-II-

Wasting no time, Ashton returned to the Duome of Mourning, where the queen awaited.

“All these years,” she began. “And I never thanked you.”

Ashton gestured to the space around them, “The duome was thanks enough.”

“You sleep here?”

Ashton swallowed and smiled. “I do.”

“Perhaps you would treat me to a private sermon some night?”

“Your grace-”

“Allow me to remind you, I am the queen. You might not have a choice in this matter.”

“Your grace, I am a man of faith-”

“And?”

“And I swore to a life of celery- celibacy, your grace.

“You prefer little boys, then?”

“I am a triarch, your grace, not a cliché.”

“Another night, then. I shan’t have the time this evening, regardless. Do you have it?”

“Indeed…” Ashton moved past Xandrea, ascended the pulpit and reached underneath the podium to remove what, to Xandrea’s eyes, appeared to be a swaddled infant.

Ashton savored every fold he peeled back from the green-tinted bottle of wine.

“I suppose there’s no way to confirm its contents.”

“Just the one,” he said, rebundling the delivery.

“Well, in that case, I shall take my leave.”

“Before you go, there has been a pertinent update to our situation.”

Xandrea stood in place, listening.

“Tessa Palmer has passed away in childbirth. Lord Palmer arrived yesterday with her body in tow, and it is precisely as we suspected. Knowledge of the curse will soon spread throughout the entire kingdom. What’s more, Lord Webber has recently expressed a desire to unite your two houses.”

“In marriage?”

“It seems so.”

Xandrea did not reply for some time, letting the air between them settle.

“This idea does not sit well with you,” Ashton said when she did not respond.

She was trying to imagine it, the Webber maiden married to her son. It was either perfect, or the worst idea possible.

“Arienne intends to study the mending arts at Bellmuth,” he told her, as if the Queen did not already know. “Not to mention she sees her cousin, Cormick Webber, brother to the late-”

Xandrea took a step forward and cut him off, “If you ask me, those Webbers have fucked themselves for one generation too many.”

She took the bottle of wine out of his hands and turned around to leave, but not before Ashton thought to say one last thing. “You should speak your mind more often, your grace. You have a ruler’s imagination.”

Her grip tightened around the neck of the bottle.