allying with Germania. If he switched sides, it would mean letting the Germanians walk right across our northern border to carve off a chunk of Pretania for themselves. The exact war that my parents had fought tooth and nail to avoid before I was born. And now, because of my foolishness with Adelaide, I'd pushed my country even closer to the brink than before.
"We believe Germania's movements are meant to reinforce Dulciana's demands," Andrew ventured, with a careful glance up at Father. "If we don't send troops to aid her, then Germania will march."
My knee bounced as I chewed my cheek, trying to wrap my mind around the corner we'd found ourselves in. One I hadn't even though to anticipate. Obviously I'd assumed that Germania would side with Dulciana, but I hadn't thought that things were so tenuous with Umberwood that the threat of Germanian invasion was real.
"I refuse to trust either of them," Father said. "Germania's bastard of a king, Leopold, is not a man of his word. We send our troops to Dulciana, and I have every reason to believe that he'll march anyway. Which is why I've decided to do nothing."
"What?" I demanded before I could stop myself. Andrew rested a hand on my knee, but I threw it off. "What do you mean, do nothing?"
"I mean exactly what I said," Father replied. "We will do nothing. Ardalone can sort itself out on it's own. We have our own problems to address—"
I shoved myself to my feet. It felt as if the floor was dropping out from under me. I could barely breathe for the panic clawing up my throat. "You can't refuse! If you don't send—"
"I am the King of Pretania," Father thundered, shoving to his feet to face me down, "I will do what is best for my country. And so will you, or so help me—"
"I already am doing what's best for my country! Don't you understand? If Dulciana wins the throne—"
"If you want to do what's best for your country, you'll marry the Winters girl and forget about the one you left behind in Ardalone."
Father's words struck me like a slap, and I staggered a step backwards, knocking over my chair. Andrew leaped to his feet, a reassuring hand on my shoulder. But I shrugged him off. My hands curled to fists.
"I will not," I said through gritted teeth.
Father's jaw set. "Our country is being threatened. I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice."
"Then you're more of an idiot than I thought you were," I said, then pressed on despite the abject terror lancing through my veins at the white hot fury on my father's face. "Because you can't see the coup that's coming, can you?"
Father pointed a quivering finger at the door behind me. "Get out."
A bitter, mirthless laugh bubbled up my throat and escaped before I could stop it. "No. No, I won't. Because you don't see it. You don't realize how Adelaide is just one death away from sitting atop your beloved throne someday. One coup, and I'm next in line, meaning she's next in line. And you're willing to play right into their plan. You're willing to put your favorite, firstborn son's life on the line beacuse you're too cowardly to take a stand for once in your life!"
The words tumbled out of me as if a dam had broken somewhere within my chest. I couldn't have stopped them if I'd tried, and releasing them all felt like unleashing a pent up weight. I panted, fists still clenched, as silence hung heavily, dangeously, in the air. Andrew's brows had creased, his attention turned inwards.
But Father was boiling with rage.
"GET OUT," he roared, slamming his hands onto his desk.
Andrew's hand was on my arm, but I shook him off again, straightened my lapels, and lifted my chin. "You know I'm right," was all I said before I whirled and left.
Or fled, really. Because I wasn't surprised by the shattering sound of a teacup hitting the door after I'd closed it behind me. But I was shaking, and I barely made it around the corner before I had to catch myself against the wall. I sank down, unable to take another step, crushed beneath the weight of my failure.
Because I had failed. Utterly and spectacularly. Father had made his decision. He wouldn't help. Beatriz was doomed. And it was all my damned fault. My foolish, impulsive, love-addled mind hadn't been enough to save her. I'd let my temper get the best of me. I'd let my desperation win.
But somewhere beneath all the panic, a rising wave of anger shoved free. Yes, I'd been impulsive, but I'd had no choice. No one had taken me seriously from the moment I'd arrived. No one had helped me, so I'd had to help myself. Yes, I'd played into Adelaide's game, but I was doing everything I could to get out of it. And as much as I wished I could trust him to take care of things, I'd known deep down that Father wouldn't. Not in the way I wanted, at least. He'd choose the easy way out, the way that kept his beloved country safe, even if it meant ripping my heart out.
And there really was no denying it now. He'd chosen his country over me. I'd known he would—dreaded it, really—but there was some part of me, buried deep inside, that had held out hope that he wouldn't. That, for once in his life, he'd put me first. That he'd extend the same grace to me that he'd given to Andrew.
But he hadn't.
I didn't realize I was crying until the blur of Anne's blonde hair came racing down the hall towards me. She was dressed for riding, but her eyes were wide as saucers as she knelt before me, all of her swimming in the haze of my tears. She was repeating my name, but I could barely hear her over the sound of someone sobbing.
Of me sobbing.
** Looks like we're stuck in a bit of a hole huh? But did you really think it was going to be all smooth sailing until Andrew and Libby's wedding?! (I'm hoping you all know me better than that...hahaha)
As always, if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to vote and comment - I appreciate every single one! :) **