Chapter 23 The Queen Dowager
The Queen Dowager
The message reaches me shortly after noon.
A servant bows low in the doorway of my chambers, his voice careful and neutral. “Her Majesty the Queen Dowager has arrived at Rathmor for the day. She requests that the Princess attend her at Filar House with His Highness.”
For a moment I simply watch him.
The Queen Dowager is not a woman who visits casually.
She does not leave the eastern court without reason, and she certainly does not travel merely to see a daughter-in-law whose wedding she could not be bothered to attend.
I am also quite certain she did not come to Rathmor to spend time with Lady Esmeraldis, delightful as she may be. Still, I rise.
Filar House stands within the outer grounds of Rathmor Palace, a sprawling mansion of sun-warmed stone and tall windows overlooking the lower gardens.
It is less formal than the palace itself, though no less grand.
Vines climb the pillars along the veranda, and the doors stand open to allow the summer air to drift through the long dining room where the table has already been laid.
Colsar is there when I arrive. He stands near the windows, pale hair tied neatly at his nape, one hand resting against the back of a chair as though he has been waiting longer than he intended. When he notices me, he inclines his head in polite acknowledgment. Nothing more.
The Queen Dowager enters moments later without announcement.
She is a striking woman, tall and elegant despite the years she carries, her dark hair threaded with silver and pinned high.
There is something unmistakably regal in the way she moves, as though every room quietly rearranges itself around her.
“Ah,” she says brightly when she sees me. “So this is the girl.”
I curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
She waves the title aside as she takes her seat at the head of the table.
“Sit, sit. I have only a short while before I must return east. I thought we might take a little refreshment together.”
Her hands fold neatly before her. “My schedule is intolerably crowded at the moment, dinners, balls, dreadful charity functions, but I simply had to come see my precious Sevrin.”
She sighs with theatrical affection. “He is redecorating the West Hall, you know. Renovations everywhere. He insisted I come look at his artwork selections.” Her smile warms. “Not that he requires my approval. He has such delightful taste.”
Colsar pulls out my chair with restrained courtesy before taking his own seat.
Servants begin bringing the first dishes.
“And he has a young lady he is quite fond of,” the Dowager continues, lifting her glass. “Your sister, I believe. Yvara.”
I let my hands rest, unmoving. “Yes.”
“She is charming,” the Dowager says. “Very pretty. But I confess I was curious to see you as well. Sevrin spoke so enthusiastically.”
Her attention passes over me in open appraisal. “Goodness,” she says after a moment. “You are far prettier than your sister.”
Colsar’s fork pauses.
The Dowager continues her inspection as though evaluating a rare object. “Those golden eyes,” she murmurs. “And the Mark of Forizan. Such things should not be wasted.”
She reclines comfortably in her chair. “Tell me,” she says lightly, “is it true that the marriage has not yet been consummated?”
Silence answers her.
“How fortunate,” she continues pleasantly. “It means the arrangement could still be corrected.”
Colsar grows very still beside me.
“My dear,” the Dowager says to me with gentle patience, “it is far better to have children from a feeder than from a dog.”
The insult hangs openly in the air.
“Feeders are much kinder creatures,” she adds. “More thoughtful. Siakars…” She gives a small, dismissive shrug. “They are really just dogs.”
For a moment the only sound in the room is the soft clink of silver against porcelain.
I fold my hands in my lap. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” I say gently.
She turns toward me with mild curiosity. “Yes?”
“I wondered if I might ask something first.”
“Of course.”
“You were unable to attend our wedding,” I say. “Yet you found time to travel here today to see King Sevrin.”
Colsar goes very still beside me.
The Dowager’s eyes narrow slightly. “Your point?”
“Only that I assumed your absence must have had an important cause,” I say politely. “So I hesitate to misunderstand your meaning now.”
I pause just long enough to let the words sink in. “When you describe siakars as dogs,” I continue softly, “I wonder whether you mean that as criticism of your own blood… or merely of your son.”
Colsar turns toward me.
The Dowager studies me in silence for several seconds. Then she leans back slowly in her chair. “Well,” she says at last. “You are not timid.”
“I simply dislike hearing my husband insulted at his own table.”
For the first time since I entered the room, Colsar forgets to look bored.
His attention shifts fully to me, something in his expression changing as though he is reconsidering a problem he thought already solved.
He reaches for his glass, composure returning, but when he lowers it, the faintest hint of amusement touches his mouth.
“In any case,” she says briskly, “I will return for luncheon, but I have arranged something practical for the two of you this afternoon.” Her eyes move to Colsar.
“You will attend ballroom lessons together. The court expects a royal couple to dance properly at the upcoming ball.” She glances back at me, almost apologetic.
“My son has always preferred swords to civilized company. Perhaps it is time he learned the difference.”