Page 2 of Disillusioned
“Well,” the man said, his words barely audible through the cloth wrapped around his mouth, “what might the bail amount be?”
“It resembles him perfectly.” The woman slapped a hand on his back. “He entered my bedroom as I was asleep.” She yanked down the collar of her dress, showing a large red mark upon her throat. “Tried to suck me dry, he did.” She tapped the man again. “Didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Is that so?” Lilac leered at the pair. “Is that… hawthorn on his wrists?”
“Yes.” Then her eyes widened at the man’s unaffected hands. “I-I mean no, it’s not.”
Lilac forced herself to swallow the sudden wave of frustration that rose. This formality had proven pointless. It might’ve helped if someone actually came in with an valid complaint.
No one had taken her seriously. Not one of them.
And why would they?a voice in the back of her mind asked. She had no real experience in ruling, no experience out in town except for that day at the Le Tallec manor, and Adelaide’s marsh was the closest she’d been since then.
She trailed her clammy, sticky fingers over the worn cherrywood. Several decrees and rulings had taken place here, some that had changed the course of history for Brittany, for better and for worse.
Tonight would mark one more at The Fenfoss Inn, forever altering thehistory of her kingdom and completing her and Garin’s bargain with Kestrel.
They’d settle and sign the Accords that would reinstate her grandfather’s law and set a new precedent in defining the Daemons’ rights as citizens of her kingdom. The faerie king had been gracious with his time—by the day of her coronation ball, as marked in their contract. Ithadbeen scheduled for the middle of summer, but shortly after her accession ceremony her parents advised she move the date up.
Lilac had protested at first, but once Garin informed her in passing—under the dramatic guise of uttering a prayer over her—that he came upon an agreed date with all their invitees, she had no qualms. The sooner she got both the meeting and her ball over with, the better—and so, her coronation invitations promptly went out for the end of May, and so did those for the Accords meeting at the inn on the eve of the third Sunday after she ascended the throne.
In two weeks, the crown would be bestowed upon her head in this very room, and Kestrel would be appeased, then relieving the threat of Garin’s becoming possessed with the urge to kill her again.
By all means, she would’ve very much liked to avoid it.
“Actually,” she began, and the small crowd and even the guards looked shocked to see her rise from her seat. “The two in question have been pardoned. There are no wanted witch and vampire; they were only prisoners in the first place under Sinclair’s orders and not mine.” Lilac gripped the edge of the desk. “And, might I remind you—whereis Sinclair and his family today?”
She raised her brows. Lilac’s rhetorical question hung uncomfortably in the still air. She nodded in answer, not caring that the heat was getting to her. “Prisoners in their own?—”
The double doors at the front of the room flew open, and in barged a small brigade. Armand was at the front,carriedby four guards, writhing, his face twisted in a gruesome grimace, mouth open in a silent scream.
Behind him, two more guards escorted a man she didn’t recognize. Probably their family coachman, judging by his long coat and high boots.
Henri was at their rear, flanked by two men—Gondard and Perane, his councilmen of many years. He locked eyes with Lilac. “Everyone out! Ifanyone mentions a word of this, you’ll meet your fate at the guillotine. John has your names, places of work, and residences documented!”
“Where to, Your Highness?” asked one of the guards over Armand’s screeching.
“Anywhere but this room. This session is over.” Henri strode to her desk, standing off to the side, almost protectively in front of her. The councilmen took their positions behind the both of them, on the bottom steps at the rear of the desk. “Bring them chairs and fetch Madame Kemble.”
The guards dragged both men to the center of the floor, keeping them far from the desk. The room was silent except for the opening and banging shut of the doors as the remainder of the crowd was ushered out into the courtyard, one guard rummaging in the storage room in the far corner, and another darting into the keep for the infirmary.
“Father,” she said through her teeth, but Henri silenced her with a finger in the air.
The duke’s grimace had stretched into an equally terrifying smile, either at her or at least in her general direction, despite the grim expressions worn by the guards beside him. The coachman gazed off into the distance, his eyes heavy-lidded as he gave two slow blinks.
There was a sudden knock. “Come in,” called Lilac and Henri simultaneously.
One of the doors opened, and in barged Madame Kemble, her long blonde-gray hair tucked into a bun, several cloths slung over her shoulder and a tool belt hanging from her apron donned over a nightgown, which indicated she’d been roused from a nap. She nearly stumbled under the weight of the bucket she carried, water sloshing as she made her way to the men.
Just then, the guard returned from the storage closet with two spare chairs, upon which both men were promptly seated closer to the patch of late morning sunlight pouring from the high windows.
Nausea burned Lilac’s throat. Something was terribly wrong.
Kemble moved nimbly around them. She’d placed Armand’s left foot into the bucket of water and placed a cold cloth against his temple and right eye, which was swollen, blooming in splotches of red and yellow. Yet, his smile-grimace remained.
Deep circles lined the purpling skin beneath the coachman’s eyes, andhis lips were several shades too pale. He held a faraway gaze as if he were… sleepwalking. Kemble noticed, too. She waved a hand before his eyes.
