Page 154 of Disillusioned
“Well, you did pour a glass of champagne on my head upon arrival.”
Gasps filled the room. Marguerite began to utter a prayer before Henri shushed her.
Lilac’s eyes narrowed, the sweet pout of her lips tightening. The room grew hazy as her pulse quickened, the natural aroma of her skin invading Garin’s senses as blood pooled beneath it. “And you had your hands up my skirt just moments ago. I think we are even. You will be brought to my infirmary. That is an order.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.What was she doing?Why would she want him examined? Garin laughed, trying to downplay his heating temper. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but my fealty is to Maximilian, and him alone.”
Without removing her eyes from him, Lilac reached under her skirts and whipped out her blade. That glistening, inherited dagger.
“Lilac, no!” Henri shouted.
Garin froze amidst the startled shouts from the crowd. There was a flash of silver. He shut his eyes and braced himself for the pain—but the pressure was light.
Lilac’s cool blade came to rest flat on his left shoulder.
“If you hadn’t consumed the wine, I would have,” she said, loud enough for the room to hear. “Thank you for saving me from a most humiliating fate. I hereby grant you knighthood under the Breton crown.Mycrown. Effective immediately.”
Gaping, Garin stared up at her. She was mad. Utterly mad.
Henri was suddenly at their side, extending a shaking hand to him.
Reluctantly Garin accepted, allowing the former king to hoist him up. They looked at each other, exchanging bewildered glances before Garin was finally forced to glance at the room.
Behind them, two dozen guards held their weapons at the ready. The dance floor had been mostly cleared; off to the side Rupert was the center of attention, holding his temple. Emma pressed a cloth napkin to her son’s head, chiding him under her breath for getting involved.
“You.” Garin jumped when Lilac stepped to him, her breathing uneven. “Your fealty is now to me so long as you are here.” She nodded to the guards behind him. “Take him to Kemble. Now.”
28
Only at Piper’s urging did Lilac wait for the castle to be rounded up. She could barely sit still while her friend tugged a brush through several knots in her hair. The queen warily handed her the dagger, which Piper dutifully tucked back into her bedside drawer, right next to the cloth-wrapped stake.
Just as Lilac considered changing into one of her sheer nightgowns, a knock came at the door—then it banged open. It was the barely sobered pair that was Yanna and Isabel, clinging to each other to announce that they’d seen off all the guests who’d made the day trip for Albrecht’s feast. Everyone else being hosted on the first floor was being put to sleep by Ambrosius.
Alarmed with that last bit of news, Lilac left the sisters with Piper and bid them all goodnight. Out in the stairwell, a faint singing—Myrddin’s voice, not terribly off-tune—could be heard floating up from the first floor.
“This is a lullaby for the castle,
Where hearthflame and shadow do tussle
In deep sleep, you’ll take flight,
Through this chaotic night,
Otherwise, may your posterbeds rustle…”
The infirmary was located next to the library at the rear of the northernwing, directly above the armory. It was a square room lined with beds along the back wall, with privacy curtains separating them into makeshift rooms. Lilac had mostly managed to avoid it throughout her upbringing, save a couple trips here and there for scrapes and bad hangovers. And the one evening, upon returning from the Le Tallec estate, for the fever that must’ve deluded her into besting their boy at the blades, and shoving a boysenberry tart in his face.
When she dashed around the corner huffing, past the library and into the dim hall, a stern voice shook her.
“Is he worth the trouble?” Madame Kemble stood behind her in the dark, barely visible by the dim light of the torch at the start of the hall near the library door. She regarded the queen dubiously, balancing a cup of what appeared to be a cup of milk on a thin, biscuit-lined saucer in one hand, and a plate of bread in the other.
“I wanted to check on him,” Lilac said, steadying her breathing. “How is he?”
“Resting.” Kemble looked behind her. “But I think you should know something.”
Her stomach knotted. “What is it?”
Kemble ushered her down the hall to the infirmary door and unlocked it. Lilac half expected to see Rupert there as well, but it was only Garin, she assumed, in the lefthand far corner—the only cot with its privacy curtain drawn.
