The Betrothed (The Betrothed #1)(3)

We walked down to the landing, and I felt a thrill of heat run up my arm when King Jameson took my hand to help me onto our boat. As promised, Delia Grace joined us, along with two of the king’s advisers, while my parents and the remaining guests were escorted to various other boats at His Majesty’s disposal. The royal standard was sitting proudly atop its pole, the bold Coroan red flicking back and forth so quickly in the breeze off the river that it looked like fire. I happily took my seat to Jameson’s right, his fingers still laced through mine as he helped me settle in.

There was food to enjoy, and furs to cover us if the winds were too chilly. It seemed anything I could desire was right there before me, which was something I was still surprised by: the lack of want when I sat beside a king.

As we made our way down the river, people standing on the banks stopped and bowed when they saw the standard, or called out blessings for the king. He was so poised as he nodded his head in acknowledgment, sitting as upright as a tree.

I knew not every sovereign was handsome, but Jameson was. He took great pains with his appearance, keeping his dark hair short and his bronze skin soft. He was fashionable without being frivolous, but he liked to show off the best of his possessions. Taking the boats out this early in the spring could prove that point quickly enough.

And I liked that about him, if only because I got to sit here beside him, feeling unmistakably regal.

Along the side of the river, near where a new bridge had been built, a weatherworn statue stood, casting her shadow down the slope toward the blue-green waters. As tradition dictated, the gentlemen on the boats rose to stand while the ladies dropped our heads in respect. There were books filled with the tales of Queen Albrade riding along the countryside and fending off the Isoltens while her husband, King Shane, was off in Mooreland for matters of state. Upon his return, the king had seven statues of his wife placed across Coroa, and every August, all the ladies at court did dances holding wooden swords to remember her victory.

Indeed, the queens throughout Coroan history were often remembered more vividly than the kings, and Queen Albrade wasn’t even the most revered. There was Queen Honovi, who walked the far line of the country, setting the boundaries and blessing with a kiss the trees and rocks she used as markers. To this day, people would look for the stones in particular—as they were placed by the queen herself—and kiss them, too, for luck. Queen Lahja was famous for taking care of Coroan children at the height of the Isolten Plague, so named because when people contracted it and died, their skin turned as blue as the Isolten flag. She walked bravely into the city herself to find the little ones who survived and placed them with new families.

Even Queen Ramira, Jameson’s mother, was known across the country for her kindness. She was, perhaps, the opposite of her husband, King Marcellus. Where he tended to strike first without question, she was known to seek peace. I’d heard at least three potential wars were stopped by her gentle reasoning. The young men of Coroa owed a debt of gratitude to her. As did their mothers.

The legacies of Coroan queens left a mark on the entire continent, which was probably part of Jameson’s draw. Not only was he handsome and rich, not only would he make you a queen . . . he would make you a legend.

“I love being on the water,” Jameson commented, drawing me back to the beauty of the moment. “Probably one of my favorite things as a boy was sailing to Sabino with my father.”

“I remember your father was an excellent sailor,” Delia Grace remarked, inserting herself in the conversation.

Jameson nodded enthusiastically. “One of his many talents. I sometimes think I inherited more of my mother’s traits than his, but sailing stayed with me. His love of traveling, too. What of you, Lady Hollis? Do you like to travel?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never really had the chance. I’ve lived the entirety of my life between Keresken Castle and Varinger Hall. But I’ve always wanted to go to Eradore,” I breathed. “I do love the sea, and I’ve been told the beaches there are a thing of beauty.”

“They are.” He smiled and looked away. “I’ve heard it’s the fashion now for couples to take a trip together when they get married.” He met my eyes once more. “You should make sure your husband takes you to Eradore. You’d look radiant on the white beaches.”

He looked away again, popping berries into his mouth as if it was nothing to speak of husbands and trips and being alone. I looked at Delia Grace, who stared back at me with astonished eyes. I knew once we were in private, we would pull apart every piece of that moment to figure out just what it meant.

Was he trying to say he thought I should marry? Or was he hinting that I should marry . . . him?

These were the questions on my mind as I sat up, looking across the water. Nora was there with her sour expression, watching with the other wretched girls from court. As I peeked around, I noted several pairs of eyes settled, not upon the beauty of the day, but on me. The only set that seemed angry, though, was Nora’s.

I picked up a berry and hurled it over at her, hitting her square in the chest. Cecily and Anna Sophia laughed, and Nora’s jaw dropped in shock. But she quickly picked up some fruit of her own and threw it back at me, her expression shifting to something resembling happiness. Giggling, I picked up more, and began a war of sorts.

“Hollis, what in the world are you doing?” Mother called from her boat, just loud enough to be heard above the slaps of paddles on the water.