L Queens
The bathroom is enormous and beautifully tiled in creams and azures.
Five large copper baths are brought in, and a procession of servants with buckets fill them quickly.
When the last one bows out, I inform the maids their services won’t be needed.
Agnes doesn’t manage to hide a pout, and I realize they might not have lost a bet, but won it.
“I think our maids are curious about your anatomy,” I say with a snort as Raduna helps me undress.
Arvi’s already washing, and Khay massages shampoo into Magnar’s hair and scalp, kneeling by his bath. Raduna helps me get in my tub, and I wash myself quickly. I want to drag Magnar into bed for a nap, and we only have a few hours.
“Yeah?” Arvi asks. “The only way they learn anything about my meat rod is if you tell them.”
“Meat rod,” I huff with amusement. “That’s a new one.”
“Better than eel?”
“Definitely. It doesn’t sound like something that might sneak up on me under water.”
That makes them laugh, and even Magnar cracks a smile “Oh, love, remind me to take you to the hot springs when we get back. I’ll sneak up on you.”
When we’re done, my men sitting around the bedroom wrapped in towels, Khay laughs under his breath.
“Fuck the mines,” he says with a snicker. “Sell them an architect or two, and they’ll praise you every time they flush a shit.”
Magnar grunts tiredly. I climb into bed to join him, wearing nothing but a ribbon tying my hair back.
“Rest, my husband,” I murmur, kissing his cheek, then his mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
He’s half-hard, his breaths deep and even, and I caress him with my hands and lips, remembering what Raduna taught me. Magnar is so still, I think he’s sleeping, but when I stop for a moment to get rid of a hair that stuck to my tongue, he grumbles adorably and buries his hand in my hair.
It’s quick from there. After he floods my mouth with his release, he tugs me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me. A minute later, he’s asleep.
Khay wakes us when it’s dark outside, the room twinkling with amber light, a merry fire crackling in the fireplace. There are heaps of bedding on the floor, pillows and blankets, and I realize this is where our knights will sleep. The carpet is thick and soft.
Before we leave, Magnar stops me in the doorway. “Caliane. Is it likely we might be poisoned?”
He looks worried and tired, his gaze on my belly. I shake my head and reach up to cup his cheek.
“No. The Citadel’s Duke is personally responsible for the wellbeing of his guests.
If anyone at his table dies, his head will roll.
The kings of the Eleven treat the Kings’ Peace in the Citadel very seriously, Magnar.
Our lives are safe here, though our pride might suffer.
They will insult us, and we can insult them back—as long as no one draws a sword. ”
He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. “Stay close.”
The feast hall is resplendent in black marble and amber. Fires roar in three enormous fireplaces, and a small group of musicians sit in a corner, half hidden behind a screen made of black feathers. The music is subtle, providing a background to restrained, murmuring conversations.
They quiet when we enter. Only the music plays, a slow, pleasant tune. I smile, looking at the sea of human faces. People sit at five long tables, the one furthest away from the door reserved for the royalty.
The master of ceremonies taps his golden staff on the floor and announces us.
“King Magnar, Queen Caliane, and their personal guests.”
“Welcome, welcome!” Sidonius rushes over, all aglitter in a bright golden suit with a short, ruffled cape. “Here, Your Majesties, let me guide you to your seats. Your guests are invited to sit at the Table of Passion. It’s the red one. Our personal little joke.”
He titters, and I can’t help but glance at Magnar.
Sidonius embodies perfectly everything that’s affected, exaggerated, and silly about courtiers.
My father had people like him in his court, too.
They were audacious flatterers, and loved to gossip and joke.
Not a word from their mouths could be trusted.
My husband’s face is stony. I suspect Sidonius’ affected manners annoy him. And it’s only the first obstacle tonight.
“That is ingenious,” I say, becoming Simpering Caliane.
My pretending skills are rusty after a wonderful period of being my authentic self, but my training was ingrained through debilitating repetition and abuse. I’m glad for it right now.
“Red for passion, absolutely wonderful!” I trill, letting Sidonius clasp my elbow as he leads us to the royal table. “And how, pray, are the other tables called?”
“The Envy Table,” he says, his eyes widening with excitement as he points at the table covered with green, “because everyone who doesn’t sit there wants to! Then we have the Wisdom Table, the blue one, for those who prefer cerebral discussions, and finally, the Fool Table.”
He grins, waving a flamboyant hand at a table covered with a shimmering purple cloth.
