Page 102 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

They dressed her in the nightgown and a fur-lined rail. Katryen lifted her hair from under the collar.

“Ead,” Sabran said as they faced the door, “is this how it is done in the Ersyr?”

A furrow had appeared in her brow. The same furrow that had been there when she had described her nightmare. Ead found herself wanting to smooth it.

“Something like this, madam,” she said.

Somewhere outside, a firework whistled skyward. The celebrations were beginning in the city.

They led Sabran from the Withdrawing Chamber. She was shivering, but she kept her head up.

A queen could not show fear.

When the doors of the Royal Bedchamber came into sight, Roslain and Katryen pressed closer to their sovereign. Sir Tharian Lintley and two of his Knights of the Body, who had been standing guard, now knelt before her.

“Your Majesty,” Lintley said, “for the sake of courtesy, I cannot guard your chamber on this, your wedding night. I entrust your protection to your companion, and your Ladies of the Bedchamber.”

Sabran laid a hand on his head. “Good Sir Tharian,” she said, “the Knight of Courtesy smiles on you.”

He stood, and he and his knights bowed to her. As they left, Katryen took the key from Roslain and opened the doors.

At the foot of the bed, the Arch Sanctarian stood with a prayer book in hand, murmuring. Aubrecht Lievelyn waited with his Grooms of the Inner Chamber. His nightshirt, edged with blackwork, fell open to show his collarbones.

“Your Majesty,” he said. In the firelight, his eyes were inkwells.

Sabran gave just the barest dip of her head. “Your Royal Highness.”

The Arch Sanctarian made the sign of the sword.

“The Saint blesses this bed. Let it bear the fruit of his unending vine.” He closed his prayer book. “And now it is time for friends to take their leave, so that these new friends might come to know each other. Saint give us all goodnight, for he watches us in darkness.”

“He watches us in darkness,” came the echo. Ead did not say it with the others.

The ladies and the grooms all curtsied. As Roslain straightened, Sabran whispered, “Ros.”

Roslain looked her in the eye. Out of sight of the men, she grasped Sabran so tightly by the hand that both their fingers blanched.

Katryen led Roslain out. As Ead followed them back through the door, she looked back at the queen, and their gazes touched.

For the first time, she saw Sabran Berethnet for who she was beneath the mask: a young and fragile woman who carried a thousand-year legacy on her shoulders. A queen whose power was absolute only so long as she could produce a daughter. The fool in Ead wanted to take her by the hand and get her away from this room, but that fool was too much of a coward to act. She left Sabran alone, like all the others had.

Margret and Linora were waiting. The five of them gathered in the dark.

“Did she seem all right?” Margret asked softly.

Roslain ran her hands down the front of her gown. “I don’t know.” She paced back and forth. “For the first time in my life, I cannot tell.”

“It is natural for her to be nervous.” Katryen spoke in a whisper. “How did you feel with Cal?”

“That was different. Cal and I were betrothed as children. He was not a stranger,” Roslain said. “And the fate of nations did not rest upon the fruit of our union.”

They kept their vigil, ears pricked for any changes in the Royal Bedchamber. When quarter of an hour had passed, Katryen pressed her ear to the doors.

“He is talking about Brygstad.”

“Let them talk,” Ead said, keeping her voice low. “They hardly know one another.”

“But what will we do if the union is not consummated?”

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