Page 7 of Lady's Steed
“Why are you denying passage to the First Princess?” Gustav growled. “The queen requested her presence.”
“We don’t have a First Princess. Just a First Prince,” argued the mustached fellow.
“Who is dead, you imbecile, and you’ll join him if you don’t get out of the bloody way.” Gustav had no patience left and the soldiers realized it.
They parted to grant Avera access to her mother’s suite, not a room she’d visited often. As a matter of fact, it had been months since they’d last spoken.
Avera braced herself as she entered, and a good thing, too. A stench permeated the room, that of offal—and death. The massive bed draped in royal blue and gold had people clustered about. Duke Petturi, Mother’s advisor, and a few other lords and ladies, as well as physicians waving thuribles emitting smoke that did nothing to quell the smell.
By the head of the bed stood her mother’s consort, a man almost two decades younger than the queen. The queen had married him a few years ago to form an alliance with the extremely rich Brandy family. Although the maids claimed it wasn’t about the money but because of his looks. Some considered him pretty. Avera thought Benoit a little too polished, as if he wore a veneer over his true self.
Several faces turned to look at Avera, Duke Petturi being the one with the largest scowl. “What areyoudoing here?”
A grim Gustav replied, “She’s here at the queen’s request, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that Avera is First Princess, which means you should be very careful how you speak to her.”
Avera had never been happier to have Gustav there to rebuke them, although if he weren’t she could have slipped away and not had to deal with what would surely be an unpleasant conversation.
The rook’s cold reprimand tightened the duke’s lips. “Ah yes, the new heir. How fortuitous that she was the only one not within the palace when the attacks happened. Why, one would almost wonder if the First Princess were aware of what would unfold.”
Avera’s jaw dropped. “I had no idea. The first I heard of it was in the market.”
“How lucky for you,” was the duke’s sour rejoinder.
“Is that Avera?” The faint query came from the bed which led to the doctors shushing her. “Keep still. Don’t talk. Preserve your strength.”
“Do not tell me what to do,” barked the queen.
“We are simply ensuring your healing, Your Majesty,” whined Longkin, a physician Avera never liked as he’d tried to get to her bathe in obnoxious concoctions as a teen in an attempt to lighten her skin tone.
“You all know I’m dying,” snapped the queen. “This wound isn’t one that any can recover from. Where is my daughter? I need to speak to her.”
Bodies parted, giving Avera room to approach, yet her steps lagged. The queen had always been a cold and formidable figure, one more prone to criticism than praise.
Avera stepped close to the bedside and clasped her hands. “Your Majesty.” She executed a curtsy and the queen snorted.
“That will be the last time you do that. It seems the assassins were thorough. You are the only heir left of my bloodline. When I die?—”
Murmurs arose and the queen snapped, “Quiet. I am trying to give final words of wisdom to my daughter. Your soon-to-be queen.”
Not a prospect they looked forward to, given the side eyes and twisted lips.
Avera murmured, “Perhaps the doctors can?—”
“Do nothing,” the queen harshly interjected. “A bowel wound is a death sentence, and I don’t have time to argue it. You are now First Princess, my heir, and ill-prepared for what is to come next. There are things you must know if you are to rule.”
“How can I rule when I have no lessons in leading?” Given how far down the line of succession Avera fell, no one ever bothered. She’d instead been taught history, geography, mathematics, as well as music, which she did poorly at, and art, also an abject failure. Her gifts lay in knowledge of trinkets that served little use, and her skill with a blade.
“Your daughter isn’t ready,” Duke Petturi interjected. He acted as Mother’s second and ensured her orders were carried out.
“Then you’ll teach her,” hissed the queen. “Get out. All of you, so I might speak to her alone.” When they hesitated, she tried to rise which led to Gustav ushering out the doctors and the duke.Only Benoit, her consort, remained, but the queen eyed him and uttered a frosty, “That means you too. What I have to say is for the future queen alone.”
“But my love, you heard her. She’s not ready. Perhaps I can guide her.”
“Not bloody likely. Your role as consort ends with my death and given it’s imminent, you might as well start packing.”
Avera had never heard her mother speak so harshly to Benoit. Usually, she had smiles and even giggles for the man she’d taken as consort.
A stiff Benoit marched out of the room and Avera wished she could leave too.