Amaskan's Blood, Raven Oak [read me a book .TXT] 📗

“It’s good though that you have had some training, Your Highness. Some training is better than no training, though I intend for you to have more instruction in self-defense as well. We’ll need to clear a few things from your day.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible.” Margaret’s mouth opened and closed when Adelei raised a brow. “Is that going to be a problem, Your Highness?”

“No, Master Adelei. Only, please don’t schedule it this afternoon. If possible. Please?”

Much better. Adelei nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Now, what’s on your schedule for the day?”

Gods help me, it’s going to be a very long day indeed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Adelei ignored the shocked glances that occasionally came her way from the embroidering ladies; idle chitchat passed their lips in the afternoon activity that was Princess Margaret’s indulgence. With so many highborn women arriving with their lords for the wedding, Margaret felt the ladies “needed time to chat.”

Embroidery over tea left them the opportunity to catch up without the formalities of the royal court. Though I bet everything said here will reach other ears as soon as they leave this room. Adelei balled her hand into a fist and resisted the urge to scratch the itch under her head scarf.

If they continue discussing the wonders of Prince Gamun, I may go mad from sheer boredom and assassinate myself. She leaned back against the wall where she sat on a cushion thrown in the corner. Adelei crinkled her nose at the smell of wet dog exuding from the cushion, which probably belonged to some royal mutt or another. Fitting that they left it for me, though it’s another reason they stare beneath their lashes when they think I’m not looking.

Margaret thought it a joke when she offered Adelei the cushion or a seat in the circle. “I’ve even brought an embroidery square if you wish, Master Adelei.”

One look at the women who treated gossip as the latest morsel at the dinner table, and Adelei chose the dog’s bed in the corner. I think I’d rather be dead than sit as a member of this circle. She rubbed a hand along her lower spine. While the cushion was comfortable enough for the hound, the lack of feather stuffing left her lean backside aching after an hour.

Lady Millicent tore at a stitch in frustration and avoided looking at Margaret, who spoke of the prince in dulcet tones. She knows this marriage is a bad idea, yet she lies before my sister.

Lady Angelina hung over the sides of her chair, her elbows bumping with the women on either side of her. She, too, focused her attention more on the stitching and less on the conversation. No one else appeared uncomfortable with the topic as the ladies laughed at Margaret’s “precious naivety.”

“What other reason could there be for the existence of husbands than to care for and protect their loves?” Margaret asked. Her fake smile eroded only when she glanced at Adelei.

And so it went for the next hour—Margaret gushed over her upcoming wedding, while Adelei fought to keep her legs from falling as asleep as her mind already was.

Most of the high court ladies were Margaret’s age or older, though one duchess from the hill lands couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. She sat in her chair as manners dictated, but every so often, her legs bounced as she peeked at Adelei. Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, the young woman interrupted Margaret. “Your Highness, I’m sorry for being blunt, but I noticed the visitor with us. Might we be introduced to this person? Her outfit bears such a foreign look that I find myself curious about its origin.”

Several ladies gasped while others chuckled. Adelei bit off a laugh as her royal highness tried very hard not to murder her needlework. The veins on her face stood out as they throbbed in rhythm to her heartbeat, and Margaret said, “Master Adelei, Sepier of Alexander, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Master Adelei. Now, on the topic of Prince—”

“It is unusual in this country for a woman to be employed as a sepier. Such a manly role—” the young woman said, and Lady Angelina elbowed her in the ribs. “What? Well, it is.”

“Hush. Captain Warhammer served as sepier for a long while. Plenty of women take the role,” Lady Angelina said.

She’s not afraid to speak her mind. I like this girl already. Maybe I can get some information out of her, with a flapping tongue like that.

“If the King feels the need for an additional sepier, especially one who sits guard in a woman’s own bower, things must be grave indeed.” Lady Millicent sought out Adelei’s face. “Tell us more about why you are here.”

Margaret’s lower lip jutted out as she jabbed her stitching needle into the fabric. Brown eyes glared at Adelei across the head of a dozen women. “Big weddings tend to bring large groups of guests. I’m here as a precaution and nothing more. Please, return to your sewing, ladies.”

“There now, nothing to worry about. Let’s move on to brighter topics.” Margaret’s voice cracked, but she rattled on about topics of little importance. While the ladies returned to talk of the courts, Lady Millicent stopped sewing altogether. She stared outright at the two sisters, an odd expression across her face.

She thinks she knows something. Damn. Adelei stilled her tapping foot. I can’t see how similar we’d look with the amount of makeup I’m wearing or our clothing differences. Where Margaret was soft and warm, rouge scattered across her high cheek bones and light purples painted on her eyelids, Adelei’s face resembled stone: hard and unyielding with taupes and dark sages lining her lids and lips, leaving her cheek bones blunt and bare. The stark contrast of the coal lining the edges of her eyes darkened the brown of her irises until they resembled black holes rather than mud.

Not even my posture is gentle like Margaret’s. I’m sitting on a smelly cushion on the