Chapter 41
Forty-One
Neal
“Ansel, have you seen this guest list?” I shouted down the steps.
“Why do you have a guest list for someone else’s party?” Sorcha asked.
“It’s part of the job,” I replied, not looking up from the papers in my hands. “I can’t ensure you’re safe if I don’t know who’s there.”
“We’ve proven that I know how to shoot a gun,” Sorcha countered. “Shouldn’t that be enough to ensure I’m safe?”
“In theory. Yes,” I said. “In practice—you were what? Barely over a hundred pounds before the baby? And you’re currently pregnant—in case the incessant vomiting wasn’t a clue. And need I remind you that you hit the target exactly once?”
“They sent the guest list over when we arrived,” Ansel said as he jogged up the steps. “What’s wrong with it? Looked pretty standard and benign from my end.”
“There’s eight single, male Inner Court aristocrats on here,” I said. “Wealthy ones. Mostly from Europe.”
“And?” Sorcha pressed.
Ansel glanced over the papers.
“They weren’t on there two days ago,” Ansel said.
“Which means?” Sorcha prompted.
“Iksura is still actively interfering,” I muttered.
“Inevitably,” Sorcha muttered. “So what do you recommend we do about it, Ansel?”
“About that? We get to have fun this time,” Ansel said.
“Why?” Sorcha asked.
“Because I got word from our archival team just this morning—they’ve gone through every scrap of Elven legal precedent in recorded history—Iksura’s claim is unfounded,” Ansel said.
“Your position is valid. No need for a regent. No need for a marriage of her choosing. You’re solid. She’s the one in the wrong.”
A wave of relief washed through me, and I watched Sorcha’s shoulders relax. We were right. Maybe not safe. Certainly not done with the chaos. But right. Legally justified.
“And so?” Sorcha prompted.
“They’re not a real threat. Which means you play along,” Ansel said.
“You socialize and act the part and then abruptly drop any facade of compliance and remind them that you’re the sovereign and that you’re currently happily married and have a baby in the oven.
And then we watch them squirm and have a profoundly entertaining time enjoying their discomfort. ”
“We are talking about the same Iksura who has been routinely attempting to kill us?” Sorcha asked. “Legal precedent or no.”
“We are talking about a bunch of pansy aristocrats that it’ll be fun to play with,” Ansel replied. “Not more of her bloody inquisitors disguised as diplomats.”
“If you say so,” Sorcha said, brushing past us to get changed. “I’m going for a bath. They want us there at eight and I’m not taking a carriage. Plan accordingly.”
“Why couldn’t we have gotten a normal Elven princess who liked balls and carriages?” Ansel muttered.
“Because then you would’ve been bored out of your skull,” I countered, “and I would’ve missed out on the love of my life.”
“Fair enough, lad,” Ansel said. “Fair enough.