Page 58 of The Reluctant Queen
His mother eventually departed, after a resigned Ehmet gave her permission to move forward with negotiations regarding a marriage to Lady Tahereh Nathari.
She assured him all would be well, reminded him of his many obligations, and left.
He wanted to be alone. But the duty never ended, so Ehmet force fed himself breakfast, allowed Parosh to help him dress, and went off to takepart in an awkward game of shuttlecock with most of the ladies and a few of the gentlemen in residence. Avoiding both silver-haired women had been difficult, but he managed.
Finally, some hours later, he made it back to his apartments. Just as Ehmet settled in for a good brooding session, his mother came by with an update. Her ring-laden knock sounded on the door not twenty seconds after his lunch was delivered. He begrudged her entry.
With a stern voice belied by the way her hands fidgeted with her skirts, she informed Ehmet, “It is done. I met with the Earl and Countess of Appven while you were outside with our guests.” Her lips lay in a thin line.
“And?”
“Your wedding is in one month. Plenty of time to make Tahereh the queen before the referendum and ensure Appven’s interests are firmly aligned with ours.”
Ehmet expected this, he’d given his mother permission to bring the agreement to fruition. Still, he found himself frozen beside the dining table, staring at his covered meal. It all felt so bloody antiquated.
“A lovely early autumn handfasting. Won’t that be sublime?” the dowager tried a new tactic, for a split second, before reverting to her old one: “You have no choice, Ehmet.”
He sighed, recognizing how horrid it felt to bewrong. He’d made an error, that’s all. He was simply incorrect that Lady Hevva would make a good queen. Uninhibited, wild women needn’t be queens. They could, perhaps, remain friends.
Duty, that unending hill to climb, had grown higher than the Dhegur Peaks. Logic would get him through. It had to. Tahereh was to be the queen, and it would befine. Someone quiet, and biddable. She’d do.
“If you choose to go through with this, you will resolve all of our problems.”
All ofyourproblems, maybe.All Ehmet could manage was a nod.
“Good. Your engagement will be announced at the end of the house party. We don’t want to ruffle any feathers by cutting festivities short.”
“It’s Nekash’s birthday party.”
“No. It’s really not.”
He couldn’t even chuckle.
After the dowager queen departed to revise her seating plan for the blasted announcement dinner, Ehmet poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey. Though he typically waited until evening to imbibe, the day called for it. Then he sat down to his meal.
Someone must have spilt wine all over the fates’ tapestry. Perhaps it was lit on fire, then crushed between a horse and a falling beam. Everything was a mess, and he was bloody miserable. Ehmet stabbed several green beans with his fork and bit down angrily. The tinestingedagainst his teeth, sending a painful shiver through his skull.
His food tasted like chalk.
“My lady.Please,” Aylin scolded, swatting Hevva on the head as she plucked pins from her hair. “Stop moving about. Why are you so...energized?”
“I’m quite fine.” Hevva ground her teeth together in three four time, watching her jaw flex in the mirror.
“You’re not fine. I’m not sure what’s gotten into you. I didn’t think you were so passionate about lawn games.”
“I’ve developed an affinity for them.”
Aylin tutted. “Palm.”
Hevva held up a hand, accepting hairpins from her maid. Though she tried to stop twisting on the stool, to stop fidgeting was an impossibility. She was too tightly wound.
She’d won her games of shuttlecock, earning the love of each teammate she played with. All it took was willing the cork-tipped birdie to whiz straight to her partner’s racket so they might bat it back. On their returns, she called it to herself. They’d beat out every other pairing by a dozen passes. The only reason she’d finished was because she was being ignored and no longer cared to play, so she’d missed on purpose.
Theproblem, that shouldnothave been a problem, washehadn’t looked at her. Not once during any of the matches. Yes, she said she was fine on the beach the day before, but heknewshe was not.That arsehole.He hadn’t even clapped when she’d swept through the guests with the Earl of Midlake, coming out on top as reigning champions.
“Hevva, stop fidgeting.”
“Sorry.” She’d been flexing her bum cheeks back and forth, left, right, left, right, bouncing upon the stool.
