Chapter 13 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Heads Up

When Temmin first realized that Fen had given him a black eye, he was horrified; he would have it not only for the last ball of the season, but also for the Neya's Day Spectacle. What would Allis think? But Jenks convinced him it made him look worldly. "Women love a battlescarred man, your highness, take it from me."

And really, it wasn't as big as his mother said it was. The queen had fussed so much that Temmin had almost been rude in response at breakfast. "Honestly, mother, I am a grown man. You should expect me to get a bit banged-up from time to time."

"I expected that when you were learning to walk, sweetheart," she retorted. "I should think Jenks would take better care not to hurt you."

"Oh, it wasn't Jenks," said Temmin cheerfully, "it was Fen!"

"Who's Fen?" said Harsin, momentarily distracted from The Morning Capital.

"My sparring partner," answered his son.

"Guardsman? Warrior from the Temple?"

"Oh, no, he used to be a junior footman here at the Keep. You may have seen him. Bright red hair? Freckles? Just a little older than me?" At Harsin's raised eyebrow Temmin hastily added, "He was the bare-knuckle champion of Valmouth in his weight class!"

"Was he," said Harsin sourly.

"I suspect he's been holding back on me," reflected Temmin. "Jenks hasn't been that impressed yet. But he did manage to get one solid punch in, eh?" And with that, he tucked into the smoked fish and eggs heaped next to the large mound of tomatoes on his plate.

Harsin made a mental note to talk with Jenks about this Fen character and get his son a proper sparring partner and trainer. Or maybe he'd task Winmer with that. There was a great deal on his plate today. He had a meeting with his generals and the Teacher on the situation in the southern principalities of Inchar, and then he was due to meet the new ambassador from Vakalele. There would be a handshake and an exchange of gifts, and he would then pretend to be interested for fifteen minutes or so in the (translated) conversation of some savage likely to be covered in a feather cloak with a bone through his nose, thought the king.

Luncheon today, however, would be his reward. After the diplomatic meeting, he planned to retire to the little hunting lodge deep in the King's Woods that hadn't been used for hunting in a good hundred years. His personal staff were already there making preparations. He intended to lunch in bed off the belly of his current favorite, and stay there the rest of the day.

Twenna Shelstone was a prime thing--little, round and biddable, with perfect breasts, a rosebud mouth, huge blue eyes and an insatiable appetite for him. And she was married, which made it all much easier, at least in theory. In practice, Mister Elbig Shelstone was a little too grasping for the king's taste, but that had never bothered his majesty before; social climbers could be dealt with. In the meantime, there was fun to be had.

He returned his attention to the breakfast table; Ellika had slipped in, all a-dither as usual with excitement over the evening's ball. He sighed as he looked over his nattering children.

One daughter, very beautiful and empty-headed--as she should be--who would thus do well to shore up an allegiance when he married her off, if she could only be persuaded she'd have a good time wherever she was sent.

One son, bright enough, but too priggish by half for Harsin's taste, overly friendly with commoners and seemingly uninterested in affairs of state.

And one daughter, regal, proud, blisteringly intelligent, sharing all his concerns in everything about running the kingdom, and tragically, tragically female. She should have been his oldest son, not Temmin, he thought, and hardly for the first time.

If only he hadn't followed Teacher's advice and let Ansella have her way with the children. He would have seen to it that Temmin came into his adulthood understanding and appreciating his place in the world and all the lovely power it brought with it--none of this Lovers' Temple nonsense.

Ellika had turned out almost exactly as he would have wished. No complaints there, but for her stubbornness and romantic ideas.

And Sedra? When he'd found out that the Teacher had actually been instructing her, Harsin had become so angry he'd banished the Teacher to the library for nearly a month. If he could have thought of something that would have broken past the Teacher's magical defenses, the punishment would have been worse than that. If he hadn't listened to Ansella, Harsin would have made sure Sedra got no more than a noblewoman's graces: Poetry, music, watercolors, the art of pleasant dalliance, that sort of thing. Like Ellika. It would have meant never having his favorite conversational partner, true, but to see his brilliant daughter married off, knowing she could have been so much more but for the fatal flaw of being female--it would have been easier had she been kept ignorant. Harsin only hoped Brinnid was either wise enough to take advantage of her intelligence or man enough to rein in her ambition.

He turned away from his children and back to ignoring the cranky editorial pages of The Morning Capital, thinking instead of an afternoon between Twenna's thighs.

"I did hope to have children some day, Elbig," complained Twenna Shelstone for the fifteenth time since the charm had been put on her hip.

