Chapter 18 Behind Closed Doors
Chapter eighteen
Behind Closed Doors
Nelanta, the next morning
Lark followed Luke and the rest of the team into the lobby, making sure to wipe her boots on the mat.
Urgency sent them straight to the Capitol without time to shower or change clothes.
Glancing up at the high ceiling and impressive curved staircase, Lark recalled the first time she’d entered the room—uninvited, battling her way in, vaulting walls, and flipping past security.
The front guard must have remembered her, as he gave the team a wide berth.
It still felt unreal to be standing in such a grand house, the one where matters of national importance were decided.
“Captain Moreau.” A clerk made haste to meet them amid the buzz in the hall. “Queen Frost said for y’all to report to the war room as soon as you arrived.”
“Thank you,” Luke answered. “I know the way.”
He removed his cap and tucked it into his belt.
Lark and the others followed his example, Lark finger-combing the wave of hair sticking up from her fade.
She had hoped to look better the next time she saw Azaleen.
A surge of nerves fluttered in her stomach at the thought.
They hadn’t spoken since that glorious night spent together, and Lark was uncertain how the queen felt.
Does she have regrets? Does she still want me?
Squaring her shoulders, Lark ascended the stairs behind Luke and Skye, directing her thoughts toward rescuing the general. The mission comes first.
Chief of Staff Fontaine opened the door, and the team stepped in, lining a paneled wall opposite a row of windows. While fresh air circulated, it couldn’t wash away the tension clinging to the massive, carved table map, nor the strain weighing on each advisor.
“The news isn’t all bad,” said General Stark.
“Major Williams confirmed that over half of Fort Calder’s troops have regrouped twenty kilometers east of the battleground.
They might have lost their artillery, but Major McKinley and half the cavalry made it to the rendezvous.
He estimates ten thousand Republic casualties—fifteen percent of the invasion force—and they haven’t even reached a target yet. ”
“Still, General Calder’s loss marks a tremendous blow to morale,” said an older Black woman in a colorful kaftan with beads and a locket around her neck. Lark only knew the general and Ambassador Navarro.
“I understand that.” Another woman, this one White with glasses, a sharp tone, and a strict gray suit, glared at the free-styling Black woman.
“But we have no money for a ransom, if that’s what President Irons is after.
The treasury is empty, Rosalind, a fact you never seem to accept.
We are so overextended that we can’t make the military payroll until we collect export revenue from next month’s cotton harvest.”
“That is, if we’ve regained control of Fort Hammond by then,” grumbled a lanky Black man in a cowboy hat, a boot propped over his knee.
Azaleen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. A servant entered with a tray of fruit water. “Your Excellency,” he said, offering it to her. She lifted a glass and motioned for everyone else to take a drink.
“I have all confidence in Fleetmaster Dawnriver.”
Pride swelled in Lark’s chest at Azaleen’s voice of authority, quelling all objections.
“The AlgonCree Navy will drive the Republic from our waters in due time. As long as our soldiers are well-fed and hailed with the respect they deserve, they won’t abandon their duty.
We’ve all had to wait for pay before. Verdancian patriots aren’t mercenaries for hire.
They’re made of tougher stuff. What concerns me most is our shortage of ammunition.
Majors Williams and McKinley can’t wage more attacks until their supply of bullets is replaced. Secretary Shaw? Vera?”
“There are the crates we retrieved from that vault last week.” The tall, dark man shifted his foot to the floor.
Secretary Shaw, I presume, Lark reasoned. She sipped her drink—peach water. Refreshing.
“Have them sent to Fort Calder’s troops in the field,” the queen commanded, “with an experienced escort. Avoid choke points.”
He nodded.
“The only ammunition crates remaining in Nelanta are on reserve for the five thousand national guardsmen and are our last line of defense,” said General Stark. “But we can be creative, isn’t that right, Captain Moreau?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied with a smart nod.
“So far, we still hold all our positions except those on the Gulf Coast,” Azaleen stated. “We are still on solid ground. Everyone, do your jobs. Come up with ideas. Think outside the box. General, Secretary Shaw, if you’ll stay for my meeting with VERT, the rest of you may go.”
Chairs shuffled amid indistinct murmurs in distressed tones. Ambassador Navarro stopped to hug Skye and give Lark a friendly nod of acknowledgment before she left.
“Come,” Azaleen called.
Lark walked closer, the others joining in a semicircle around the queen’s chair.
