Vojvo sighed as he tucked his laces into his boots. There wasn’t much longer left for him on dungeon duty now that Duchess Margaret had married, just a few more days before he would oversee their transport. He couldn’t wait—nice as it had been to reunite with men he’d served with before, they weren’t the same. Age had mellowed them to lack ambition or effort in their work.
Sometimes they barely bothered to make their rounds knowing there weren’t any prisoners on their block. Even so, it was their duty. Vojvo couldn’t stand it.
He made his way to his post, frowning when he didn’t see any of the other men on the level. Were they sleeping in the cells again?
Vojvo opened his mouth to yell for his other guards to get off their lazy asses as he turned a corner, but quickly backed up and put himself against the wall.
It was the king standing in front of a cell talking to someone.
No—taunting someone.
Vojvo scooted as close to the edge of the wall as possible without being seen around its corner.
“How do you know I asked her to go with me?” Liam said.
“She tells her husband everything. And he in turn tells me so that he can have my Margaret.”
Vojvo let out a slow breath from his barely parted lips as he tried not to let his rage bubble over. His fists shook at his side as he clenched them tight.
So, this was the reason the duke had pushed him out of Lady Margaret’s service. He had intended on betraying her and couldn’t with Vojvo around. The king had just confirmed Vojvo’s suspicions about Rowan were correct.
He had to warn her of her husband’s betrayal as soon as he was able. Vojvo couldn’t let this stand, even if a partial good had come out of it. It was still a lie and a betrayal of her trust.
Vojvo peeked his head around the corner and quickly bowed his head as deeply as he could to obscure his face as King Sorren passed him. He doubted the king would bother remembering him, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
When he raised his head, Vojvo looked at the cell. Liam leaned against the bars with one arm, his head resting against it.
Should he talk to Liam? Lady Margaret—he shook his head, it was Duchess Margaret now; he wasn’t used to her new title—was sure of his innocence, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree. Or bring himself to forgive Liam for the death of his son Jorren.
Shaking his head, Vojvo went back to his route of the dungeon. He couldn’t. He’d tell Duchess Margaret when the guard was changed, and he was off duty and let her do with the information as she would. He went through the rest of his shift, his thoughts on Jorren. He would have certainly had some things to say about Liam’s predicament and his views on whether Vojvo should help or not.
Vojvo regretted helping Jorren switch into Liam’s regiment, before the war started, so they could be together. He knew they were close friends, and he wanted his son to have someone looking out for his back. But that someone had gotten Jorren killed, along with most of the rest of their group, for some coin.
Vojvo pressed his hand against his breast pocket where he kept his last letter from Jorren safely tucked away. It was the only thing he had left of his son now.
For the rest of his shift, he completely ignored the row of cells Liam was on. He could be someone else’s problem for now. Once the relief guard had come, Vojvo went to Duchess Margaret’s new chambers.
He knocked on the door lightly, relieved that Sarah answered the door quickly. “Captain, can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Her Grace—urgently,” Vojvo said.
“Please come in.” Sarah opened the door wider, gesturing toward one of the many chairs. “Have a seat.”
Vojvo paused when he entered the room. It was more extravagant than her room as a countess. The floors were a light hardwood, mostly covered by a massive Radovian rug that held reds, golds, creams, and splashes of blues. The center of the ceiling mirrored the center of the rug with the large flowers surrounded by laurels. From the center of the largest flower hung a chandelier that gradually tapered down in size, smaller replicas in each of the four corners of the room.
All of the furniture in the room was upholstered with golden cloth and the wood had been painted with a golden paint. Seated just past the largest flower on the rug were two couches facing each other next to a massive fireplace. There was a small table between them. Above the fireplace there was a large mirror with a gilded frame. Throughout the room, there were several chairs and tables, all with gold painted wood and upholstery.
Vojvo shook his head. It looked like a room designed by whoever decorated the throne room, stuffing it to the gills with gilding and taking no consideration that it could appear gaudy.
In one corner, there was a pianoforte that Duchess Margaret or one of her new ladies could play on to occupy the ladies’ time while they sat in the room. There were several columns superimposed onto the walls gilded with small flowers and vines. Between the columns were small golden garlands. At the top of the columns, there were leaves that were also golden.
Vojvo briefly wondered what the bedroom looked like if the sitting room was this large and extravagant. He stood quickly when Duchess Margaret entered the room. She was wearing a crimson gown with a plain skirt. All the beauty was held in the bodice, constructed of a crimson and gold brocade. At her neck was a ruby and citrine necklace.
Vojvo bowed quickly to her. “Your Grace, you look beautiful this evening.”
