Page 125 of The Favourite

Wymer’s head nodded. “That she did!” he agreed before breaking into noisy sobs.

Before Alisander’s fascinated gaze, the Queen rose from her seat and moved to the side of Wymer’s throne. “Perhaps—” she ventured uncertainly, but none of them were to discover whatever she was about to suggest, for with an anguished howl, the King seized her roughly about the waist and buried his face against her stomach, where he wept as wholeheartedly and unabashed as a child.

The Queen froze, hesitated a moment, and then reached down to pet his head. Alisander could not make out the words she was murmuring from here, but her demeanor suggested they were nonsense words, the kind used to soothe children. He was surprised Armenal even possessed the vocabulary.

All around them, the nobles were murmuring in consternation, unsure what to do. A good many lords and nobles were clearing their throats and casting longing looks toward the door, unsure if it would be fitting to make an escape from the royal presence before they were officially dismissed.

Lord Vawdrey climbed the steps to the dais. “If everyone could make their way out in an orderly fashion!” he directed firmly, and with varied murmurings, some thankful, others disappointed, the crowds began to head toward the door.

Alisander turned to face Jane but found Piers Winstanley now had her undivided attention. At his back, he seemed to have gathered all of the ladies-in-waiting who had managed to array themselves in full mourning garb.

Jane turned to Alisander. “There is a service in the royal chapel this morn,” she explained colorlessly. “The Queen’s ladies will attend the first mass.”

Alisander frowned. “It is cold in the chapel,” he pointed out. “Even with many candles lit. You must wear your mantle.”

“Will you be joining us, my lord?” Piers asked politely. “You will be most welcome.”

“I will not,” he answered more swiftly than regretfully. “Alas, I have official business elsewhere which prevents me.” He bowed, first to Jane and then toward the rest of them, then turned on his heel and walked straight into Oswald Vawdrey.

“Dear me,” tutted Oswald. “This is most unlike you, my dear Alisander. Usually, you are as sure-footed as a cat.”

Alisander narrowed his eyes. “You caused that collision on purpose, Vawdrey,” he murmured. “And nothing could convince me otherwise.”

Oswald smirked. “As it happens, our meeting is somewhat fortunate despite my crushed toes. I did need a word with you about something,” he cast around vaguely. “Now, just what was it about?” He wrinkled his brow.

“I am sure it will come to mind presently,” Alisander retorted, adjusting his ruffled cuffs.

“Perhaps you would accompany me back to my office?” Oswald Vawdrey suggested. “I feel sure the walk there will dislodge the memory.”

Alisander eyed him thoughtfully. “Oh, very well,” he conceded, just a touch ungraciously. He had a hundred things he should be doing, but truth be told, none of them appealed to him remotely either. By this point, his discontent was bleeding into every province of his life.

Vawdrey kept up a stream of desultory conversation until they reached his rooms of office. Once there, he exchanged a few pleasant words with his lackey Bryce in the antechamber and then ushered Alisander into his inner sanctum.

Once the door was firmly closed after them, he dropped all pretense of geniality and turned toward Alisander. “Well, now it is just the two of us, perhaps you would oblige me by telling me what the hells are you playing at, Bardulf?”

Alisander dropped into a chair and surveyed him cagily. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but I feel sure you’re about to tell me.”

“Do you mean to tell me—?” Vawdrey seemed almost lost for words. He started again. “You are completely jeopardizing your position here, Alisander!” he thundered at him. “My gods, I thought I could at least depend on you to play your part! Instead, here you are, skipping receptions, turning a deaf ear to intrigue, and practically ignoring the current political climate completely!”

Alisander winced. “I am aware I have not been employing my customary finesse—” he began.

“Finesse?” Vawdrey repeated incredulously. “You’ve been blundering about with all the delicacy of an escaped bull in the marketplace!”

“Well, I—”

“You’ve been setting people’s backs up, gravely insulting your fellow diplomats, and getting official complaints lodged against you left, right, and center!”

Alisander blinked. “Who the hells has lodged a complaint against me?” he asked incredulously.

“The most grievous one, you mean. The ambassador from Kloberg.”

“Hubair! That little fuck! No wonder he’s been avoiding me. Still,” he added in bewilderment, “what possible reason could he complain about me to the Karadokian authorities?”

“Would you please think straight for one minute?” Oswald begged, sitting on the edge of his desk. “I’m starting to think you’ve suffered a head injury.”

Alisander rubbed his brow. “He didn’t complain to you, did he?” he sighed as realization dawned.

“No, he most assuredly did not!”