Chapter 11 #2
“Nursing my broken heart.” She steps so close that her words are almost tangible things against my lips. “I came to the manor with a proposal and a ring, Gabrielle. The earl said you were not interested in marriage to me.”
My mouth gapes open.
“I never said that.” I pause, expecting a sense of betrayal, but I know my father. “He simply dislikes you.”
Her laughter is biting. “I am well aware.” Then she kisses my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. “I am a duke now, and the queen will give her blessing to our marriage. He cannot overrule her. We can resume our—”
“No.” The word is but a whisper, so I say it again, louder. “No, Isabeau. My father has already answered. I cannot.”
“But there is no reason to refuse me! You enjoy dancing with me. I make you laugh. I can make you writhe in desire.” Isabeau sounds so baffled that I wish I could tell her why I must refuse. “You like me.”
“Like” is such a small word for what I feel, but I still cannot agree. The thought of her being cast into the role of Hunter sends chills over me. I do not think Father is right, but I cannot risk her safety. Gently, I say, “My father has spoken, Isa. I cannot.”
Isabeau frowns, although I know she understands. Disobeying one’s family in such matters is dishonorable and insulting to the family. “I’ll ask Auntie Mor to speak to him, order him to agree if necessary. We can gain his permission. At least try.”
“The queen is waiting, Maudite,” I remind her, because everything she says is true.
But another truth—the one she doesn’t know—still stands between us. I cannot marry her, not because my father said no, but because I am afraid that his belief that my duty would pass to a spouse might be true.
“Love . . . don’t. Don’t refuse me. The queen can wait. I know you stood against a monster and won. You are beautiful, passionate, witty, and not already married or betrothed.” Isabeau pulls me closer and brushes a kiss over my mouth.
I lean into her touch. I have always been weak to this tactic of hers, kissing away my objections.
I force myself backward, out of her arms. “Oh, Isabeau, you haven’t changed at all, have you?
” I huff in frustration. “What about what I seek? Where were you when I waited for weeks for your proposal?”
“I explai—”
“Stop. You gave up after one refusal. You gave up on me so very easily, but now you ask me to go against my family’s decree. You walked away, but you want me to fight for you? That’s not love, Isa.” Tears trail around the edge of my mask. “I swore I wouldn’t weep over you again.”
I race to the door, but I cannot leave without another word. “I am so sorry, Isabeau. This was another mistake. I should never have been here with you.”
I unlock and jerk the door open before rushing to join the crowd assembling for vows. I slow when I’m in the chamber with the assembled nobles and weave through the crowd to join my family. A few curious glances dart my way, and I fumble with my mask to make sure it is securely in place.
Rylan gives me a hopeful look until she sees my tear tracks. Then she reaches out and takes my hand in hers. I cleave to my sister like a raft in a storm.
In the front of the room, a man stands and reads loudly to the assembled group: “Failure to offer fealty to your queen is tantamount to forfeiting all holdings and assets.” One of Queen Morag’s people announces the selfsame words as at every ceremony.
I mouth the last words along with him: “Traitors will not be tolerated.”
Although I’ve never known of or witnessed anyone refusing the vow, I understand the reason for the rules. Faeries cannot lie, so no false vows are possible. If there were a faery hiding among her people, the vow would expose them.
As people begin to queue up to make their vows, the Duke of Maudite strides into the room and cuts a swath through the crowd. Isabeau doesn’t bother entering the curtained enclosure, and she no longer wears her mask.
“Your Majesty,” she says.
Isabeau waits until the assembled nobility is watching her, and then she bows so deeply that no one could accuse her of thinking herself above anyone in the room.
Such an uncommonly deep bow for a duke might prompt rumors, but so would the lack of mask or privacy.
Isabeau straightens and says loudly, “Accept my heart, my land, and my vow, Queen Morag. I am humbly your servant. No other queen before you.”
“So accepted, Your Grace.” Queen Morag looks at her with an implacable expression for a long moment. Then she nods. “Until next time, niece.”
No one dares to speak, but I have no doubt that whispers will come in time. Isabeau is always the center of gossip. It has been so for as long as I can recall. Now that she is the cursed, arrogant duke? Gossip will be on fire.
Then Isabeau walks up to me, bows almost as deeply as she did before the queen, and says in a quiet voice, “Our conversation is not finished. I have loved you for half my life.”
“Stop. Please,” I hiss.
I look past her, trying not to let my embarrassment show.
My heart sinks as I realize that Queen Morag is watching.
Worse still, she has an intrigued smile on her lips.
Of all the arrogant, foolish things to do, Isabeau chose this.
She might as well have announced her intentions, and if I were anyone else, that would be enough for the queen to insist on a wedding.
The Hunter, however, is not merely another royal.
In exchange for risking my life—and eventually dying—for the crown, I control my future and finances in a way that only a queen can.
I cannot be forced to do anything against my will, including marriage.
Isabeau may think she’s about to outwit me, but she’s going to learn elsewise if she goes so far as to seek an audience with the queen about me.
“My answer is unchanged, Isabeau.” I keep my voice low but firm. “You deserve joy, but you will not find it with me. My father’s answer is the same one I offer you now. Good day, Your Grace.”