Page 142 of North Queen
Mikael stopped and stiffened, and the pools of his eyes grew darker. She wasn’t winning him over to her cause—she needed a different approach. As much as she hated to appeal to his mercy, she would. For Bremhad and for Kiran.
She put her hand on his arm. “Mikael, please. He’s my friend.”
“A greenskeeper is your friend?”
She drew in a breath as she collected herself; cheekiness and sarcasm wouldn’t help her now. “I enjoy the garden here. It’s a place in which I hope to spend more time. Will you not have him released? He’s done nothing wrong.” Norah held her breath. He’d given her a horse worth losing an alliance. Would he not give her a greenskeeper?
He sighed. “I’ll see that there’s no greenskeeper in my dungeon.”
It wasn’t exactly complete assurance, but she couldn’t push him more. She gave his arm a warm squeeze. “Thank you.” She glanced down the way toward the dining hall. “Are you going to breakfast?”
“No. I’m headed to Basrah, just west. I’ll be back tonight.”
She hated that he was leaving again, but she nodded. “I’ll see you when you return.”
By evening, Bremhad had still not arrived home, and Norah felt a pit growing in her stomach. Why was it taking so long to release him? Was he even going to be released? Perhaps Mikael hadn’t addressed it with the commander before he’d left.
He said he’d address it, she told herself. She should trust him to do so. But the truth was, Mikael held the lord commander with a long leash, if with a leash at all. The brute had told her there was nothing he could do that the king wouldn’t forgive. And she believed him.
Mikael hadn’t returned by dinner, and Norah took her meal in her chamber. Her worry grew as she ate. What if she had been wrong? What if she couldn’t get Bremhad out?
Chapter forty-two
“YourMajesty!”Vitalia’sexcitedvoice woke Norah from her sleep. She sat up quickly, not sure if she’d slept at all. She’d been restless much of the night. “Was Bremhad released?” she asked before her awareness had even come to her.
Vitalia paused, shaking her head. “I haven’t heard, Your Majesty, but you’ll want to rise quickly. Northmen have arrived!”
Vitalia’s words woke her instantly. “Northmen?” Her heart leapt.
“Soldiers,” her maid explained. “They say they’re part of the Mercian royal guard. They’ve come to be in your service. The man that speaks for them, his name is Titus.”
Norah tried to quell her disappointment. Of course it wouldn’t be Alexander, and she shouldn’t want it to be Alexander, as much as her heart wished otherwise. It wasn’t safe for him here. It would make sense he would send her guardsmen, or what remained of them, and it would be good to see Titus.
She slipped down off the bed. “I’m glad they’ve come. Where are they?”
“They’re settling in the soldiers’ barracks. They’ll meet you in the throne room.”
Norah dressed quickly. It would be nice to have her own soldiers on her guard, men she could trust. Thinking of trust, her mind wandered back to Kiran, and her stomach sank.
She opened her chamber door to Kiran and Sonal standing guard. She didn’t dare ask for news with Sonal so close, but Kiran gave the faintest shake of his head, and his eyes told her his father hadn’t returned home.
Her feet felt like weights as she walked. She’d promised Kiran, and she’d been so sure of herself. It hurt. She’d let him down. She let Bremhad down. And it hurt she hadn’t been able to move Mikael. The lord commander had sent his message, and the king’s lack of action showed his decision. What power did she have here if she couldn’t free an innocent greenskeeper from the dungeon? The answer scared her.
Mikael stood in his chamber in front of a large cheval mirror while servant tailors bustled about to his mother’s demands. She scrutinized every detail, requiring perfection in everything. It was late morning. He’d already missed breakfast with the North Queen, and that had put him in an unfavorable mood. But this was a hard transition for his mother. The least he could do was give her the morning.
He watched the tailors in the reflection—measuring, taping, and pinning the fabric of the garb he was to wear for the wedding ceremony. The effort was unnecessary, having three like it already in his cabinet chamber. He’d prefer his armor; that seemed to be more fitting of his salara, anyway. Mikael caught his smile in the mirror and quickly stifled it.
Just then, the door swung open with a boom as Soren pushed inside. Everyone stopped abruptly, and his mother turned to him with a scowl. “Has he no restraint?” she seethed.
Mikael looked at Soren with a disapproving eye, but he knew his commander wouldn’t interrupt without reason. “Leave us,” he told the tailors, which no doubt would run afoul with his mother.
“You can’t be serious,” she argued. “You’re right in the middle of a fitting.”
“I’ll finish it later.”
His mother cut Soren a daggered look, and then she stormed from the room, followed by the cluster of tailors.
“The Northmen have come,” Soren said as the door closed behind them, completely unfazed by his mother’s annoyance.
