Page 124 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
“You know…she had an illegitimate daughter,” the older footman mused. “Grew up alongside Princess Raina. You don’t think…?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”
“Would surprise the royals, though.” A pause, a grunt, another thud. “The girl’s older than Archer. She would have lawful claim over Lothgaim.”
A harsh laugh. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that. What a mess that would be. Would ruin the whole marriage agreement.”
“Start a war, maybe,” the older footman added.
“You think?”
“If Archer marries the princess, it’s an amicable union that maintains peace between Marona and one of its most valuable territories. He, elder; she, higher-ranking. Balanced power.” The older footman loosed a raspy chortle. “But the daughter of Queen Yvira’s sister? Older than Archerandwith royal blood? She outranks both of them; she could usurp.”
“Lothgaimians wouldn’t take kindly to a Maronan assuming power like that.”
“No onewould, but she’d have rightful claim. It would be against Arcane Lawandtradition to deny her rule—or seat anyone else in her place.”
Noble’s pulse quickened, his injured finger throbbing painfully with each beat.
His father spoke often about court politics, but Noble never paid much attention—it all seemed so tedious. But the idea of Hattie having rightful claim to an entireterritoryaccording to the Arcane Law—the law that magically bound the entire kingdom—with consequences of the magnitude these footmen discussed…he didn’t know what to make of it, aside from a numb sort of shock.
“Marona doesn’t need another problem,” the older footman went on. “To keep the peace, Archer and Raina are the smart choice—for all parties. For the realm.”
Silence spread between them—not even the sound of them unloading.
Finally, the younger footman whistled a long sigh. “Good thing it’s just conjecture.”
“Fates help us if Mr. Pim is right.”
Noble peeked out from behind the bags of grain, catching a glimpse of the green uniforms of Lothgaim. For a moment, he simply watched the footmen from his hidden vantage, not truly hearing anything more of what they said. He felt as if he’d been pushed off Fate’s Landing, histhoughts tumbling in an endless pummel of water; a loud whooshing filled his ears.
Then he was walking out of the storage room and back down the long corridor of the stables, moving swiftly away from the troubling gossip. There was a chance they were wrong—but knowing how quickly Hattie’s family always changed the subject whenever she asked about the identity of her absent father, he didn’t think they were.
Hattie deserved to know what he’d overheard.
Noble didn’t consider the repercussions, didn’t entirelyrealizewhat he was doing until he was inside the keep, breezing past the guards stationed outside the residence, hurrying through the massive foyer toward the curved staircase that led to Hattie’s room.
It was the sight of Queen Yvira herself that startled him out of his trance.
She was wearing a burgundy gown, the bodice embroidered with carnelian beads. The colors brought out the richness in her brown freckles and emphasized the flush in her pale cheeks. He saw Hattie’s resemblance reflected in her aunt every time he looked upon the queen. Except where Hattie’s hair was golden, Yvira’s had more of a strawberry quality; the color made her look delicate, almost naive, but Noble knew the queen was just as fierce as her forebears who’d founded Marona and conquered the continent.
King Braven might’ve married into the family to become the headpiece of the kingdom, but Queen Yvira Wynhaim was the true ruler. As cunning as she was beloved by her people.
“Noble, what happened to your hand?” Queen Yvira asked, her velvety tone tinged with concern.
She had never been anything but kind to Noble, but in her presence, he was painfully aware of his rank relative to hers. Therefore, he was powerless to the pressure of her mere presence, his panic rising out of his throat before he had a chance to think.
“Is Hattie’s father the Lord of Lothgaim?” he blurted, voice echoing through the foyer. “Is she his true heir?”
Someone at Noble’s back let out a choked cough; he glanced over his shoulder to see a pair of maids scurrying away. When he turned back to the queen, awaiting her answer, her eyes were wide with shock, cheeks flushed with sunset pink.
She reached out, snatching his good arm. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
From there, the afternoon unfurled like a river’s current, sweeping him away.
Queen Yvira ushered Noble up the stairs opposite those that led to Hattie’s room, urging him into King Braven’s private study. There, the explanation burst out of him, beginning an uncontrollable cascade of events steered by the king and queen’s swift and merciless mitigation of what was, in fact, the truth.
A truth that—until that day—only they had known.
