Chapter 19 The King Calls
THE KING CALLS
Temple would never have guessed that watching his wife play charades with his sisters and brothers would give him such great joy.
So much had been taken from him in the last year.
Connections he’d taken for granted, stability, friendships, a rising position in the Guild.
But this moment, more than the king’s support, more than any progress on any project, gave him hope.
Alchemical exile would not be so bad. He could make a life worth living with Diana by his side.
Even telling her the details of his family’s scandal, something he’d never been able to discuss with her before, had left him feeling…
light. An unusual sensation, but one he liked.
So when Sybil shouted “Peacock!” and Diana stopped strutting about the parlor, pecking with an invisible beak and spreading her arms wide behind her like a fantail, when she tumbled into a chair with laughter, Temple swept her back up.
“Pardon me, Grants,” he said, tugging her into the hallway, “I must speak with my wife alone.”
“You’d better return her, Tempy!” Helen yelled.
“Who else is going to accept Ajax’s half-chewed food with such equanimity?” Helios cried out.
Diana was still chuckling when Temple drew her into his father’s study. He held her hands, flipped them palms up.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making sure there’s no remaining evidence of Ajax’s… gifts.”
“I’ve learned to accept them with a handkerchief and deposit them quickly into an empty teacup. I’m terribly resourceful, you know.”
“I know.” He pulled her into his arms. He wanted to take her home to Bloomsbury Square. He wanted to read the book out loud to her and watch her every thought take shape across her face.
Hell. He was… He might be a little bit… in love.
He placed her clean hands on his hips as the notion sank in. Rather, it rippled outward. It had started somewhere deep in the core of him, and as it seeped through his muscle and flirted with his skin, he almost had the courage to tell her.
He kissed her instead. And she kissed him back, and Hades’ hellfire, he could go on kissing her forever.
But she flinched. “Ow. What was that? Do you have a coal in your pocket?”
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the summoning stone. A little warm. Glowing. Damn.
Diana scowled at the stone. “The king wants you.”
“The king has waited over a fortnight. He can wait one night more.” He pocketed the stone again.
“But, Temple, he—”
“The next time I meet with him, I must tell him about us. You’re not ready yet.”
She left him, wandered toward the door that led out into the back garden.
He followed her outside where she stood looking up at the full moon.
He stood behind her, wanting to reach out, to touch.
But she seemed so far away, as far away as that golden coin in the sky.
Golden like her eyes. Did her magic come from there?
If so, she was a creature of the sky, and he of the earth.
There would always be space between them.
When she turned, she crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tight. “It is not me who is not ready, Temple. It is you.”
He hissed a curse. She was right. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep you safe.” It seemed to be the only thing he wanted some days.
“No. But… tell me this, Temple… Who took the safety mechanism, the heat diffuser to the king?”
“I did. Not that it saved my father from censure.”
“That is not your fault. You tried to protect him.”
“I protected no one.” His hands were fists at his sides.
“You protected all those lives that might have been lost when an engine they trusted tore them to bits. You cannot save everyone, Temple.”
He should have been able to. The night sky, dark and endless, mocked him. The stars dancing in its blackness laughed.
“I can save you.” He sounded savage to his own ears.
“Go and see the king, Temple. Tell him about us.”
“I’ll explain it must be a secret.”
“You can try, but… I cannot live my entire life in Bloomsbury Square.”
“You have Nickleby House. And Lady Guinevere’s. And once we are sure his maid and cook are to be trusted, I can take you to visit Nico and his wife. When in London, they live nearby. Or we can visit their home in Bristol. There are fewer to recognize you there. And—”
“No.” She broke the distance between them, unwinding her arms then winding them again.
Around him. “You have no use for a secret wife. Your family has no use for one. Your allies have become your tormenters. You have allied yourself with those your former friends consider only with acrimony. The king wanted you to take a wife from the ton to give you entrance there, and you married me.”
“A woman from the transcendent class.”
“A woman in hiding.” She took a breath so big it seemed to rustle the tree leaves. “But I do not have to be in hiding. I can confront my fears. I can confront Apollo.”
“You do not have to.”
Was she nodding? Or lifting her face oh so gently to the sky on a lavender-scented breeze. But her smile was soft. Sure. “Go and tell him about us.”
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and the stone burned a hole in his pocket. At the beginning of the Season, he would have given his life to ease his family’s troubles. But Diana was his family now, too. Protecting her hurt them.
“Fuck.”
She laughed and pushed away enough to kiss his lips. “Go now. Your father or brother will escort me home. And I’ll be waiting for you when you return. In our bed.” Her moon eyes made promises that pulled strings around his heart, pooled molten need lower in his belly.
“Rest,” he said, voice rough and raw. “After I return home, I plan to keep you awake for the rest of the night.”
“I can sleep when the sun rises.”
He groaned, taking another kiss before sitting her back in the parlor with his family.
He’d barely left her side since their wedding, and now he was rumbling off into the dark London night to shatter their peace.
By the time he arrived at St. James Palace, he’d still not convinced himself this was the right thing to do.
The red brick of the old Tudor building cloaked itself in darkness. Ominous. More ominous still, a guard waited for him, led him silently to the State Apartments.
The king waited as he usually did by a window, arms crossed behind his back.
His glamour seemed threadbare. Was it the late hour or something else that made it tremble?
Strong and stout on the outside—the Sailor King.
Worn and pale beneath, a figure curved and crumbling.
