One Final Present

“So anyway,” Elwyn took a sip of her wine, “that’s when the boar charged me, and um...I shot him.” She was uncomfortably aware that she had been talking a lot. She was probably boring these people. Maybe she ought to find a quiet corner and drink alone for a while.

Her apartment on the Via Clarissa was famous, even notorious, throughout Teperum as the site of the city’s most wanton and extravagant parties. The irony was that Elwyn didn’t actually like parties very much. She was never comfortable at them. To be sure, she had learned how to be a good hostess from her Grandmother Colwinn and her stepmother, Rohesia. She was perfectly capable of charming people and introducing guests and keeping the conversation going and drawing out wallflowers. She just didn’t like doing any of that. It was annoying. And exhausting.

She tried to excuse herself from the group of young Immani patricians, but then she noticed how one of the girls was looking at her, and suddenly her interest in socializing was rekindled. The girl was a curvy blonde. Almost a bit too curvy, in fact. Any more curvy, and she would be “plump.” But that was fine. Elwyn liked curves. As she had once told her little sister, Alice, “We always want what we cannot have.”

“Emilia Lorenza,” the girl said, fluttering her long eyelashes at Elwyn over her wine cup.

There was a Military Legate on the proconsul’s staff named Lorenzus. The girl’s father, maybe? That could make things potentially awkward later. But Elwyn had drunk enough wine that she wasn’t sure she cared about that.

In minutes, they were in the hall, kissing and running their hands over each other. The girl knew what she wanted; this obviously wasn’t the first time she had done this. Elwyn just needed to find them a spare bedroom. Going upstairs to her own room would take too long.

The first two rooms she checked had people drinking and dancing in them. The third seemed empty at first, but then Elwyn heard moans and panting, and peeked around a hanging tapestry to find two people on one of her couches, fucking furiously.

Her jaw dropped as she recognized them. The curly black hair and powerful riding muscles of the woman on top were unmistakable, even before Elwyn caught a glimpse of her profile. It was Callista, the Emissaria with whom Elwyn had once had an affair. And the man she was riding with such wild abandon was Elwyn’s own brother, Edwin.

Elwyn ducked back behind the tapestry and pulled Emilia out of the room. “Sorry, but I’ve remembered some work I need to do,” she told the girl. “You go enjoy the party, though. Try the cheese dip; it’s delicious.”

Then Elwyn went alone up to her own rooms, slammed the door, and paced back and forth, clenching her fists and swearing under her breath. What in the Void did Edwin think he was doing? His wife was still recovering from the horrible ordeal of childbirth, and here he was, fucking another woman! And how could Callista do something like this? What was she thinking? She and the other Emissariae were almost like family now. The Sigors relied on them, trusted them. And she was betraying that trust. It was appalling!

Of course, Elwyn was aware, even at the height of her anger, that she was being a bit hypocritical. After all, she had fucked Callista, too. And she had done it while she was supposed to be negotiating her betrothal to Broderick. But that was different. She and Broderick weren’t married. They had never wanted to be married, and had no intention of ever really going through with it.

Also, how could Callista fuck siblings? It was...well, she didn’t think even the Immani would be into that.

In the morning, after a nearly sleepless night, Elwyn went over to the Villa Cedra, her former home. The guards let her in as a matter of course, and she headed straight for the little parlor that the Emissariae used as their office. Callista was there, dressed in a sheer robe and fuzzy slippers, decoding messages while sipping a cup of black coffee.

“Indeed, your royal highness,” said Callista, smiling. “But it’s always good to get an early start on one’s work. It’s nice to see you back here, by the way.”

“Save it,” snapped Elwyn. She moved closer and lowered her voice. “What the fuck were you doing with my brother? I saw the two of you in my tapestry parlor.”

Callista’s smile didn’t falter. Her cheeks didn’t redden even slightly. “I was providing the king with relief, your royal highness. I was giving him a sexual release, since her majesty is still too tired to perform her wifely duties.”

“No, your royal highness. It was his wife’s. She specifically asked me to do it.” Callista rose and calmly crossed the room to a small desk. She looked through a few neat little cupboards, and then produced a letter, which she handed to Elwyn.

