Margaret walked into the great hall on Nicholas’s arm. “I wonder what’s going on?”
Nicholas shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough with your friends.”
Laughing, she searched for them. “What’s going on? Why does everyone look like they want to run from the hall and go home?”
“The traitor escaped last night. He killed his guards when they went to bring him to his execution, and fled,” Ingrid said. “No one can find him.”
“What?” Nicholas demanded. “Have they formed a search party?”
“One immediately after, and more are forming now,” Ingrid told him. “The men are gathering in the courtyard.”
Nicholas left without a word, and Margaret frowned at him. “Goodbye, I guess.”
“He just wants to help,” Ingrid said. “Come here with the rest of us. We’re trying to figure out who this traitor really is. No one here knows anything about him.”
“He was a city soldier before the war,” Margaret said. “I saw him patrolling with the Third—he was the one who was chasing after that thief when I hurt my arm.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Annalise demanded.
Margaret shrugged. “It wasn’t important, and you were there the same time I was. Everyone knew he was a soldier.”
“But you knew who he was before anyone else did.”
“I’ve never even spoken to him.” Margaret shrugged. She didn’t understand why having seen him on the streets was a revolutionary thing. If they had been paying attention, they would have seen him too. “I wouldn’t have had the opportunity.”
“But you recognized him,” Ingrid complained. “That’s better than everyone else in the room.”
“That’s all I know about him,” Margaret said. “I swear. I don’t know anything else. What are the other ladies saying?”
Annalise spoke up before anyone else could. “He’s apparently from a poor family in Rivack, and he joined the army to support them, if anyone here is to be believed.”
“Then how did he have such clear speech?” Elise asked.
“Maybe his parents paid to have him sent to a lord’s house for etiquette lessons?” Ingrid asked. “It’s fairly common.”
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Margaret said. “He was very well-spoken.”
“You said you didn’t know anything else, Margaret!” Ingrid complained.
“I don’t! You heard him in court too; you know how he speaks,” Margaret fired back.
“I wonder where he’ll go?” Elise asked.
Ingrid laughed. “Far away from here, if he’s smart.”
“What do you think His Majesty will do?” Annalise asked.
“I can ask Nicholas when he comes back. He’s still in the army,” Margaret said. “He might have an idea where Liam might go. He served with him during the war. They didn’t get along very well.”
“Margaret, I swear, if you hold anything back again, we’re leaving you behind,” Ingrid said.
“I promise, that’s all.”
“We’ve never sat this close before,” Margaret said as they were seated in front of the head table.
“Well, my dear, the king likes us,” her father said.
“Then, why haven’t we sat closer before?” Margaret asked. “We’ve always been a few tables back.”
“Because we have to follow protocol, Margaret.” Her mother sighed. “We have to let our betters come before us.”
“But Papa is one of His Majesty’s closest friends,” Margaret complained. “And you’re good friends with him too.”
“And that’s why we’re as close as we usually are,” her father said. “You’re going to be a maid of honor to the queen, and that will also help elevate our status.”
Margaret opened her mouth to ask another question, but her mother cut her off. “Enough questions, Margaret. We’re sitting closer, and that’s that.”
The meal began, and they waited patiently for food to be sent to them. One of the footmen brought a platter of salmon to their table. “From the queen, with her regards,” he said, serving the fish on to their plates.
“Salmon?” her mother asked, her voice raising, looking to the head table.
Queen Lillian raised her glass to them, a smile on her face.
Her mother glared at her before turning to her father. “I hate salmon. Her Majesty should know this after the last time it was served and I got sick,” she said not too quietly. “Perhaps she should work on her memory.”
The crowd around them quieted and looked to the queen. She was glaring directly at Margaret’s mother, her cheeks red.
Margaret looked between her mother, the queen, and her father. Her father’s face was pale, except for his cheeks. He looked equal parts livid and mortified. He stood, the cutlery clanging against the plates as he took her mother’s arm in his hand.
“What are you doing?” her mother demanded.
“You’re leaving,” he whispered harshly. “Get up, now.”
“Papa?” Margaret asked.
“Stay there, Margaret. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Her father escorted her mother from the dining hall, his back stiff. The hall was silent as they walked out. Margaret looked around the room and saw everyone was staring at her parents. She turned her gaze back to her plate, her face as red as her wine.
Slowly, the room filled with conversation again. About them. That had not been a wise move on her mother’s part, and Margaret hoped it wouldn’t keep her from being a maid of honor for the queen. She wanted to bring honor to her family.
