Wooing the Witch Queen (Queens of Villainy #1)

Chapter 21

21

For her conversation with her First Minister, Saskia chose to be propped up once more against the pillows at as vertical an angle as possible. With Fabian’s help, she even managed to array herself in a crimson velvet dressing gown of appropriate magnificence.

“There,” he said as he tied the belt with a final flourish. “Now, you look like a perfectly terrifying and bloodthirsty queen ready to cut off anyone’s head at the slightest provocation.”

“Just so long as I don’t fall asleep mid-execution,” she said dryly. “That might lower the tone just a bit.”

“Not at all. It would only make you seem too, too, impressively world-weary, ” he informed her in a perfectly executed high Imperial drawl.

Saskia only snorted in reply… but she was still smiling as he politely withdrew from the room a moment later, and as she steeled herself to open the speaking box in private, she wore the dressing gown like an old-fashioned suit of armor.

Mirjana’s face popped up in the mirror almost immediately. “Saskia! I’ve been wanting to— oh. ” Her blue eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to her side of the mirror. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I thought I was meant to be the one with bad manners,” Saskia rasped.

“Don’t be flippant. You’re in bed, not in your office, and I can see for myself how ill you look. Should I send you a physician?”

“Morlokk’s summoned one already, but it isn’t necessary.” Saskia shifted uncomfortably against her pillow as the food she’d eaten earlier made its presence known with a stabbing pain in her wounded stomach. “I only need a few days to recover. There was a… small poisoning incident last night.”

“A what ? Saskia, if this is your idea of a joke—”

Saskia gritted her teeth as a new wave of leaden exhaustion poured through her veins, mingling with the pain. “One of the guests you talked me into inviting into my home slipped me poison. Believe me, it’s the last thing I want to joke about!”

Mirjana’s eyes flared wide. A moment later, she parted her lips just enough to say with cold precision, “Tell me everything. ”

Saskia hadn’t been anticipating quite how difficult she would find it to recite the bare facts of what had occurred, no matter how unemotionally she tried to present them. Of course, she had dealt with assassination attempts before. There’d been a time, when the tides of public opinion were first beginning to turn against her uncle—before she’d given in to Mirjana’s group of rebels and seized the throne for herself—when Yaroslav had made at least one attempt a month, although poison had never been his chosen weapon until now.

And yet, somehow, it still hurt to admit that, yet again, she had foolishly allowed herself to feel safe—that for all that she’d sworn to protect the kingdom against the next attack from the Archduke or her uncle, she hadn’t imagined it might actually come in this fashion, sneaking into the comfort and privacy of her own laboratory.

… Just as her uncle’s first attack had slipped into the heart of a different royal home.

By the time she finished her explanation, exhaustion was a physical force dragging down on her muscles. All she wanted to do was close the box and her eyes together and allow sleep to claim her. However, Saskia had learned, years ago, never to show any weakness in front of her former lover, lest it be held over her in future arguments. So, she held her eyes firmly open and her chin raised as Mirjana spent a moment in silent consideration.

“I have a few different ideas,” her First Minister said at last. “Nobles who may miss the old regime more than they claim—or who were hoping for more personal benefits from our new one.”

Saskia snorted, trying not to let discomfort show on her face as her stomach gave another painful twist. “You think, from now on, I ought to bribe my guests not to poison me?”

“Don’t be naive,” Mirjana said impatiently. “There’s a constant flow of bribery between every successful government and its highest aristocracy. The only question is how to manage the outliers with so many wolves circling at the moment, hunting for any signs of discontent. You’ll need to move to the capital yourself as soon as you’ve fully recovered, both to show off your strength to the world and to remind your nobles that you are one of us, even if your style is different from the norm. Start to hold open evenings at the palace twice a week, honor a chosen few by attending their functions, listen to complaints, offer favors, force yourself to smile…”

“I hired you to do all of those things for me!” Saskia could hear the petulance in her own voice, but with pain spiking through her weary body, she couldn’t summon the strength to hold back the words. “You swore, that final time you begged me to take the throne, that you would handle all of the public-facing charm. You said I’d never have to worry about any of it!”

“Oh, Saskia. I said whatever I had to say back then to save the kingdom. Even you must have known better in your heart! I’ve been trying for months, now, to spur you into finally accepting the role that you were born for—and just look at the result of your refusals.” Mirjana waved expressively towards Saskia’s side of the mirror, her cheeks flushed with emotion. “One of the highest nobles in the land just tried to murder you!”

