Page 39 of The Crimson Throne
What’d Cecil say? This symbol would be a way for others loyal to Elizabeth to identify me?
But—no. Queen Mary’s husband?
Darnley’s smile is puffed up, nearly cheeky now, a violent contrast to his fit from earlier.
“Samson, you said?” he clarifies.
I nod, dread racing through me.
Darnley beams. “We will call on you, Samson.”
His pause is confirmation. He might as well wink at me, the idiot.
Darnleyis loyal to Elizabeth? Enough that he knows the secret symbols Cecil devises?
Why the blazes didn’t Cecil tell me that Mary’s husband would be an ally? Not that I trust Darnley a bit after meeting him. And the fact that he’s presumably on my side—England’s side, at least—has me fighting to keep the contents of my stomach down.
“Very well, Your Grace,” I say, unable to keep my mask entirely, so my teeth grit. I drop into another bow. “Until then.”
Darnley hums approval. His eyes flick past me once more, not seeking Callum but taking in Alyth.
His sneer is back, all violent, overpowering disgust, and it has me cutting into his line of sight, blocking Alyth from that sneer with my hands balling tight.
He doesn’t get to look at her like that. Maybe at all, while I’m here at least.
But she’s not mine to defend, is she?
“Be careful the company you keep,” Darnley tells me. But he dismisses me by turning sharply to yell at another servant.
I back away as fast as I can, spinning on my heels—
Alyth is still behind me, but she doesn’t seem to care about Darnley’s appraisal of her. She’s watching me. And her expression says she caught Darnley’s responses to me. The oddity of them.
My necklace is tucked back away, and I don’t think she saw it; my back was to her when it fell free. Maybe she’ll write off the interaction as Darnley being himself? Maybe she’ll let it go?
I barely know her, but I doubt that.
The rest of the servants and crowd move around us again. But honestly, the whole of the damn island could be rocking right and left, and I’m not sure I’d notice.
Alyth’s dark eyes pierce mine. Hold me in place like a knife stabbed straight through me.
“Thank you for saving Callum,” she tells me in a voice utterly devoid of emotion.
That lack of emotion aches, but I swallow past it quick.
It’s better for her to hold me at a distance. She’s got enough self-preservation to trust her instincts with me, and her instincts have to be screaming that I’m bad news, now more than ever after that oddity with Darnley.
Good girl, I think, though it’s a bruise on the way I notice her flushed cheeks from the cold wind, the bit of grass clinging to a piece of her hair I want to pluck out just to touch her.
My gaze flashes beyond her, but Callum’s long gone. “I should check he’s—”
“I’ll look after him,” she interjects. There’s her emotion now. It’s different from her earlier rage. Whereas that was distrust brewing at me in general, this is sharpened.
She steps closer. “I look after everyone in Scotland,” she continues, eyes unblinking, face stone set. “And I won’t let any harm come to those under my care.”
I want to promise I won’t hurt anyone here. That she’s got nothing to fear in me. I should lie; I’ll only be here for a few weeks at most, then gone again, tugging threads of instability Alyth’ll likely have to deal with in my absence.
I dig deep for that mask. For the game I need to play.
