The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(57)
Shadow tells her and the duchess looks confused. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it? No matter. From now on you’re both staying with me.” She releases Shadow’s hand and pats it, as if Shadow were her pet or a child. Cal sees a flicker of annoyance cross Shadow’s face.
“I’ll send for your things. This way we can get the lovely Lady Lila all ready for the king. I think she’ll clean up rather nicely. And perhaps I can do something with her little brother too.” She runs her eyes up and down his body, stopping to raise an eyebrow right in the middle. Then she looks around for her footman, snapping her fingers when she sees him. He rushes over and she begins relaying a list of tasks: Collect the lord’s and lady’s things; see to it that their rooms are ready at the house . . .
“Excellent,” says Cal. “We would be honored to stay at your residence.”
Shadow looks alarmed, and when Duchess Girt turns to her other side, she whispers in Cal’s ear. “You don’t mean for us to stay with that strumpet?! And what about our horses? We can’t bring them with us.”
Cal pretends to be absorbed in the food on his plate as he answers her from the side of his mouth. “We’ll pay Garbankle to keep the horses until we need them. Meanwhile, she is a duchess, a high-ranking courtier to the king, which means we will be part of the inner circle. And we need to be appropriately dressed to be welcomed at court. We don’t have time to get a new wardrobe otherwise. It sounds as if we’ll have a much nicer room, and I, for one, won’t miss the bugs, will you?”
“You won’t miss a pest in your bed, if that’s what you mean,” she retorts angrily.
He looks up from his plate and catches her eye. It’s the first time they’ve spoken about last night. “No, that isn’t what I meant at all,” he says sincerely. He would spend every night at that flea-bitten inn if it meant he would lie next to her again. But of course he doesn’t tell her that, as much as he wants to, and as much as he wants to know how she feels about all this.
Shadow saws into her meat, the color high on her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. Sleep well, my lord.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Caledon
DUCHESS GIRT’S ESTATE SITS ON the far side of Mont, just outside the city proper, one of the old homes that was built before the city walls went up, and many years before the Long Wars with Renovia began. It’s surrounded by a tall spiked fence, painted white over black wrought iron—as evidenced by a few flaking spots—and a thickly wooded area to the rear of the main building. A wide gravel lane leads from the gatehouse up to the actual residence, lined on each side with towering trees that shade the drive.
The duchess seats Cal between her and Shadow in the cramped carriage. While riding to the estate, she keeps finding reasons to touch his arm, his leg, to get closer to him. He smiles broadly at her while inching as close to Shadow’s side as he can, which causes a cascade of completely different feelings. While in the past he would gladly manipulate the duchess’s attraction to him if he were alone on this task, he is not alone. To make matters more awkward, it appears Shadow is trying as hard to get away from him as the duchess is to get closer.
The house itself is little more than a huge brick rectangle covered in windows, a strangely utilitarian architecture considering its pretentious resident. All of Montrice’s architecture appears this way, though, created with defense taking precedent over decoration. Strong buildings made to protect a weak people, Cal thinks. Renovia, he realizes, is quite the opposite: a powerful populace who surround themselves with beautiful, ornate structures.
The carriage grinds to a halt in the paved circle at the front of the house. Two footmen wearing deep-red uniforms stand outside the front entrance. One of them rushes forward to open the carriage.
The other footman holds out his hand for Shadow; Cal climbs out after her. The duchess follows, gripping the footman’s hand tight and a bit longer than strictly necessary. “Good to see you again, Danier, darling.” Cal notices that Danier smiles at the duchess in a way that would be considered highly impudent from a servant in Renovia.
They walk up the stairs out front and through the double-doored entry into the foyer. It’s not quite what Cal expected—less pink and feathery than he’d have guessed the duchess’s home would be . . . it is far more traditional and stern. There are black-and-white-checkered tiles throughout the front hall, with walnut paneling covering the walls from floor to ceiling. Against that backdrop, the footmen look more like part of the décor than actual people.
“Hellooo,” Duchess Girt calls out. Two white fur balls scurry up to her feet, yapping, their nails clicking on the tiles. “Oh! Mommy’s babies.” She picks them up; little pink tongues pop out from under all the white fur and begin licking her face. “You missed your mommy! Yes, you did!”
“The duke is in the library, my lady,” the footman tells her. He stands still, hands behind his back, staring ahead.
“Thank you, Danier, darling,” she says. And to the tiny dogs: “Let’s go see Daddy, shall we?”
“I thought your husband passed away?” Shadow blurts.
Cal is wondering as well. Who can she be referring to?
“Passed awa—oh!” She laughs. “Oh dear, no. I meant he passed on the dinner invitation. The duke has no interest in idle gossip and nonsense. Or at least that’s what he calls it; it’s not nonsense to the rest of us, now is it?”