Irena had written it. There was no doubt about that. Elwyn recognized the handwriting. And the substance of the message was precisely what Callista had said.

“You should bear in mind that Queen Irena is still an Immani girl at heart, no matter how she has tried to become a good Ivich. This sort of thing—a spouse or lover giving their partner permission for a brief affair—is entirely normal here.”

Callista frowned and cocked her head to one side. “But...your royal highness, it is similar to what you and I did during our trip to Rawdon. My supervisor, Lily Serrana, asked me to provide you with any sort of comfort you might require.”

For a moment, Elwyn couldn’t breathe. Her body felt numb. Her mouth was too dry to speak. Finally, she managed to croak, “You...you fucked me because Lily Serrana told you to?”

“She was concerned about you.” Callista bit her lip, and for the first time, her cheeks colored. “I thought you knew.” She hurried over to Elwyn and took her hand. “Please don’t misunderstand. I cared about you. And I still—”

“Shut up,” said Elwyn, knocking her hand away. “Stay away from me.” She had to get out of here before she broke down. “And stay away from my brother!”

From the shadows of the hall, Edwin looked in on the Gold Parlor, which had become the nursery. Lady Rada gently rocked his daughter’s cradle, watching fondly as his wife showed a picture book to Rada’s two sons, four year-old Louis and one-year-old Phillipe. Irena was bundled in furs, right up to her chin, and the boys seemed to enjoy snuggling against her.

“Now this,” Irena said, “is Wealdan Castle. See the tall towers? And that big glass dome? It’s quite famous.” Her voice had that tired, sing-song quality that it always had now. “That’s where we’ll all go live someday.”

It pained Edwin to admit it, even to himself, but he preferred Irena this way. Three drops of opium in wine at breakfast, another two with lunch, and two before bed. She was building up a tolerance to the stuff, or so the physician said, but as long as she kept taking it, she was sweet and kind and calm. He didn’t like her to be unhappy.

She still had pain, sometimes quite bad. And there were stranger things, too—odd moods and bizarre behavior. Like the time he had found her in the garden trying to bury a pair of old shoes. No, it was better for everyone if she kept taking her medicine. At least for the time being.

She turned toward the door, and despite the shadows, she spotted him. “Ooh! Look, boys! The king is here.” She gave Edwin a rather sappy, hopeful look; her eyes were brighter and more alert than usual. “Does the king maybe want to stay and read a story?”

He stepped into the light. “Sorry, but the king has official kingly business he needs to take care of.”

Irena’s head bowed; her eyes turned dim and glassy again. “Yes,” she said softly. “You’re very busy. Say ‘goodbye’ to the king, boys.”

Edwin hated himself as he left them. But Irena and Rada were better at that sort of thing than he was. He felt stupid and self-conscious whenever he played with children. Some fellows, like Baron Walter, Rada’s husband, seemed to take to fatherhood naturally. But Edwin never had any idea what he was doing.

And he really did have an appointment—one that he had been looking forward to all morning.

Callista was waiting for him exactly where she had said she would be: in an old spare bedroom in the guest wing of the villa. She had on one of her riding outfits—baggy trousers, a man’s tunic, and well-worn riding boots. Frankly, he had expected her to be in something small and lacy, but he decided this was fine, too. Whatever she wore, she would be out of it soon enough.

In a few quick strides, he crossed the room, arms out to embrace her. To his shock, though, she put up her hands and stopped him.

It wasn’t her soft, sultry “bedroom” voice. It was her “business” voice—the one she used when talking about troop movements and the royal family’s finances.

“First, I want you to know that I care for you a lot. And for your family, as well. I would never do anything that I thought would harm any of you.”

“Um...that’s good. I mean, I never thought you would. But it’s nice to hear you say so, I suppose.”

“Thank you, your majesty. As I say, I don’t want to hurt you, or your family. And that is why you and I cannot continue this affair.”

“What are you talking about?” Edwin threw up his hands. “Irena asked you to do this. No one’s getting hurt.”

“There are people who love you besides the queen,” said Callista. “And in any case, her majesty never intended for this to be a permanent arrangement. I believe she wishes for it to end.”