“And you believe that’s my fault.” Saskia closed her eyes as renewed pain jabbed through her stomach. With all her might, she kept her expression unmoved, forcing down the pitiful whimper that wanted to emerge from her aching throat. When she finally opened her eyes again, her voice was steady. “Tell me, Mirjana. Do you think my parents were to blame for their murders, too?”

“Saskia—”

Saskia cut her off. “You know perfectly well that the same man was behind both attacks, no matter whom he happened to use as his go-between this time.”

Mirjana grimaced, sitting back. “Your parents were progressives, and I truly admire them for their principles. But your uncle built his support base by playing upon real fears within some of the most powerful families in this kingdom. If you want to push forward your own reforms—the ones we agree on, the ones we’ve always wanted—you will have to convince our people that those reforms, and you, are not a threat to their comfortable way of life.”

Oh, this was Winter’s Turning all over again, along with a dozen other arguments beforehand, the same debate returning in endless cycles without any resolution… but this time, Saskia didn’t have the physical energy for a screaming argument. More than that: as she took a painful breath, she felt the warmth and softness of the dressing gown around her shoulders like a reminder of an entirely different kind of strength.

Breathing slowly and deliberately, she took the time to gather her thoughts and control her voice.

She said at last, “Mirjana, I appointed you my First Minister because I agreed with your ideas for the kingdom and I respect your particular skills. I’ve hoped that you would come to respect my skills, too. But if the truth is that you’ll only ever respect my birth —if all of your plans from the beginning have relied on the assumption that you would eventually talk me into giving up all of my focus on magic to become a polished and inoffensive figurehead, ready to smile and wave from your side—then we have both made serious mistakes.”

“What are you trying to say?” Mirjana frowned, tilting her head. “You know, you really don’t look well. Perhaps we should discuss all of this another time.”

“Perhaps,” Saskia agreed, “but I need you to think hard about the future in the meantime. If you can’t work with me as I am, I will genuinely regret that, but I will accept it… along with your resignation.”

Mirjana’s head jerked back as if she’d been slapped. “You know I’ve only ever tried to help and guide you! From the very beginning—”

“I know that’s what you intended,” Saskia said wearily, “but I am telling you now that I will never choose to hide who I am for the sake of imagined safety. Like it or not, we both know I’m the only ruler who can hold Kitvaria against my uncle at this point—because of my magic every bit as much as my birth. So, you’ll have to decide for yourself whether it’s worth continuing to serve as my First Minister even with the understanding that I’ll never become the queen you always wanted.”

“The queen I… wait.” Mirjana’s gaze sharpened. “Are you saying all of this because of your librarian ?” She bit off the final word like a curse. “Whatever he may have told you about me and about our private conversation at Winter’s Turning—”

“He said nothing, but now you and I are most certainly finished for today. Good-bye, Mirjana.”

Saskia closed the lid of the box as gently as she could and surrendered, at long last, to sleep.

There were multiple wakings through the day and night, as Saskia’s recovering body alternated demands for soothing liquids, pain relief, and rest. Still, when she awoke late the next morning, the unmistakable sound of a fountain pen scratching against paper made her lips instinctively curve. She chose to focus on that soft, familiar sound rather than on any of the myriad physical complaints that had awoken with her—and she already knew what she would see when she opened her eyes: Fabian sitting once more by her bed, as he had for almost all of her prior wakings, taking industrious notes on yet another book.

… Except he wasn’t. This time, his usual pile of library books, awaiting categorization, was being entirely ignored as he frowned down at his own commonplace book, which was balanced on his casually crossed legs. He didn’t even notice her eyes opening; all of his attention was keenly focused on whatever literary challenge had led to such passionate bursts of writing—interspersed with so much crossing out.

As he slashed a line through his latest discarded attempt, he blew out a frustrated breath. The column of air was strong enough to lift one of the locks of thick brown hair that had slipped onto his cheek. At the sight, Saskia felt her heart squeeze tight with helpless affection.

“Are you writing more poetry?”

At the sound of her rasped question, he startled, ink spattering across his page. Then he relaxed and gave her a rueful smile beneath his half-mask. “I beg your pardon. Did I wake you by muttering to myself?”

“Not at all.” She shifted awkwardly against her pillows, trying to find her way into a comfortable position after sliding downwards sometime in the course of her long nap.

