Page 31 of Of Blood & Bone: The Young Queen

He leans in, never taking his eyes away from mine, and places his lips on my mouth in a gentle kiss full of tenderness and promise. Moments later he pulls away. “I'm afraid there's a small adjustment I must make to your plan. There's only one maiden in this castle who I will permit to harvest my seed, and that maiden is you.”

My eyes go wide in shock and the breath catches in my throat. “Wh… whaaat?” I ask, barely able to get the word out.

“You heard me,” he replies. “The only maiden I will permit to harvest my seed is you. That is the one condition I set upon my agreement to your plan. If you wish to have my seed then you must extract it from me yourself.”

“B...bu...but…” I start to protest but he halts me in my tracks.

“And I don't want to hear anything about it not being proper. I admit, when you abducted me and took me from my castle, I was not inclined to be agreeable to your plan. However, I suspect you are just what the gods ordered for me and I think we can be good together. So, if you wish me to be your king, this is the one thing you must do.”

He leans in again and places the briefest kiss on my lips, leaving me both tantalised and stunned.

“Good night, Queen Elinor, sleep well,” he whispers, as he walks away, leaving me alone in my chamber, wondering not only how I’m supposed to sleep after that, but how in the name of all the gods am I going to deal with his demand.

Chapter Thirteen

It's just before noon and I've been in conference with the High Council since early this morning. I’ve been presented with one issue after another with no resolutions, only disagreements and petty arguments. Between all of those, my increasing hunger, and a fitful night's sleep, I'm quickly running out of patience with the whole disagreeable lot and am about to call an end to the meeting, when the trumpets sound and the Master of Ceremonies announces the arrival of the Holy Cleric.

“All hail the Holy Cleric, please rise,” the Master of Ceremonies commands the High Council as the Holy Cleric makes his entrance. I was given notice of his intention to attend today’s meeting of the High Council this morning and can only think I have the Grand Master to thank for his presence here. He enters the Grand Hall flanked by a number of acolytes. He is dressed in bright red, his cloak billowing out behind him, and his acolytes in canary yellow. The overall effect is one of an approaching flame, which, judging by the Holy Cleric’s face, might not be altogether incorrect.

He doesn’t usually attend the weekly meetings of the High Council, having made it quite clear he has far more important matters to attend to in his role as the spiritual leader of the people. His regular absence is something I am most grateful for and I accept it as one of the small mercies I am permitted in my role as queen. Therefore, I am somewhat unnerved by his presence here this morning, it can only signify he has something on his mind which I presume he won’t delay in letting me know.

He halts his march a few feet away from me and performs a slight nod. “Your Majesty, I trust you are well recovered from your recent period of indisposition?”

“I am, Holy Cleric, thank you,” I reply. “Pray tell, to what do we owe the honour of your presence here today?”

“I'm here to discuss the arrival in the castle of the emissary from Ellerban and also to offer my advice in the matter of Lord Greythorne’s proposal. I believe a decision in relation to the latter must be forthcoming sooner rather than later.”

How very interesting,I muse,yet another of my so-called advisors who is overly concerned with the presence of the prince in the castle. Why are they all so worried?

“What is it you wish to know about the emissary?” I ask.

“Can you disclose to us the subject of your discussion with the emissary? And was there any particular reason for you dining with the emissary in private? This is most irregular, and I must ask if this was a condition he insisted upon?” The note of censure in his voice is unmistakable and I’m in no doubt that the purpose of his presence here today is twofold. One, he wishes to find out more about the prince and two, he wishes to express his displeasure at not being invited to dine with me and the prince and also to publicly reprimand me for dining with him in private.

I’m having none of his disrespectful attitude and in as haughty a tone as I can muster, I ask, “Are you quite finished? Or are there any more questions you wish to fling at me, Holy Cleric?”

The warning in my voice hits its mark and he visibly pulls his neck in. “No, that is all, my Queen. Apologies if my desire for information offends you, but a surprise visit by an emissary from Ellerban is out of the ordinary and I have a number of concerns in this regard.”

“You need not worry yourself with the emissary and the purpose of his visit any longer. I dined in private with the emissary last night as I felt it was unfair to expect him to attend an official banquet after the attack he suffered on his journey here, and with his men still suffering gravely from their injuries.”

“So, a private audience wasn't something he insisted upon,” the Holy Cleric asks.

“No, it was I who suggested the emissary dine with me in my private quarters,” I reply. “And I can confirm he is here to discuss hunting rights to the red pig and the issue of increasing incursions by Greythorne’s men into Ellerban.”

The Holy Cleric looks at me suspiciously. “That is all?”

“That is all,” I reply. “And as soon as he has sufficiently recovered from his journey and his men are in better health, I will organise an official banquet. Until then, I intend for the emissary to be treated as a highly regarded guest of the castle and accorded due respect. Now, what is it you wish to know about Lord Greythorne?”

“I presume you had time to consider your response to his proposal whilst you were indisposed, Majesty, and have come to a decision.”

The implication in his words and accompanying snide tone is that I was using the excuse of being unwell to avoid any contact with the High Council and thereby not expose myself to their influence. The latter being something the Holy Cleric and Grand Master like to inflict upon me at every opportunity.

“Firstly, Holy Cleric, I do not consider Lord Greythorne’s demand a proposal. It is a demand with a threat attached and not something I deem warrants a response at all.”

There is a collective gasp at my words, followed by a low rumble of mumbling and shaking of heads.

The Holy Cleric’s dark eyebrows furrow together into a severe frown. “You cannot be serious, Majesty,” he declares, and I don’t miss the anger in his voice. “To treat his proposal as such would enrage Lord Greythorne, and that would be most unwise.”

I wait several moments before I speak, a trick I learned from my grandmother, which is most effective at unnerving the person with whom you are in an argument.

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