“Desmond,” she said to Secretary Shaw, “meet Wes Walker. Walker, this is Secretary of Procurement Shaw. He recently recovered some electronics and high-tech gadgets from a vault, and nobody around here knows what to do with them. He’ll show them to you. Make them work.”
“Yes, Madam Queen.” Wes and Shaw left together.
“Harlan, go see your family,” instructed Azaleen. “The team must depart as soon as the general and Luke devise a plan.”
“Thank you.” He bowed, pivoted, and exited the chamber.
“Diego, Skye, go see the quartermaster for whatever you expect you’ll need on this rescue mission. Then fuel up your vehicles and get some rest.”
When they were gone, Azaleen stood before the aging general and the young captain.
“I’m counting on you to get this right. Camille has sent letters requesting a prisoner exchange, but I’m not confident we’ll get a favorable response—or any response at all.
We’re expecting more detailed information about where Calder is being held anytime now. ”
“Yes, my queen,” Stark replied. “We’ll be in my office.”
Azaleen walked behind them toward the door. “Private Sutter, that leaves you to brief me on the team’s passage through the marshlands. My office will suit better than the war room. Tell me about Fort Jasper. And how many Iron Navy stragglers were apprehended?”
Lark walked beside her in the opposite direction from Luke and the general, her heart pounding in her chest louder with every step. She could smell Azaleen now, silver and citrus, as intoxicating as her stately composure.
“They took Fort Jasper, all right,” she confirmed. “I can’t tell you what became of our troops stationed there.”
Opening the office door, Azaleen ushered Lark in, locking it behind them. For an instant, both women looked at each other—questioning and longing, measuring the distance between duty and desire. Then they fell into one another’s arms, hugging tight, clinging to the moment while they still could.
“I missed you,” Lark whispered.
“I’m overjoyed you’re safe.” Azaleen’s lips found Lark’s, igniting something fierce and steady inside her. It wasn’t a passing fancy. This was real.
Lark leaned against the closed door, fingers caressing, mouth devouring, delighting in the queen’s unreserved initiative.
Her knees wobbled; Lark was grateful for the door at her back and the strength of Azaleen’s embrace.
She closed her eyes, losing herself in the kiss, its depth pulling her under.
“This is not ideal,” Azaleen breathed against her throat. “But I couldn’t wait to hold you.”
“It thrills me to hear.” Lark sank her fingers into Azaleen’s silky strands that must have been spun from heaven’s silver. “I would like to have showered first.”
“I’m accustomed to your woodsy musk.” Azaleen smiled at her, blue eyes gleaming like weary sapphires.
“You’re exhausted.” Lark nuzzled her close, regaining the power in her legs.
“It’s been two sleepless days,” the queen admitted, “but I’ll forgo sleep another night to spend it with you.”
“You’ll sleep, my dear,” Lark soothed, tracing her cheek with kisses. “Safe in my arms.”
“I’d like that.” Azaleen leaned heavily into Lark, and she held her for a long moment.
“Do you have a secret entrance to your bedroom, by chance? A tree I can climb and sneak in the window undetected?”
A tinkling laugh spilled from Azaleen’s lips. She leaned back, gazing whimsically into Lark’s eyes. “For now, discretion is necessary. Once this war gets sorted out, I hope it will no longer be.”
“My gramma warned me about falling for you.”
A flicker of hurt ran across Azaleen’s face, and she loosened her grip on Lark.
“No, it’s not like that,” Lark explained. “She likes you. She just knows how the world works. I love you, Azaleen, and I will never do anything to hurt you, your reputation, or your rule. Verdancia is bigger than both of us. I’m not here to cause you trouble.”
Relaxing, Azaleen curled her fingers around Lark’s neck.
“We’re all going to have trouble, no matter what path we take.
It’s inevitable. But it’s our choice whether we hold onto something wonderful to offset that difficulty.
I love you, Lark Sutter. You’ve given me a glimpse of what life could be—even for a queen.
Is there anything else I need to know about your journey in the south? ”
Warmth spiraled in Lark’s chest at Azaleen’s declaration. With a half-grin, she said, “They must not have alligators or warg in the Republic. Their sailors didn’t know what they were, and some of them got eaten. If only we could harness nature to fight on our side.”
A spark lit Azaleen’s gaze. “Let me think about that. Shower, eat, do what you need to. Then stealth your way to my back door after ten. The key will be under the mat. I’ll be waiting.”
Their mouths met in a searing kiss, full of promise, dancing with zeal. Whatever the future held, Lark had another night with the woman she loved.