Page 48 of The Reluctant Queen
“Ehmet, we hardly know each other. And what of love?”
“What of it?” He scoffed. “Causes nothing but trouble in a marriage. What does it matter to you?”
Hevva squinted and cocked her head. The last vestiges of pleasure trickled away. She swallowed, licked her lips, and inhaled as if to speak. Then she pressed her mouth closed and shook her head at him.Nothing but trouble?It’s not that she thought their brief dalliance was the foundation for a successful marriage, she wasn’t a bloody fool. Fates help them, they pretended to be other people for two of their three encounters. That wasn’t a foundation for anything. Still,nothing but trouble?
“What?” He flipped his palms in question.
“Why do you want to marry me?”
He balked, like she’d asked him the most idiotic question in the world. “Because you’re intelligent and witty. You are committed to your duty. You love your people. We’re friends. We get along swimmingly. You’re pretty. You’ll make an acceptable queen.” He shrugged.
An acceptable queen?!She wanted a nice common boy! Not this! Closing her eyes, she took a slow, shaky breath. A torrent of conflicting babblepoured through Hevva’s mind, flooding her, drowning her alive. Unable to breathe or form a coherent thought long enough to shape it into a retort, she burst into incredulous laughter, tossed her hands up in defeat, and left the room.
Ehmet did not follow. And if he had, she would have punched him in his stupid face.
eighteen
Ehmet stews.
“Ehmet, we need tospeak.” His mother rapped on his office door before sidling in and locking it behind her.
“Now?” He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not now, not at any point at all that day. It was precisely why he’d tucked himself away in the tower room, planning to avoid every single event his mother had scheduled. He’d made it to late afternoon, blissfully undisturbed and left to wallow in his own thoughts. He’d even taken a break from wallowing long enough to pen a note to the town council in Rohilavol to check in on the status of street repairs and propose a springtime festival in the lower district. This sanctioned affair would complement that which popped up each summer. He hoped to help that baker turned games administrator with his new roof, and infuse the economy further.
“Yes, now.” She took a seat in one of the chairs across from his desk and rubbed her temples, sighing.
Ehmet wondered if his mother knew what had happened with Lady Hevva. He hadn’t noticed any of the dowager’s spies, but again—that was sort of how they operated. “What is it, mother?”
“It’s your uncle.”
“What’s he done now?”
“It seems he is using this house party to conduct meetings with his friends right under our noses.”
“Did you not expect this? Did your beloved spies not expect this?”
“I did.” She pursed her lips. “However, I did notexpecthim to be so bold as to meet with the barons of Turkhane and Kashuvol while both were guests in our home.”
Ehmet nodded, though he wasn’t surprised. The two lords had likely been updating the Duke of Kashoorcih on what they’d learned from Ehmet at the symposium, which was nothing of importance. “I’ve been careful around both.”
“Good. But Ehmet, it is not enough anymore to be careful; you must be proactive. My spies have informed me that Yusuf has earned the support of the Baron of Napivol. And it has been confirmed that he also has an arrangement with the Duke of Rohapavol.”
Ehmet cursed under his breath—perhaps he did need his own team of sleuths. He hadn’t realized Yusuf had made such progress. When he saw her at the symposium, and here at the party, the Duchess of Rohapavol seemed friendly, a fan even. But then again, she wasn’t the voting party, her husband was. Sure, some of the nobles were put out by his progressive ideas, but angry enough to join the usurper? Something was off. “Blackmail?”
“That is suspected.” The dowager queen looked around his office, eyeing the bookshelves and drapery, the tables and hearth. She turned her gaze back to Ehmet and drew her brows together. “Don’t you have anything to drink in here?”
He chuckled, retrieved a decanter and two snifters, and poured out a finger for each of them.
His mother tutted at him, so he added a splash to her glass before handing it over.
As they sipped their drinks, Ehmet thought through the situation with Great-Uncle Yusuf. Why the blasted duke couldn’t just die already was beyond him. With the system in Selwas, each holding could vote one time in one direction, but the value of said ballot varied based on rank. He, as king, counted as four votes. Each dukedom counted as three, earldoms as two, and baronies as one on matters of the realm. Furthermore, in an effort to prevent imperialism or insurrection, the law stated those who heldmore than one title, through marriage or otherwise, could only cast a ballot under their highest rank.
His slimy uncle had managed to get everyone but the Earl of Midlake, the Duke of Stormhill, and the Countess of Kabuvirib on his side. Obviously, Nekash, as the Duke of Serkath, would support Ehmet if anything was put to a vote for a total of seven on their side. And, with the added support of Lord Yaranbur, Lord Kahoth, and Hevva, he had fourteen to Yusuf’s eleven.
Ehmet hoped to the gods that he could still count on Hevva in this matter even if she wanted nothing to do with him otherwise. Perhaps if he begged, she would also help him by ensuring her father supported the crown, should Yusuf force the matter to a referendum.
The dowager queen waited as the king thought through the issue at hand. She helped herself to a healthy portion of his brandy, filling her glass in several glugs.
“Oh, Gods.” He massaged his aching head and exhaled heavily. The icy press of reality numbed his fingers and toes, and his heart crushed under the weight of it all.