"You will, darling, but the last thing we need right now is you knocked up, even with the king's bastard. Now hold still." Twenna obediently held her breath while her husband tugged her laces tight. "Can you still breathe? Yes? A little more, then."

"He takes the corset off, you know, El!" complained his wife.

"Feh," said Shelstone, dropping the laces. "Then look like a cow, I don't care." At his wife's crestfallen face, he added, "You don't look like a cow, darling, I'm sorry. I just want you to look your best. You've got him on the hook and I want you to keep him there."

"Oh, never worry!" brightened Twenna. "He's besotted, if I do say so myself!" She walked to her closet and began pulling out a dress.

"Not the primrose, darling, the blue with the thin white stripes. That shade of yellow doesn't suit, not with the dark color of your hair, I don't know what you were thinking when you ordered that. The blue with your long pearls, just falling into your cleavage--so." He helped her tie her skirts and watched as she fastened her bodice, then stood back to observe the effect. "Perfect. I should have gone into women's bespoke, not men's, no matter what Dad said. You look edible. You're wearing his favorite perfume?"

"Patchett's Custom No. 10, yes."

"Ah, good girl, I love that one meself, makes a girl smell like a woman. Roses and a bit of leather, no one notices that last, but I've a sharp nose. I don't quite know why it's called 'Custom,' though. Anyone can buy it."

"Am I to say anything in particular while we are--engaged?" she said, groping for a word.

"Not yet, my dear. But you will be taking the public road to the King's Woods today. The time for discretion is over. Let it be known that you are the king's favorite."

Twenna winced. "I shall be much stared at tonight, then."

"Good! Let them stare. The offers shall come pouring in when it's known, depend on it. We shall have a sponsor soon, better than the one who set us on this course."

His wife sighed. "I hope I can finish the course, El. I'm not sure I can stand the--the approbation of the world." The big blue eyes filled with tears.

"No crying," said Elbig sternly. "I will not have you present yourself at Foothill Lodge with puffy eyes and a splotchy face, not yet at any event. Not until his heart is as engaged as his pecker. And no big words, either, love. That's not what he wants in bed, and you know it." Twenna nodded, blinked her eyes rapidly until the threatening tears receded, and smiled a watery smile.

Shelstone smiled back his approval and patted her cheek. Even if they couldn't scare up a better sponsor, it had already been noted that the king had his eye on Mrs. Shelstone; business was perking up at Shelstone and Company, the tailoring concern he'd inherited from his father, and their creditors had respectfully retreated. If he--if they--played this right, they might end up in the nobility. If not, well, he was sure the expatriate community of Inchar needed bespoke tailoring as much as anyone in the capital. But he was smart, and Twenna was biddable as well as beautiful. What could go wrong?

Shelstone helped Twenna on with her wrap and escorted her down the stairs and out the door to their very smart (and very unpaid-for) open chaise. He gave the driver directions to take the most obvious route to the King's Woods, and stepped back, satisfied, as they rolled away.

He would have been even more satisfied had he seen his wife's progress through the capital to the King's Woods gate. Everyone knew who the beautiful Twenna Shelstone was on sight already, and as she moved closer to the gated road that led only to one place--Foothill Lodge--everyone soon knew exactly who Twenna Shelstone was lunching with, and what was for dessert.

Twenna hid her blushes as best she could, for she was not raised to this kind of brazenness. But she was a good wife; she did as Elbig told her. And really, it was a pleasant service. Harsin was handsome, and Elbig was not. Harsin was generous. So was Elbig when it came to things; he liked to see her well turned-out, and kept her jewel box and closet filled with beautiful things. But he was not generous at all in bed. Harsin was quite generous in bed, and generously endowed. Her enthusiasm for their meetings was not feigned, in the least; he said making a woman come was a way of showing her who was in charge, and he was very much in charge. She smiled slightly, thinking of another afternoon, how he'd taken her from behind, biting her neck as he fondled her breasts. He'd made her come over and over before he finally took his own pleasure. She must ask him to do that again, perhaps today.

And then, of course, Elbig was a tailor and Harsin was the king.

Twenna held her head high as she came to the Foothill Lodge Road gate. Behind her, she knew the gossip networks of Tremont were already burning up as word passed from the streets to the coffeehouses to the parlors and sitting rooms of the gentry, thence to their servants, and out into the wider world.

That night at the last ball, there would be a bill to pay; she would have to brazen out the whispers and innuendos. But she vowed she would learn to bear her new notoriety without shame. If she were mistress to less of a personage than the king, that would be hard, almost impossible. But no one could touch her as long as Harsin wanted her, and she intended to make Harsin want her very badly, for a very long time.