Page 72 of Golden Queen
With my heart thundering in my chest with some fear I would not even put to words, I left him.
I would see him at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I promised myself, and then tonight...tonight would be ours again.
After returning to my chambers to bathe and dress, I found myself wandering down the main hall of the castle. I had already peeked inside the formal dining room and realized that he was not yet seated at breakfast.
Tatana was hovering in an alcove in front of the long gallery doors, looking nervous on my behalf.
She did not often eat in the formal dining room, but it had nothing to do with her being permitted to. As my companion, she had an automatic seat with my ladies in waiting for most formal occasions.
Tatana did not wish to eat with the Windemerians, and I could hardly blame her for it. She was proud, and it took a great deal of humbling herself to sit at the table with Markus now that she had the freedom to refuse his invitations.
Markus was still away from the city, though, so she had agreed to come to breakfast with me to meet Io. She wanted to assess him, if only to ascertain for herself how much danger I had put myself in with my nighttime excursion to his room.
"He's going to know you're waiting for him," she hissed after a group of well-dressed older ladies passed by and entered the dining room. "You're being too obvious, Aelia."
I smiled at her, realizing all at once that I didn't care if he knew I was waiting for him. After the night we'd spent together, I didn't think it would surprise him to know I was anxious to see him again. Especially since I was certain he was just as eager to see me.
A group of nobles from White Spear, a city on the coast of the Sorn Sea, appeared at the end of the hall. They wore long, flowing robes in a myriad of pale colors from white to pink to sea foam green.
The women looked especially lovely with their long hair loose around their shoulders and their skin in every shade from pale white and sun kissed bronze to deep ebony.
A dark-haired woman with skin the color of teak was excitedly gesticulating something to the others. A wing of fabric attached to her wrist fanned out as she raised her arm, revealing a peacock feather pattern that caught the air and billowed out beneath her sleeve.
I was enchanted by the hidden feature of her gown, the gold and blue green of the feathers glinting in the sun filtering in through the high windows.
I didn't immediately notice the group of drably dressed men coming from the other end of the hall, heading toward the breakfast room.
The Minototians—four of them grouped behind the gray-robed Prelate Vijohn, were striding down the hall, their faces severe, as they watched the White Spear nobles approach.
I darted into the alcove, shoving Tatana through the gallery doors as her expression registered surprise.
"What?" she whispered as I quietly closed the door behind us and pulled her down the corridor.
"Minototians," I said.
No further explanation was necessary as Tatana hurried her steps beside me. Neither of us wanted to be caught alone in the hall under the censure of their judgmental glares.
Of course, as our footsteps echoed down the empty chamber, I thought perhaps staying in the hallway where I knew guards were stationed at both ends, just out of sight, might have been better than coming into the deserted gallery.
I didn't think the Minototians would actually follow us, even if they had seen me dart away. They would likely relish being alone with two women just as much as I relished being within a hundred miles of them.
Tatana and I passed through the long, central hall that held the portraits of former Windemerian rulers running down both sides. My parents were at the very end, on the opposite wall, where the little reflecting bench sat in front of the wide credenza of memorial candles.
Someone still lit a candle for my parents almost every day. I once thought it might be Markus himself. It was said my mother pitied and doted on him, often excusing his bad behavior as a disenfranchised son of Divestra. Their branch of the noble family had been an offshoot and not in line for the Dukedom.
Markus had inherited his title from the nearly destitute House of Smeck, passed down from a childless aunt. It granted him only the house and grounds in Ardmore, and the right to call himself lord.
I had long since stopped believing it was Markus who lit the candles for my parents, though. No one who loved someone could treat their only child with as much disdain as Markus treated me.
We reached the little memorial. The candle had not been lit. It sat in its tall, clear votive, waiting for whoever loved my parents enough to think of them every day.
I didn't take the little strike plate and light it myself, though. I always left that duty for the mysterious mourner, realizing that they were likely honoring people they had known, people for whom they had real memories to recall. I had never even met them, so I had no one to memorialize.
The side-by-side portraits of King Ander and Queen Laisera, with their rich chestnut hair, looked so similar they could have been siblings. Madia claimed that was more the artist's doing than any similarity that existed between my parents, though. Even their hair color had been different in life.
"Your mother's hair was rich and bright," Madia told me once. "It looked nearly red in the sunshine. But your father had deep, dark brown hair, like Arkadian."
"Why in the devil did they make them look so similar?" I asked Madia as she and I stared up at the portraits on the wall. Even their faces had similar shapes.
