Page 135 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

“I never thanked you. For everything you did in Quiver Lane,” she said. “Pained though I was, I did notice how well you fought to protect me.” She lifted her chin. “Was it you who slew the other cutthroats? Are you the watcher in the night?”

Her expression was impenetrable. Ead wanted to do as she had resolved—tell the truth—but the risk was too great. If word got back to Combe, she would be forced out of court.

“No, madam,” she said. “Perhaps they could have protected Prince Aubrecht, as I could not.”

“It was not your duty to protect the prince,” Sabran said. Her profile was half shadow and half gold. “It is my fault that Aubrecht is dead. You told me not to open that door.”

“The cutthroat would have found a way to him, that day or another,” Ead said. “Somebody paid Bess Weald handsomely to ensure Prince Aubrecht died. His fate was sealed.”

“That may be true, but I should have listened. You have never deceived me. I cannot ask Aubrecht for his forgiveness, but . . . I will ask yours, Ead Duryan.”

It took effort to hold her gaze. She had no idea just how greatly Eadhaddeceived her.

“Granted,” Ead said.

Sabran released her breath through her nose. For the first time in eight years, Ead felt a stab of remorse for the lies she had told.

“Truyde utt Zeedeur must pay the price for her treachery, no matter her youth,” Sabran stated. “By rights I should demand that High Princess Ermuna sentences her to death. Or perhaps you would prefer me to offer mercy, Ead, since you find its taste so comforting.”

“You must do as you will with her.”

In truth, Ead did not want the girl dead. She was a dangerous fool, and her stupidity had caused a slew of deaths, but she was seventeen. There was time for her to make amends.

Another silence passed before the queen turned to face her. This close, Ead could see the thick black rings that surrounded her irises, dark against their startling green.

“Ead,” she said, “I cannot speak with Ros or Kate of this, but I will speak with you. I feel that you will think no less of me. That you will . . . understand.”

Ead interlaced their fingers.

“You can always speak freely to me,” she said.

Sabran shifted closer. Her hand was cold and delicate, the fingers bare without their jewels. She had buried her love-knot ring in the Sunken Gardens to mark a place for a memorial.

“You asked me, before I took Aubrecht to consort, if I wanted to wed,” she said, almost too softly to hear. “I confess now, to you alone, that I did not. And . . . still do not.”

The revelation hung between them. This was dangerous talk. With the threat of invasion, the Dukes Spiritual would soon be exhorting Sabran to take another companion, even with the heir inside her.

“I never thought I would say those words aloud.” Her breath verged on a laugh. “I know that Inys faces war. I know that Draconic things are waking the world over. I know that my hand would strengthen any of our existing alliances, and that the other countries of Virtudom were brought into the fold through the sacred institution of companionship.”

Ead nodded. “But?”

“I fear it.”

“Why?”

Sabran was still for a time. One hand sat on her belly, while Ead kept hold of the other.

“Aubrecht was kind to me. Tender and good,” she finally said, voice low in her throat, “but when he was inside me, even when I found pleasure in it, it felt—” She closed her eyes. “It felt as if my body were not wholly my own. It . . . still feels that way now.”

Her gaze dipped to the barely visible bump, swathed by the silk velvet of her nightgown.

“Alliances have ever been forged and strengthened through royal marriages,” she said. “While Inys has the greatest navy in the West, we lack a well-trained standing army. Our population is small. If we are invaded, we will need as much support as we can muster . . . but each nation in Virtudom will consider itself duty-bound to defend its own shores first. A marriage, however, would come with legal stipulations. Guarantees of military support.”

Ead kept her silence.

“I have never had any great inclination toward marriage, Ead. Not the sort of marriage those of royal blood must make—born not of love, but fear of isolation,” Sabran murmured. “Yet if I refrain, the world will stand in judgment. Too proud to wed my country to another. Too selfish to give my daughter a father to love her if I should perish. This is how I will be seen. Who would rise in defense of such a monarch?”

“Those who call her Sabran the Magnificent. Those who saw her vanquish Fýredel.”

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