God, how much time did the man have? Who was the heir?
He should probably know that. Diana had said a princess was, hadn’t she?
He’d ask Diana when he returned home. In the morning, after he’d spent the rest of the night with her little sounds of pleasure in his ears.
“Finally, you come,” the king said. More quickly than usual, he abandoned the window for his usual chair.
Temple sat across from him. “My apologies. As I told you, I was out of reach.”
The king opened his hand. The stone rested there, warm and glowing.
“What good is this if I cannot bring you to me when I’d like?
” His voice was so low, so weak. Somehow Temple knew the king did not speak to him.
But then he did, his gaze sharp even if the rest of him was not.
“How are you faring on your little projects.”
A stone to speak with the dead, a charlatan’s trick. And a wife.
“Well on the one, Your Majesty, and hopeless on the other.”
“Do I dare guess which is which?” he grumbled.
Temple inhaled, deeply, steadied his heartbeat. God, I am so sorry, Diana. She’d told him to do this, but it still felt like ripping out a vital organ with his bare hands.
“No, Your Majesty,” he managed to say. “I will speak for my victories and my shortcomings. I have not been available for the last fortnight because I’ve been… on my honeymoon.”
The king snorted. Or did he choke? It was kind of a chortling sound. He wouldn’t appreciate Temple asking about it, so Temple folded his hands in his lap and waited for the man to catch his breath and his wits.
“Honeymoon?” the king bellowed once he had.
“Yes.”
“You cannot have a honeymoon if you are not married, and you are not married because I have not given my permission. At least say your bride possesses the correct lineage.”
“She does. I should have asked your permission, I’m aware. I beg your pardon for whatever insult I have given you. It was unintended.”
“Explain.” The king’s voice was clipped, though his breathing labored.
“She was betrothed to another man. The Marquess of Fordham. But she grew up with him and had no desire to marry a man she considered a brother.”
“Marriages are not about what women want, Knightly.”
“Then think of it as what I want.”
The king chuckled then coughed. “Love at first sight?”
Love at first sip.
No. The love had come much later than their first meeting. It had circled slowly around Finsbury Square and climbed through windows at odd hours. It had settled like a morning fog about Bloomsbury Square and sunk like dye into the fabric of the sheets spread across their bed.
“I can see it on your face. You dog. You stole another man’s bride. I’d never thought you the romantic sort, Knightly.”
That sounded reassuringly like acceptance. “We are nervous about her cousin, Your Majesty. When he discovers she’s married, he may… become violent.”
“Fordham? That young buck? He’s a sot now more than anything, but he’s not dangerous. Curious chap. Don’t think he wears a glamour, though his line always has, the same one, too.” The king’s glamour shivered like a leaf about to fall.
Mr. Squires had suspected that, too—that Fordham went about naked of any illusion. And now Temple knew it was true. He knew why as well.
“You and your bride will attend the next ball in three days’ time” the king said.
“But Fordham—”
“Can’t do a damn thing but tarnish his own reputation if he so much as sneers at a woman I’ve given my blessing to.”
That was right. The safest place for Diana was under the king’s protection. The vise that had been clamping his chest all evening released. Hell, it felt good to be able to breathe.
“Fordham,” the king mused. “An old title. Strong talent in their veins. An excellent alliance. I encourage you to make friends with your wife’s cousin.
To apologize profusely for stealing his bride.
I’ll gift him the list of potential brides I made for you.
I don’t remember the Fordham chit. She can’t be much to look at. ”
She was divine. “Her grandfather cloaked her appearance with a glamour.”
“Crafty old fucker. Well, I assure you the ladies I put on your list—Fordham’s list—need no material improvement.
He’ll be well satisfied. Their families are well-off, too.
Thriving estates. It will be a much better match for him.
Spend your worry on something else.” The king stood, gestured at the door. “Like the other project.”
“There’s not a way,” Temple said softly.
“If you think that’s true, there are other alchemists. Smarter ones, better ones. Royal Alchemist is a position I can take away at will. And it is the only thing standing between you and utter ruin.”
Temple stood and bowed. “I’ll work harder.” Nothing else to do. Nothing left to say. The king guaranteed Temple’s family’s survival. And now Diana’s safety, too.
The king coughed and stepped toward a side door that, Temple presumed, led to Clarence House. A guard appeared out of the shadows, and Temple watched them leave before leaving himself.
He climbed back into the carriage, the day, the weeks, the months since he’d demanded an audience with the king and handed over an alchemist secret circling wildly in his head.
Was he doing the right thing? By his family?
By Diana? By the king who refused to accept he’d never speak with his daughter again?
Perhaps the rules of the Alchemist Guild had value. They told you what to do and how to do it, and when you followed them, you didn’t have to question your actions.
No. Those men would have seen lives lost rather than release their small grasp of power. The transcendents, too, acted only for their own gain.
Transcendents and alchemists, west and east. They pulled and pushed like magnetic poles, demanding Temple’s loyalty, his bent knee, and the very sweat of his body.
But Temple bowed to no man.
A woman, however…
He rerouted the carriage driver, and when they stopped in front of a quiet townhouse, he jumped down, knocked hard on the door. When it finally swung open, Nico stood there, shirtless.
“What in God’s name are you doing here?” he asked. Behind him, his wife, Jane stood on the stairs, holding a wrapper closed at her neck.
“I need a little help.”
“At midnight?”
“How do you feel about stealing a dog?”