Duchess Margaret smiled at him. “Thank you, Captain,” she said graciously. “What brings you here?”
“Your Grace,” Vojvo started, pausing to pull at the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. He wasn’t sure how to tell her without anyone else knowing what he was talking about. “I have seen something in the dungeons that concerns you.”
“Oh?” Curiosity lit the duchess’s face. “What would interest me in the dungeons?”
“A friend, ma’am. The one that you traveled with to Marbon,” Vojvo said hurriedly in case anyone walked in to hear them, “he’s here in the dungeons.”
“What?” The color in Duchess Margaret’s face drained. “When was he put there?”
“This evening,” Vojvo said. “Not long before the guards were changed.”
Duchess Margaret covered her mouth with one hand, the other resting on her hip. She began to pace. “We must get him out. My husband can help us create a diversion.”
Right, her husband who had ensured Liam was locked up would help. He would be a great deal of help. “Ma’am, there’s one other thing…” Vojvo did not wish to be the one imparting this information, but it was his duty to her. He would always put her above all others.
“What is it?” Duchess Margaret looked at him stricken. “Please, I’m not sure I can handle any more bad news.”
Vojvo flattened his mouth. Now he really didn’t want to tell her, but his loyalty was to her, and her alone. “It is about your hus—”
The door opened, the duke walking in, pausing when he saw them. “My dear, am I interrupting something?”
Duchess Margaret went to her husband, a desperate look on her face. “Rowan, my love, Liam has been captured!” She grabbed his arm with both hands, looking up at him. “We must help him. He’ll be executed!”
Vojovo watched guilt flash across the duke’s face that Duchess Margaret did not catch, no doubt because of her worry, before he put his eyes wide in feigned surprise.
“We were so careful going to him.” Rowan shook his head. “I don’t know how anyone would have found him.”
She looked between Vojvo and her husband, her eyes glistening. “Please, we have to help him.”
“The king has already captured him.” The duke cupped her cheek. “Margaret, there isn’t anything we can do for him.”
Vojvo tried not to roll his eyes.
“We must!” she pleaded. “There must be something—you have no idea how important he is.”
The duke shook his head in disbelief. “How important he is? Margaret, he is a traitor!”
“He is a king!” Duchess Margaret reeled back with a gasp, covering her mouth when she realized what she had said.
Vojvo’s head snapped to the side, and he blinked rapidly in surprise. Liam, a king? He couldn’t possibly be. He was a traitor, like the duke said.
“Excuse me?” the duke asked quietly, anger starting to grow on his face.
Of course, he would be upset; his cousin was the king. It was treason what she was saying, and she’d already done enough of that to last her a lifetime.
“His full name is Liam Fulton Triburn, the last of the line the Platiri family usurped,” Duchess Margaret said quietly.
Vojvo started at her words. It had been forbidden long ago to talk about the fallen line of kings, though the common people still spoke of them in campfire stories. If it were true that the traitor was truly the rightful king, it explained why Duchess Margaret had been so fierce in her protection of Liam when Vojvo had threatened to turn him in.
“We must help him,” Duchess Margaret pleaded quietly. “We must if he’s to have a chance to keep the people from suffering under His Majesty.”
“What you’re saying is treason,” the duke reminded his wife coldly.
“I am already a traitor, darling.” Duchess Margaret shrugged, shaking her head. “You knew this before you married me. I have already helped Liam and incurred the charge of traitor by His Majesty. Helping him now makes no difference to his ruling.”
“You will bring the king’s wrath down upon the both of us—and Samuel,” Rowan spat. “Is that what you want? Do you want my poor boy—our boy—to be locked away and treated as a criminal for the rest of his life?”
“Do you want to live with yourself when you can help a man that has a real chance to change the world we live in for the better? To have a king that would never do to others what he did to me?” Duchess Margaret countered. “We have to help him for the sake of the rest of Anatalia.”
Vojvo felt pride welling in his chest at Duchess Margaret’s words. She would help the people of Anatalia no matter the cost for herself, and he would follow her example. He wanted a better Anatalia—he wanted an Anatalia that Jorren would have loved. The savagery with which the Platiri family ruled the country was unacceptable. Vojvo would not stand by and let it continue now that he knew who Liam was.
“Your Grace,” Vojvo said quietly.
She turned around, looking as if she had forgotten he was there.
He knelt on one knee in front of her, her husband’s betrayal forgotten. “I will do all I can to help you free him and make a better Anatalia.”
Duchess Margaret smiled at him, tears starting to well in her eyes. He should not have been the one to make the first proclamation. She helped him stand. “I will happily accept your help, Captain.”