Without a word, he set down his pen and commonplace book and leaned over the bed to help her back into place, his arms warm and firm. As he carefully adjusted the pillows behind her, she breathed in his bergamot fragrance and curled her fingers against her palms to stop them from reaching out towards the irresistible warmth that emanated from his figure. His form-fitting wool jacket was so dangerously, touchably close…

“I like seeing you without your cloak,” she murmured before she could think better of it.

Fabian’s body stilled, but his face turned down towards her, eyebrows raised and brown eyes warm and questioning.

Saskia swallowed. Her whole body was aching, although the worst of her stomach pains had subsided; her throat still felt prickly and half-parched. And yet, as his body hovered over hers…

His shoulders rose and fell with a quiet sigh. Then he gently lowered her the rest of the way onto her pillows and sat back in his own chair.

Just as well. None of her logical reasons to avoid more intemperate kissing had altered in the last two days… but still, Saskia couldn’t help feeling a foolish stab of disappointment.

It all came from how natural Fabian looked in that comfortable wing chair set so close beside her bed; how carefully he touched her aching body and how he made her feel safe falling asleep with him nearby.

She was a pitiful excuse for a terrifying, magical queen, and she needed to shift her thoughts to bloodshed immediately.

She cleared her throat, ready to begin.

At the same moment, Fabian looked up, met her gaze, and asked, “Would you like me to write more poetry for you?”

Saskia’s mouth fell open, every gear in her brain lurching to a halt at the shock of such reckless vulnerability.

A sharp knock sounded on the door, immediately followed by Morlokk’s entrance. “Your Majesty, we’ve found your poisoner.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Bloodshed it is! With deep relief, she turned to a far safer topic of conversation. “Who is it?”

“He was posing as a footman for one of your guests, the Countess Markovic.”

“Who?” Saskia frowned, wracking her memory, but her librarian reacted as if stung.

“Did you say Markovic ?”

Startled, Saskia glanced at Fabian. “Do you know her?”

“We’ve met.” He grimaced. “I wouldn’t say I know the lady, but she is certainly… persistent.”

Oh, Saskia really would be happy to execute the woman if the discomfort in Fabian’s expression implied what she thought it might about that past encounter—and the word “persistent” was enough to finally unlock her own memory of grasping fingers, strong perfume, and insistent, purred demands for rare secrets to gossip about.

The idea of those soft hands ever grasping Fabian …

“She won’t have the chance to bother you ever again,” Saskia said through her teeth. “Where did you find her lackey hiding, Morlokk?”

“Actually, it was the goblins who found him,” said Morlokk. “He’d attempted to take refuge in their tunnels beneath the castle when the storm prevented him from taking a safer route.” The majordomo’s upper lip lifted in a sneer. “Needless to say, he was unable to navigate the tunnels unassisted.”

“Of course.” She snorted. “Bring him in.”

“Ah…?” Morlokk looked meaningfully at the crumpled nightgown she still wore under her faded patchwork quilt.

Saskia sighed. “Fabian, would you please hand me my dressing gown? And lay that black velvet throw across the bed?”

She couldn’t possibly hold up the heavy crown of bones right now—but she practiced her haughtiest and most disdainful expression to keep her emotions under control while Fabian spread the warm velvet across her legs and then helped her into the magnificent crimson dressing gown, tying its belt around her waist with care.

He looked up through his eyelashes and caught her gaze as he tied the belt’s knot. “You deserve poetry,” he whispered, too quietly for Morlokk to overhear.

Then, out of sight of the doorway, he traced the tip of one long forefinger in a tantalizingly light line over her dressing gown, just above the belt.

Saskia’s breath stopped in her throat. The trail of heat he’d left across her skin tingled almost unbearably as she stared at him. She couldn’t look away from his brown eyes, only inches away from hers, so beautiful and so familiar—and now, for the first time she could remember, lit up with an unmistakable spark of mischief.

He was teasing her!

She wanted to launch herself into his arms.

She wanted to pull him under the covers.

She didn’t have the physical strength to do either…

But the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway made Fabian rise and step back from the bed, his head respectfully lowered—and that damnable, secret half-smile that she loved tugging once more at the left corner of his mouth.

Oh, curse it! She’d work out how to resist this new, seductively playful side of her librarian later.

Saskia stiffened her shoulders, readied her magic, and prepared to meet her would-be murderer.