Queens of Fennbirn (Three Dark Crowns 0.5)(38)

“Everyone can see this, can hear this,” Elsabet murmured as her cheeks grew hot.

“I could send a blade,” Rosamund said, taking a swallow of wine against her own vow of festival sobriety. “Just to nick him.”

“Ignore it,” said Bess. “Pretend you don’t see. Or don’t care.”

But it was too late for that. Already the whispers spread outward, until nearly every pair of eyes in the courtyard was darting between the king-consort and the queen. And what would they see? A weak queen who accepts her husband’s infidelity, right under her nose?

Elsabet stood up suddenly. So suddenly that the girls in William’s arms shuddered and tried to get away. But they were not her targets. The queen waited as the festival grew quiet. The musicians halted and servers froze half-leaned across banquet tables.

“William. My king-consort.” She stopped. Waited for him to bow, as he should. As he must. “I tire of these festivities. Will you come now and preside over Midsummer, as is your sacred duty?”

“I will,” he said, and began to make his way up to her. But when he leaned close for a kiss, she brushed him aside and stalked through the already muttering crowd. When she came face-to-face with the girls William had abandoned, she lost control of her temper and roared for them to get out of her way, unable to stand one more moment of their quivering, remorseful lips.

“Queen Elsabet,” said Rosamund. “Where may we escort you?”

Elsabet grasped her arm. Already the anger and jealousy were leaving her, and without them, she could not quite remember where she had meant to go.

And then she spotted him. Alone with a piece of bread in his forever paint-stained fingers, in the same clothes he had worn when she sat for her portrait. “There,” she said, and went to him at once.

“Jonathan Denton,” she said when he bowed. “Will you come with me to my chamber? I would have your update on the progress of my Midsummer portrait.”

“I should not have done that.”

Elsabet paced across the floor of her chamber. Her private chamber, where she and Jonathan were very alone.

“Did you see their eyes? Hear their whispers? They fear me. They think me volatile.”

“They revere you. Fear and reverence can appear much the same.”

Elsabet shook her head and did not pause her long, upset strides. “You are good to say that. But this is not the first time they have seen me lash out at that—that—!” She growled and threw up her hands. “And I shouted at those girls. As if it was their fault.

“And now, what will they say of you, Jonathan? Here, alone in the queen’s chamber?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Let them say what they like. I am happy to be of whatever use to my queen as I can.”

“No. I shouldn’t have put you in this position. I will make sure they know. That we were here discussing the portrait and nothing more!” She gestured vaguely toward his body. “I am not the kind of queen who takes revenge for infidelity by compelling some poor young man to . . . to . . .”

He chuckled. “It is all right, my queen.”

She sighed and walked to her dressing table for a goblet of Gilbert’s tonic, left over from that morning. The sight of William with his hands all over someone else had given her a headache.

“Is the wine no good?” Jonathan asked when she grimaced at the tonic’s bitterness.

“It is not wine at all but a healing draught. I am well,” she said before he could inquire, “but I sometimes get headaches.”

Jonathan stepped toward her, sniffing the air. “May I?” he asked, and held out his hand. “I am a poisoner, as you know, and have a natural curiosity about the healing arts.”

“Oh! Of course.”

He stuck his nose in the cup and inhaled deeply, then took a sip, swirling before swallowing. He was silent for a long moment, staring into the last of the liquid. Then he frowned. “Where did you say you got this?”

“My foster brother, Gilbert Lermont. He has brought it to me for months. Why? Do you detect some interesting ingredient?”

“No.”

“Or, with your interest in healing, would you recommend a different treatment?”

Jonathan looked at her. His eyes were troubled. “I would recommend that you stop taking this,” he said.

Elsabet snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Gilbert assures me—”

“At least let me take a sample.”

He seemed so insistent, and she saw no harm, so she nodded. “Take whatever is left. I suppose, as a poisoner, you would know better than I.”

“But with your gift of sight, surely you would know everything.”

Her eyes widened, and so did his smile. “If only that were how it worked. Alas, I cannot even see whose bed my king-consort is falling into at night.”

“He is a fool.”

Elsabet cocked her head, and Jonathan lowered his eyes.

“Begging your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“What’s said is said. Is that what all the people say? Do they think him a fool? Or me the fool for being wooed by his pretty face?”

“I’m afraid I don’t hear much court gossip, with my nose inches from a canvas. The painting is coming along splendidly, by the way. I hope to be able to present it to you within a matter of weeks.”