Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Carrington actually appeared stymied by that, proving he could get even more obnoxious.
But he was always obvious.
She wondered if he was already trying to tempt her husband with courtesans.
She could not think long on that.
She was angry with her husband. She was often frustrated by her husband.
But she loved her husband.
If he strayed, in her heart, she would no longer have a husband.
Just a king.
“However, I will always be mother to the heir to the throne,” she finished.
“I’m uncertain how important that is when we have a robust sitting king,” he retorted.
“Really?” she inquired. “This surprises me as you’re always so keen to share with my husband how well you read the pulse of the people.”
None of his points had been veiled for he lacked the skill to do such a thing.
None of hers had either, for he lacked the intelligence to gather her meaning if she did.
They stared into each other’s eyes.
She couldn’t do that all night, not only because it was ridiculous, but because she actually did have a number of things to do.
Thus, she queried, “Are you quite done?”
“I have a feeling you are,” he replied, the double meaning behind this also not veiled.
“We shall see,” she murmured, dipped her chin and turned away.
Fortunately, he didn’t call out to her.
Unfortunately, their chat meant she had to seek her chamber, and not go to check the progress of the seamstresses before she returned to her study to read through the updated response list and continue to devise and revise the seating in the temple and at the reception for the wedding.
Opportunely, Helga was in Mercy’s boudoir, seeing to some mending of lace on one of Mercy’s gowns.
Her maid’s attention came to her the moment Mercy entered the room, but Mercy did not speak until she had the door closed behind her and she and her maid were close.
“The ravens were sent to Prince True yesterday, yes?” she asked.
“Of course, milady, as you requested.”
“And Sir Bram?” she went on.
Helga nodded. “The messages direct from your hand, written twice each. Two birds for each message sent to two men. Four birds. I watched them fly away myself.”
Mercy nodded.
“I need you to bring paper and pen, Helga. I’ll need another message sent tonight. Not a bird, a messenger on a steed,” she instructed.
“Oh no,” Helga whispered.
“Yes, my friend,” Mercy muttered. “As my son is far away, we need reinforcements. I need to send for Silence,” she paused. “And Mars.”
Helga held her mistress’s gaze for but a moment before she nodded, dipped a curtsy and then strode off quickly to do as she was asked.
Mercy stared at the gown Helga had left behind on a fainting couch upholstered in forest-green velvet.
The nap of the couch was worn and at the bottom lip, there was a fray.
Her gaze wandered around the cozy, warm room with its merry fire.
She saw the intricate carvings in the dark wood panels on the walls and in the cornices. The once-thick, vibrantly-hued, now thinning and fading wool rugs on the floor. The beautifully crafted furniture that appeared feminine and delicate but was indeed stout and comfortable. Furniture that was tended well but needed reupholstered.
They could not afford reupholstery.
They could barely afford the staff it took to keep the wood gleaming.
In the king’s castle.
Another five years of Carrington, they were headed for ruin.
She closed her eyes tight.
You are no longer young and not the renowned beauty you once were.
As if the only measure of a woman was her youth and beauty.
She did not go to the looking glass to see the veracity of Carrington’s words.
She knew she was still attractive. She took pains with Nadirii and Firenz elixirs on her skin and hair, and not simply to make certain her husband didn’t grow a wandering eye. This, she did mostly for herself.
It was, in her life, her only treat.
She also knew after she caught the eye, and won the heart, of the prince who would be her husband and then her king, that her youth and beauty began to fade from importance because she took pains to make that so.
However, that did not mean Carrington’s words did not wound.
Mercy drew in breath.
The tax proclamation that implied the people were paying for True’s wedding with their hard-earned gold (which they were, but they didn’t need to be told that directly) could easily put a pall on the celebratory air of the capital and even turn public sentiment away from her son.
And she could not let that happen.
She stared at the fray in her fainting couch and another thought came to her.
Where was all the tax money going?
The seemingly incessant campaigns to re-secure the southern border of Firenz land weren’t actually incessant.
Wodell was not a wealthy nation, they weren’t a poor one either.
Why was there such a huge concern about her spending on the wedding?