Page 21 of The Witch Queen

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replies, a shrug in his voice. “All my dealings were with her spineless excuse for a husband.”

I frown. “You never wrote to her?”

“Why should I have?”

“Because she’s yoursister?”

“And? She held no claim on the throne,” Callen reasons. “The best Margaret could have done was assist in trade relations or provide her husband with a few children. Sons, preferably. She didn’t even manage that. She was too busy hosting balls and making the duke miserable, I imagine. That’s probably why he died.”

“I don’t seem to recall you spending much time on kingly duties,” I comment.

“Because I didn’t have to bother with such nonsense. Iwasthe king. You, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “Is there ever a moment when you don’t fear you’re about to lose everything?”

His words press on a tender place and he knows it. I drain the rest of my glass in one gulp. “Go away.”

“With pleasure,” he croons. “And don’t fret. I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly with my sister. You make friends so easily.”

With that, he vanishes into the mirror’s glass. But the king’s grating laughter echoes long after he’s gone.

Chapter Six

Ayleth

“We cannot possibly need this much wine,” Joan says when Weston presents her with the latest bill during our planning meeting.

Princess Margaret accepted our invitation to the palace almost immediately. Her answering letter gushed about how excited both she and the princess are to return to Riven. It’s a good omen, I tell myself. I need Margaret to be sympathetic to our efforts. But no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake my anxiety over the impending visit. I stand at the windows of Joan’s study, watching the dark vein of the road snaking up from the White City. A crow calls overhead, its cry resonating against my very bones.

“You’re right,” Weston says, tipping his quill at Joan. “We should double it.”

“Double?” Joan repeats, incredulous. “Are you planning to bathe in it?”

“If the occasion arises,” Weston says, grinning. “Margaret certainly might.”

Joan rolls her eyes. “This isn’t one of your—”

“Give him what he wants,” I say, waving off her objections. “This visit needs to be a success.”

And perhaps if Margaret is drunk enough, she’ll be easier to persuade.

“Thank you,Your Majesty,” Weston says, bowing to me from his chair. “See, Marquess? The queen appreciates my expertise in such matters.”

Joan just presses her lips together and scribbles her name to the order.

“Oh, don’t look so dour,” Weston chides. “Entertaining is my personal specialty. Mark my words, within a fortnight, the duchess will be more than happy to agree to our terms.”

I certainly hope that he’s right. After all, I trusted Darnley and look what happened. Doubts knot in my stomach. I shove them down, focusing my attention on something I can control.

“Did you know her when she lived here?” I ask Weston. “The duchess?”

“Oh yes,” Weston says. He leans back in his chair, reminiscing. “Margaret wasfun.Always one for a party. And such spirit. Did you know, she challenged one of her suitors to a duel? Said she’d only marry him if he could prove he could handle hissword.”

Weston laughs, but such anecdotes aren’t much better than what I’d gleaned through Callen over the last week—an array of complaints about their childhood squabbles and Margaret’s pranks. I tried searching the library for more usable information, but aside from a few vague mentions sprinkled throughout the private records of the royal family, I couldn’t discover anything about the duchess. The princes, Callen and his brothers, were a different matter. Entire books were dedicated to the minute details of their lives, right down to what they used to eat for breakfast. But Margaret is like a ghost. Even her date of birth is a mystery.

“What else, though?” I press. “I’m not even sure I’ve seen a portrait of her.”

Joan makes a noise in her throat. “That’s not uncommon for daughters, unfortunately.”

“Why?”