Chapter 34
Red carpets, red seats. Red bedcurtains swaying in the breeze.
Red walls, adorned with gold-framed portraits. One of them was Adelaide, looking over the room with uncharacteristic liveliness. Looking straight at me.
An arm draped over my stomach. I saw the wedding ring, the signet on the pinky, and traced up the veins of the arm to find Nicolas curled around me in nothing but a long set of braies. His breathing was slow. In this state, he was more comfortable than I’d ever seen him. Softer, even.
It was hard enough to believe I’d married a prince, let alone this one…but seeing him rest, fully trusting in my presence? That was a sight I’d happily adjust to.
I smiled, then turned my attention to the tapestry overhanging the bed, to the window that revealed only sky.
“Nicolas,” I whispered.
He stirred, grumbling quietly. His brows pinched before he opened his eyes, and it took a few blinks for him to orient himself.
Then he yawned, pulling himself a little closer. “You’re awake.”
“Yes. Where am I?”
“In our marriage room at Castle Altaigne,” Nicolas answered, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “A room for us to share, when we wish.”
I blinked. “And how did I come to be here?”
A low, sleepy chuckle escaped the prince.
“You slept for several days after our union. When you were awake, you were hardly conscious, rising just long enough to eat something or relieve yourself. I don’t believe a woman has ever been so bold as to use the chamber pot right in front of her husband like that. ”
I slapped his hand away and stood up, fighting the curtains so that I could get out of bed. Nicolas snorted in amusement, propping himself on his wrist.
“The sorceresses cleaned us up and took us back to Altaigne.”
Florence had cleaned us? I couldn’t believe it if I tried. Nor did I want to; I was sure we were quite the mess.
“I felt a similar exhaustion. Much of the last few days are a haze to me.”
“If only more of it were so.” I blushed, still flustered by the crude comment. I gawked at our new surroundings. There were more paintings and portraits on the other walls. “This must be the finest room in the palace. Though I’m not sure I appreciate your mother’s watchful gaze.”
“We can replace the artwork. Beyond cleaning, this room has been empty since I was in my youth.” Nicolas rolled to the edge of the bed, pointing. “My father watches us, too.”
Sure enough, there rested a portrait of King Elias IV. He barely resembled Nicolas, but he was a handsome figure. His easy smile carried Hadrian confidence. “Will we have our portraits made?”
“Yes; another chore for after the coronation,” Nicolas confirmed. His eyes danced over me. “Would you like a bath? I think a warm soak would help us both rub the grit from our eyes.”
“With you?” I asked. A gilded tub waited in a separate section of the apartment, partially walled-off from the main bedchamber. It was large enough to accommodate us both.
Before I could answer, the door opened without warning. In came Florence, her attention snapping up with alarm as she met my wide-eyed stare.
“Ah, you’re up,” she said.
“Yes,” Nicolas replied, standing from the bed. “Going forward, you’ll have to knock.”
Florence approached me, hand extended to my stomach. She touched me, feeling around for something, ignoring my protesting grumbles.
“You should know that Sahra Doonle has been restless.” She pulled back her hand. “She’s been stationed outside of your quarters for days, watching the door like a hawk. I believe she can sense some lingering effects from the ritual, but those shall fade.”
I groaned, crossing my arms. “When will they leave, Nicolas? The wedding is over.”
“They should go after the coronation.”
“If you give them a reason to worry, they might stick around a while longer to ensure nothing is afoot,” said Florence, circling me. “You’ll want to stay here for a few days longer.” Her eyes flitted to Nicolas. “Congratulations, Papa.”
Nicolas drew a breath. I felt my limbs go rigid.
“Well, I shall have breakfast sent along. Winnie has been worried; I told her you were simply enjoying the joys of conjugal bliss.”
Florence smirked with that comment, then left the room. I waited for the door to close before turning to Nicolas. The silence lingered, heavy with the weight of what we’d learned. A child; our child. The future became just a little more frightening.
Nicolas crossed over to the bathing area, readying the water. His eyes were distant.