When her father returned to the hall, several eyes followed him. She and her father ate in silence and left as soon as they were able. “I’ll speak to the king tomorrow, but we should likely stay away from court,” he said as they climbed into the carriage. “At least until Charles’s wedding at week’s end.”
Margaret sighed. She didn’t want to see Charles married to another woman. She had Nicholas now, yes, but Charles was her first love. “Papa, do I really need to go to that?”
“Yes, you do, Margaret,” her father said sharply, “and I want that to be the last I hear of that.”
“You’re going, Margaret, and that’s final,” her father said from her doorway. “Now, get dressed in the dress your mother had made for you, and come downstairs.”
“I don’t want to go!” Margaret whined. “I don’t want to see Charles get married to that—that woman! She’s horrible for him, and we both know it.”
Her father rolled his eyes. “Charlotte is a fine woman, and I happen to like her. You’re just upset that Charles didn’t marry you like you wanted.”
“That’s not fair, Papa.” Margaret crossed her arms over her chest, the black and gold brocade waffling under the pressure.
“But it’s why you’re acting up.”
Margaret glared at him. “You’re starting to sound like Mama.”
“Get changed into your new dress and out of this black thing, and come downstairs,” he commanded.
She threw herself on her bed with a groan. She knew it was silly to pout over Charles marrying someone he loved. He wasn’t obligated to play into her fantasies, no matter how much she wanted him to. It was not as if he’d ever shown her any sort of interest over the years, but she had still held out hope.
Margaret changed her dress with the help of her maid and went downstairs. “Are you happy now?”
“I’d be happier if you lost that attitude before we got to the church,” her father said. “I don’t want you to ruin this day for Charles. He’s very important to me.”
“Aren’t my feelings important to you?” Margaret whined.
“Not right now, no.”
Margaret crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Come on, then,” he said as he walked toward the door. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”
“What about Mama?” Margaret asked. “I don’t see her.”
“She was already in the city and is going to meet us there.”
Margaret sighed and walked out the door.
Hanson was already waiting with the carriage door open. “Good afternoon, Lady Margaret.” He offered her his hand.
She took it as she got into the carriage. “Thank you, Hanson.”
“Take us to Saint Germaine’s chapel, please, Hanson,” her father said as he got into the carriage.
“Very good, my lord.” Hanson closed the door to the cab and climbed into the front bench.
It didn’t take long to get to Saint Germaine’s chapel. Margaret wished it would have taken longer and that they were late for the wedding. She didn’t want to see him marry. At least, not anyone but her.
Her father escorted Margaret into the church, finding a seat on the groom’s side. Margaret paused when she saw Charles at the front of the church. He looked better than she had ever seen him. He was in his best suit, his strawberry blond hair shining golden red in the light.
He grinned when he saw them and came to their sides. “My lord! Lady Margaret, I’m so glad you could make it today.” Charles clasped her father’s hand, his smile still large.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” her father told him, and meant it.
“Of course,” Margaret agreed reluctantly. “We only want to see you happy.”
Charles gently clasped Margaret’s upper arm, squeezing it. “Soon we’ll see you marry and go out on your own.”
Margaret’s smile fell from her face. “We’ll see.”
Music started from the back of the church, and Charles made his apologies to them before returning to his appointed spot. Margaret looked to the back of the church and fought the urge to scowl. Charlotte looked beautiful in her gown, her blonde hair shining gold in the light spilling through the doorway. Margaret looked back toward Charles, and his jaw was slack, and tears were gathered in his eyes. She’d lost him, she knew.
The ceremony was kept short, lasting no more than fifteen minutes. Margaret was glad for it; she felt sick to her stomach, watching them express their love for each other. “Papa, do we have to go to the reception? Mama didn’t even show up for the wedding.”
“Yes, we’re going.” He herded her toward the door. “And you have to stay for the whole thing.”
“But, Papa!” Margaret stopped at the door, turning to face him. “This is miserable for me.”
“You’re acting like a child, Margaret. It’s unbecoming of a young lady of your station,” her father scolded, pulling her away from the people starting to stare. “I want you to keep quiet and pretend like you’re enjoying yourself for my sake and for Charles’s sake. Besides, you have Lord Nicholas to keep your attention, or have you forgotten all about him in your childish tantrum?”
“Fine.” Margaret turned on her heels and stormed out of the church. Shame heated her cheeks. She was being selfish; she did have Nicholas, and he was good to her, and here she was still hoping Charles would see her blossomed before him and abandon his wife.