My Lady Jane(55)

Chatter in the dining hall softened, and then made a full stop. Everyone looked at Jane with her hand over Gifford’s goblet, and the servant standing there awkwardly, and Gifford sitting between them with his face slowly turning red.

Belatedly, Jane realized what she had done.

Under the stares of shock and amusement, Jane pulled away from Gifford and his still-empty goblet, and slowly stood up.

Everyone else followed immediately.

“I’ve had a long day,” Jane announced. “I’d like to retire for the evening. Darling husband, do you wish to join me?” Maybe if they talked, he’d say all the things she wanted to hear: that he agreed with her, that he found the idea of being king silly and unnecessary, that this was all his father’s idea, his father’s scheming, not his.

She turned to Gifford. The turn of his mouth said something like, “I don’t know, what do you want me to do? I am, after all, yours to command.” But he held out his arm for her to take. “Nothing would delight me more than to spend time in your magnificent company.”

They walked in tense silence. When they reached their chambers she strode into her bedroom and threw off her outer robe like she couldn’t bear its weight any longer, then started plucking the jewels from her throat and hair.

Gifford lingered in the doorway.

“Are you coming in?” she asked, pausing to hurl her platform shoes into the corner. “There’s nowhere to sit, but feel free to pull up a wardrobe.”

He came in and let the door shut behind him.

“What would you like to discuss with me, Your Majesty?” Gifford’s tone held none of his typical friendliness. His brown eyes were cold. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“You’re angry,” she observed.

Gifford raised an eyebrow. “What right have I to be angry? I am merely your subject, Your Majesty.”

Jane scowled. “Don’t be silly. You aren’t merely my subject.”

“Then what am I, Your Majesty?”

Jane clenched her fists and paced faster. “You’re my husband. My prince consort.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. And your prince consort I shall remain.”

He was being so childish.

“Stop saying ‘Your Majesty’!” Jane tore a pillow off her bed and hurled it at him. He sidestepped it quickly. “I told you not to call me that.”

He blinked slowly, as though trying to give an impression of guilelessness. “Then what should I call you, Your Majesty?”

“Use my name.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed and swirled his hand a few times in an overly dramatic display of courtesy. “Anything you say, Your Majesty. And not to question Your Majesty, but shouldn’t you be using the royal we? You are all of England now.” He paused a beat. “Your Majesty.”

“Why are you even angry about this?” She hurled another pillow, which he again artfully dodged. “You hate politics. You’ve been avoiding court for years.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The idea’s so ridiculous it’s almost sad. Can you imagine yourself prancing around the throne room, having carrots fed to you between petitions? What use could you possibly be as the king?”

“So you think I’m ridiculous. You think I’m useless.”

“I didn’t say that.” She brandished another pillow.

“You didn’t have to say it. Just because I don’t spend all my time with a book attached to my nose doesn’t mean I can’t infer what you meant.” He still hadn’t moved, aside from dodging pillows. His hands were behind his back. His chin was lifted. Even his hair was perfect. “Admit it. You’re ashamed that I’m an E?ian.”

“No! But this is still a dangerous place for E?ians, and it’s already causing talk that dinner is held after dark—just like our wedding—even in high summer.”

“Tell them I’m a vampire,” he said. “That should give them something to talk about. Anyway, what about all those decrees we discussed? Making the kingdom safe for E?ians? Protecting the innocent? Helping the poor? What were you doing all day if not securing the safety of your people, Your Majesty?”

“A hundred things you couldn’t begin to understand since you spent your day galloping about the fields and eating apples. I didn’t ask for any of this, you know. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since we came here. First I’m told that my best friend is dead, and oh, by the way, that means that I’m the queen now—surprise!—a position I’m not remotely prepared for and I only agreed to accept because you encouraged me. Then, instead of being allowed to mourn for my cousin, I’m shuffled from place to place, signing insignificant documents and picking the color of the new table linens and meeting people I hate, all the while wondering why your father clearly wants you on the throne so badly.”

“Why wouldn’t he want me on the throne?” Gifford asked.

“Well, you have to admit, this is awfully convenient for you, a quick marriage to someone who’s suddenly in line for the throne. After all, I know you didn’t marry me for my hair.”

“I married you because I was given no choice,” he said.

“And of course you had no idea that your father was planning on making you the king of England. Didn’t you hear him, Gifford? He’s already got your crown picked out.”