“Your voice,” he whispered. His hands felt the water, then reached in to plug the basin. “I hope it’s a daughter. I hope they’re all daughters. Perhaps we should see if Florence can ascertain that.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I came nearer and placed a hand between his shoulders. “You’d have no heir.”
“Better than a son who does not know his mother’s love,” Nicolas replied. There was a familiarity in his tone that said he could not put another person through what he’d endured growing up.
With a half-smile, I caressed his arm.
“He’d know my love, Nicolas,” I reassured. “I’d teach him to sign.”
Nicolas relaxed, then offered a hand. He walked me into the tub, sitting behind me so that my back rested against his skin, and with lazy ease, he poured jasmine oil into the water as it continued to rise.
“So,” I changed subjects, “am I a queen now?”
With a scoff, Nicolas shook his head. “The coronation will commence after our newlywed period…which usually lasts a week or two. After that, we’ll ride throughout the kingdom on an announcement tour.
On that note, you need a new guardsman. Quinn has asked for a new post, and I’ve made him my advisor. ”
I tried not to bristle. Then I tried not to think about Quinn.
“An announcement tour during a famine?” I muttered.
“Yes,” Nicolas replied, soaking a sponge and smoothing it down my arm. “There’s been some unrest. I’ve received word of a few propaganda posters that have been torn down in the cities and keeps. Worry not; we’ll maintain a steady presence of guards.”
I leaned into him. “Might it be a bad time to flaunt, given the situation? How can we host parties and feasts when there are mothers in the streets who cannot feed their children?”
He dropped the sponge. “This is a tradition. An expectation. If we shy away from the tour, it invites scrutiny and makes us look weak.”
“To whom? The nobility, or the commoner?”
I slid to the other side to face him. He propped his elbows on both sides of the tub and grimaced. “If we offend the nobility, we create powerful enemies.”
“And if we offend the commoner? Need I remind you of the peasant revolt of six hundred thirty-seven?”
“Six hundred thirty-eight,” Nicolas corrected, narrowing his eyes. “Damn you for being literate. Still, we have an obligation to fulfill. I welcome your input.”
I groaned with agitation. “We cancel the tour, that’s my input.”
Nicolas clicked his tongue. “No.”
“No?” I hissed in disbelief, my knees bumping his calves beneath the water.
“I fail to see how we can compromise on this. We either do or do not, and I insist that going is a terrible idea. When I was in Caermont with Quinn, I was targeted for accidentally displaying my wealth in the lower district, and we had to run and hide. So—”
“You were?” Nicolas widened his eyes, and if it wasn’t the hot water, it was frustration at being left out that turned his cheeks such a rosy shade of red. I was surprised that Quinn hadn’t told him.
“The point is, if we are to do this incredibly stupid thing you wish to do, we must be smart about it. It has to be a modest affair, and rather than patronize a grand feast, we should feed the city. We’ll use the funds to import more wheat, give out bread and stew to all who desire to attend and wish us well. ”
“Bread and stew?” He laughed, then took a second look at me. Seeing that I was serious, he sank deeper into the water, submerging up to his chin. “All right, Alana. I see where you’re coming from, but let’s not stoop so low.”
“We could use the feast as an opportunity to educate the public—teach them how to use food in ways that spread out their ingredients, or use items often overlooked. I’ve read that in Sala, they have a fermentation technique that can make vegetables last for several months.
In the marshes, there are cattails; elsewhere, there are nuts and herbs that are highly nutritious—”
“A famine feast,” Nicolas grunted. He straightened. “Fine, Alana. We will take care to minimize our expenses, and we’ll feed the hungry, and we’ll teach people how to survive. Now, are you satisfied, or should we also sing in the streets and kiss lowborn babies?”
I splashed him, provoking a high-pitched laugh as he covered his eyes.
“I yield! But I am weary… Can we make it a rule that this room remain sacred from political discussions, going forward?”
“I say there’s no better place for politics than the bedroom,” I countered, sliding back to him. “I’m far more persuasive in the nude.”
“Yes, you’ve had your way. Now let me have mine.” Nicolas growled, pulling me close.