“For the jesters, jokesters, singers, and puppeteers. And here we are. The Royal Table. Since it is your first Gathering of Kings, I’ve allowed myself to give you the two centermost places of honor, so you can be admired from every angle!”
And every little mistake we make will be witnessed by all, I add in the privacy of my mind as Sidonius’ gaze settles on Magnar for a fraction of a second too long, bordering on insolent.
I realize what’s going on. Our host, or maybe the others as well, hope to see Magnar humiliate himself with poor table manners. He’s a beast, after all.
They are in for a rude awakening. My husband has the manners of a king.
We stand behind our chairs, and even though two valets begin to approach from where they stand tastefully hidden among a display of plants behind the table, Sidonius waves them away with a discreet gesture.
Magnar, who’s used to me struggling with heavy Agnidari furniture, pulls away my chair with perfect chivalry.
“Here, love.”
I give him a smile as I sit, then glance at Sidonius, holding eye contact. He has the decency to look abashed, though I can tell he’s mostly disappointed. Yes, the Table of Fools brims with people brought here to amuse and entertain, but they are old news, aren’t they?
An Agnidari king, however—that’s a novelty.
When Magnar sits, I turn to my neighbor, the queen of Trista. She’s older than when I saw her last, the brown hair at her temples dusted with silver, but the smile she gives me is kind. She and my mother were friends.
“Oh, Caliane, how tall you’ve grown,” she says with affection before her face crumples in sympathy. “I am so sorry for your losses—both of them, since we haven’t met after your mother passed. I hope you won’t mind me, but I asked to be seated next to you. I’ve wondered how you’ve been.”
“Thank you,” I say, hiding my relief. Queen Nasturtia is the best table neighbor I could wish for, since I actually know her, even if only from my childhood. “I have been well. I am happily married, as you can see, and I adore Roharra. It’s a beautiful country.”
“Really?”
Nasturtia’s face grows fixed, eyes disbelieving, and I understand it’s not the answer she expected. But of course. I should be miserable, since I’m married to the beastly Tyrant who conquered my kingdom.
“Yes, Nasturtia. I’d love it if you visited with me one day.”
“Visit you—in Roharra?” Her lips open in shock, as if the very idea is something unthinkable.
“Well, of course,” I say with a smile. “The war is over, isn’t it?
The roads are comfortable, and we do have such beautiful sights.
The capital is so very different from the cities in the Eleven.
And the Agnidari are skilled singers and dancers.
They play drums, and it’s rather exciting.
Oh, and the baths are exquisite, but I won’t offend you with details. ”
Her eyes widen more the longer I speak, and she leans in, voice conspiratorial and low.
“Please, do tell, I will not be offended. What about the baths?”
I lean in closer, whispering as if I’m about to reveal a great secret. Truth be told, I find the rules of my upbringings ridiculous these days—because why should I not discuss my bath or shampoo?—but I know Nasturtia did not have the advantage of spending time among irreverent, honest Agnidari.
“They have a system that carries hot water through pipes in the walls,” I say, giddy to share my excitement.
“You just turn the tap open, and it flows out! And the tubs are enormous. Oh, and you should try their soaps and shampoos! Do you remember my hair when I was younger? Well, I have this hair essence from Magnar’s friend, and it really tamed my locks.
You should visit me for the cosmetics alone, truly! ”
Nasturtia looks at my hair, nodding slowly.
Her eyes are still wide. “It does have a beautiful shine, you’re right.
I’d love to try that. But dear, I don’t think my husband will be eager to go.
He’s rather put out with the, ah, Agnidari ruling Farneer situation.
And to be honest, I expected you to be miserable! Are you truly well?”
Her eyes glitter with concern, and I take her hand in gratitude. “I am, thank you. My husband dotes on me. He is a good, decent man. Not in his manners or speech, not always. But he has a good heart and a loving soul.”
Nasturtia smiles uncertainly, her eyes flicking to the side just as Magnar’s warm hand settles on my thigh under the table.
“Ah, he seems to want your attention.”
I smile at her. “Excuse me.”
When I turn to Magnar, he gives me a tight, restrained smile. “Loving soul, dear? I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”
“Of course I do,” I say with a mock scowl. “How is it going on your end?”
“I confessed I hold that princeling from Serilla in my dungeon in Roharra, and my neighbor lost his tongue,” Magnar says with a bland smile, his voice carrying. A few people turn with shocked gasps.