Page 103 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“Sabran will see it done.” Roslain looked into nothing. “She knows it is her bounden duty.”

The waiting continued for some time. Linora, who had settled on the floor, dozed off against the wall. Finally, Roslain, who had been still as stone, began to pace again.

“What if—” She wrung her fingers. “What if he is a monster?”

Katryen stepped toward her. “Ros—”

“You know, my lady mother told me that Sabran the Eighth was ill-used by her companion. He drank and whored and said cruel things to her. She never told anyone. Not even her ladies-in-waiting. Then, one night”—she pressed a hand flat to her stomacher—“the despicable knavestruckher. Cracked her cheekbone and broke her wrist—”

“And he was executed for it.” Katryen gathered her close. “Listen, now. Nothing is going to happen to Sab. I have seen how Lievelyn is with his sisters. He has the heart of a lambkin.”

“He might be the very picture of a lambkin,” Ead said, “but monsters often have soft faces. They know how to mask themselves.” She looked them both in the eye. “We will watch her. We will listen well. Remember why we wear blades as well as jewels.”

Roslain held her gaze, and slowly she nodded. A moment later, so did Katryen. Ead saw then that they would do anything for Sabran. They would take a life, or lay down theirs. Anything.

At the turn of the hour, something changed in the Royal Bedchamber. Linora stirred awake and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Ead moved closer to the door. Thick as it was, she could hear enough to understand well what was happening within. When it was over, she nodded to the Ladies of the Bedchamber.

Sabran had done her duty.

In the morning, Lievelyn left the Royal Bedchamber at just past nine of the clock. Only when the Little Door had closed behind him could the ladies-in-waiting go to their queen.

Sabran lay in bed, the sheets gathered over her breasts. She or Lievelyn had opened the curtains, but the sky was overcast, offering scant light.

She looked over her shoulder when they entered. Roslain rushed to her side.

“Are you well, Majesty?”

“Yes.” Sabran sounded tired. “I believe I am, Ros.”

Roslain pressed a kiss to her hand.

When Sabran rose, Katryen was there at once with a mantle. While Ead stepped toward the bed with Margret and Linora, the two Ladies of the Bedchamber guided Sabran to the chair beside the fire.

“Today, I will keep to my apartments.” Sabran tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have a hankering for fruit.”

“Lady Linora,” Katryen said, “fetch Her Majesty some blackberries and pears. And a cup of caudle, if you please.”

Linora left, looking peeved to be dismissed. As soon as the door shut, Roslain knelt in front of Sabran, making her skirts puff around her.

“Oh, Sab, I was so—” She shook her head. “Was everything well with His Royal Highness?”

“Perfectly,” Sabran said.

“Truly?”

“Truly. It felt strange, but His Royal Highness was . . . attentive.” She placed a hand on her belly. “Might I be with child already?”

A pregnancy was unlikely from one night, but the Inysh knew little of the body and its workings. “You must wait until the usual time of your courses,” Roslain said as she rose, always forbearing. “If no blood comes, you are with child.”

“Not necessarily,” Ead said. When Sabran and both Ladies of the Bedchamber looked at her, she bobbed a curtsy. “Sometimes the body is a trickster, Majesty. They call it a false pregnancy.” Margret nodded at this. “It is hard to be sure until the child quickens.”

“But of course,” Katryen added, “we have every faith that you will be with child very soon.”

Sabran held the arms of her chair.

“Then I should lie with Aubrecht again,” she said. “Until I am sure.”

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