Page 24 of The Witch Queen

Yes, my queen.

His shadows reach toward me and that same feeling from the Dwarvian village warms in my veins. If breaking the Veil meant rescuing Shade and Nox and all the other creatures of Malum, it was warranted. Justified.

And no matter what it takes, I’m going to make certain that no creature of Malum is imprisoned behind a Veil—or anything like it—ever again.

Chapter Seven

Ayleth

The duchess’s carriage is spotted clambering up the side of the mountain by midmorning the following day. Though I dispatched crows to track her progress once her party entered Riven, I still haven’t managed to lay eyes on the duchess herself. Callen was similarly unsuccessful in his attempts, which was highly irritating. And so I wait with the rest of the welcoming party in the courtyard, flags snapping in the wind.

“Careful,” Joan warns beside me. “You’re going to ruin those.”

She gestures to the bouquet of winter roses I’m currently strangling. One of their red velvet-like petals floats sadly to the ground.

“Sorry,” I mutter, passing the flowers to Joan before I do any more damage. “I’m just nervous. If this doesn’t go well…”

“It will,” Joan assures me. “You said yourself—if the duchess is anything like the rest of the court, she’ll be impressed by the entertainment.”

Weston certainly planned plenty of that. Even so, Callen’s words echo in my mind:Is there ever a moment when you don’t fear you’re about to lose everything?

The crow calls again, as if in laughter, and I tug at the collar of rubies around my throat.

“How do I look?”

The Lord of Misrule saunters out of the main doors of the palace wearing the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen. His sleeves are a rich green and so puffed out that it makes his shoulders appear twice as broad as they actually are. His doublet is trimmed in gold and studded with lines of pearls. Jeweled rings shine on his fingers and on the chain draped around his shoulders. A silk cloak flutters behind him as he flourishes a bow.

“Like you belong in the princess’s menagerie,” Joan says.

“You wound me, Marquess.” Weston presses a hand to his chest. “And that’s no way to speak to a future duke.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I ask.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Weston plucks the bouquet of roses from Joan’s hands. “Margaret is widowed. Which means she’s free to marry. There’s no reason she shouldn’t choose me.”

Several reasons immediately pop into my mind.

“I’m perfectly capable of sweeping the duchess off her feet,” he says primly, evidently guessing my thoughts. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done so. We—”

“Spare me the details,” I beg.

“And you know the title doesn’t work like that, don’t you?” Joan adds. “Even if you were to marry her, you wouldn’t be a duke. She wouldn’t even be a duchess anymore. She’d be”—Joan looks him up and down—“whatever you are.”

“Pesky details.” Weston dismisses her with a flick of his fingers. “Just you wait and see: Iwillbe a duke by the end of this visit.”

With that, he struts off to join a nearby group of courtiers.

“You know, I have to say I admire his confidence,” Joan says, watching him go. “I think he actually believes he can manage it.”

“It may work in our favor if he does,” I point out. “If Weston marries the duchess, they might return to Darryn. And stay there.”

Joan grins. “Then I’ll start planning the wedding.”

I laugh and start to say something else, but the clop of hooves cuts me off. The crowd murmurs excitedly, watching as several carriageslumber through the gates. The duchess is certainly related to Callen, for she does not travel lightly. No less than seven carriages roll into the courtyard, each one gilded and plumed and emblazoned with a seal I take to be that of the duchess—a sword with a snake wrapped around it. The crow calls again, its shadow skimming over the flagstones.

“Here we go,” Weston says, maneuvering his way to the front of the crowd, roses in hand. “Prepare to be dazzled.”

I hold in a groan as the carriages slow to a stop and heralds blast their horns.