Page 10 of Disillusioned
“To monitor me.”
“Protectyou.”
“What is it they need to protect me from? Who? The two of them together don’t do half the job Piper did.”
Lilac waited, silently daring her to mention the Daemons or the vampires Sinclair had told everyone she’d run away with.
But Marguerite merely turned to face Lilac after glancing once more into her open doorway, her own fine gown twirling around her ankles, eyes slitted. “That Piper girl did anything but keep you from danger. I don’t know what came over you to make these plans before I could help prepare you for a public appearance.”
Her mother’s forehead creased, her lip pouted. Years ago, a youngerLilac would have fallen for it—believed that Marguerite was truly concerned for her safety and not her own reputation.
“I am the queen,” Lilac calmly reminded her. “I can make whatever plans I choose.”
Her still demeanor irked Marguerite even more. She scoffed. “A queen who knowsnothingof the world.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Certainly not mine.” Marguerite shuddered, as if the thought of shouldering the blame horrified her far more than any temporary comfort she could give her daughter. “It was not I who filled your head with whatever delusion caused you to learn to dothat.”
Marguerite’s words stung like a slap.
“Learn?” Lilac gripped the bannister. “You believe I taught myself the arcana lingua?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed at the term. “How else would you have learned?”
She didn’t have an answer. It was a deeply ingrained language meant for Daemons. She was an anomaly; that’s what Adelaide had said. Either way, it didn’t matter now—she was on her way to see Garin and those she dared call acquaintances. Friends, even.
Marguerite, on the other hand, had started to cry. “I admire Herlinde’s work more than anyone, but why her when you can have anything custom made and delivered? Any designer would be honored.Anyclothier would be thrilled to work with you, to come here.”
“I would like to welcome her to Paimpont and support her new business venture there.”
She shuddered. “This is your coronation ball, not a charity, for goodness’ sake. And with how close we are to the date, you’d need to work with aprofessionalseamstress accustomed to sewing finery for royalty on short notice; they often have partially sewn gowns on hand ready to customize.” Marguerite cleared her throat, miffed. “For a coronation ball you should have a custom piece, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
She ignored her mother’s jabs. “You seem happy with Herlinde’s gowns. Does she not have any of these partially sewn gowns on hand?” The one Marguerite wore was beautiful—a morning glory blue with silver stitching.
“No.” Marguerite made a face, crossing her arms. “I’m not sure, I’venever been. I started purchasing from her last autumn, back when the Rennes location was her only shop. She’d agreed to sew for me based on my measurements and send the dresses to me, since I would have been laughed out of town if I’d visited myself, thanks toyou.” Her tear-streaked eyes widened, her heavy powder running down her face. “Perhaps you can do the same. Then you wouldn’t need to leave tonight.”
Appalled, Lilac reached past her to shut her bedroom door. Marguerite all but fell forward with a sob, nearly knocking her down the steps.
“Mother!”
Marguerite grabbed her wrist with an alarming urgency. “You are to find a husband soon, Lilac. By the time of your ball. If you do so, it will make a public statement of your intentions to marry, join forces?—”
“Mother—”
“The ball invitations just went out. It’s not too late. Many betrothals last barely two weeks. Some, days!”
She tried to shake the woman off, but Marguerite held on tight. “Let go of me.” She’d told them she would be crowned without a husband, even when Sinclair and his parents had tried to impose themselves on her during her ceremony after there was real fear she’d been kidnapped or purposefully abandoned her duties. They’d never countered her marriage refusal before she left the castle—maybe that was only because Sinclair was the obvious choice, and in their minds he would become her husband, if not upon her taking the throne, then eventually.
Since her accession, not a soul had mentioned marriage to her until today.
She laughed, disbelieving. But there was not a glint of humor or even malice in Marguerite’s expression.
“Is this about the scare this morning?”
“Ascare? I would hardly call the possibility of France scouting our borders for the path of least resistance to us ascare. It should be taken seriously. Marriage will save you. The future of this kingdom rests on it. Your sovereignty rests on it.” Her mother’s eyes were hard as she released her. “We cannot afford another war.”
They’d barely made it out of a century sandwiched between two of Europe’s largest enemy forces. Dread over what she faced after the Accordsmeeting—how she was to ensure the survival of her country, the protection of her people and the Daemons—began to fill her.