“Because I asked her. This morning, before you woke up, I went and spoke with her majesty. She asked me to please stop sleeping with you.”

“Oh, holy Finster,” grumbled Edwin. “Irena is so high all the time she probably doesn’t even know what she’s saying.”

In a somewhat colder voice, Callista said, “That is another reason why this affair should end.”

This was uncomfortably similar to what Edwin’s nagging conscience had been telling him for weeks now. But even so, he loved his arrangement with Callista. The sex was so good, and they had it so often. It was almost like things had been with Irena before she had gotten pregnant. Except that Callista didn’t seem to derive pleasure from insulting and degrading him. He didn’t want this to be over so soon.

“I was content as long as I thought I was helping you and your family. Then your sister made me realize that—”

“Perhaps you should listen more often to your sister. Now if you will excuse me, your majesty, I have messages that I need to deliver.”

When she was gone, Edwin slumped into one of the big chairs by the hearth and put his head in his hands. This was so stupid, and so unnecessary. Why did Elwyn have to be such a bitch all the time? Why did Callista have to be so cold and dispassionate about this? Hadn’t the affair meant anything at all to her? How could she walk away and end it, with no more emotion than if she’d been sending her regrets over missing a dinner party?

And Irena. Why had she suggested the arrangement with Callista, only to withdraw her consent now? She hadn’t recovered yet. She showed no sign of wanting sex. Or did this mean that she thought she was ready to come out of her opium-induced stupor and be his wife again? That thought made him nervous. He wasn’t sure he was ready to find out what Irena was like now, without the drugs.

But maybe it was time. He sighed, stood up, and straightened his tunic in the mirror. “Well, I suppose I’d better go read some stories to Louis and Phillipe,” he thought.

She threw another party after the one where she had seen Callista with Edwin. But it all felt wrong. She couldn’t enjoy the wine. She ignored the men and women who flirted with her. In fact, she spent most of the night on the roof, alternating between looking at the stars and looking at the pavement below. She kept wondering how much of a mess she would make if she stepped off the edge, and which poor bastard would have to clean it up.

The fact that Callista had fucked her on Lily Serrana’s orders was the saddest, most pathetic thing that Elwyn had ever heard. “What must Lily think of me?” Probably the same as everyone else thought of her—that she was a complete disaster with no self-control at all. And they were right.

She had tried before to be good. At school, in fact, she had been quite the little prude. But she had gotten over that, largely with Lily’s help. Then she had fallen for poor Sir Alfred Estnor, and she would have married him, if he hadn’t died. Then had come a long series of lovers, some quite serious. After her most disastrous affair, however, she had sworn off sex entirely. For two years, she had been as chaste as a nun. She had wanted to make Edwin proud of her. But he hadn’t even noticed.

Then they had come to the Empire and—there was no other way to say it—she had gone wild. She had lost any sense of restraint, any sense of decorum. It had started with brief flings, like when they were exiles in Briddobad. A handsome cavalry officer here, a pretty housemaid there. Then she had gotten angry at Edwin and left the villa, and suddenly she couldn’t control herself anymore. She would be drunk for days, lost in wild orgies with people she didn’t even know.

And while she was gone, Edwin had turned into a selfish prick who fucked Callista while his wife was drugged out of her mind. But of course Elwyn couldn’t say a single blasted word about it, because she had fucked Callista, too.

She stopped having parties. Let the young and wealthy of Teperum find other places to drink and fornicate.

She started going to church again, and in fact went several times a week. Irena was often there, too. Elwyn sat behind a pillar so the woman wouldn’t see her. Elwyn pitied Irena, but she still didn’t like her very much. Other people saw Elwyn, though—expatriate Myrcians who knew her on sight. Some of them went away whispering together, no doubt wondering what she was doing there.

Despite the fact that she was in church for hours every week, Elwyn spent very little time praying. Mostly she sat looking at the stained glass and pondering all the stupid mistakes she had made in her life. “Why did I do those things?” she wondered. “What was I thinking?”

After a few weeks, word about her sudden religious enthusiasm must have reached the Villa Cedra, because one morning, Elwyn’s stepmother showed up and sat down with her.

“I heard you were coming here,” she said. “I wanted to see it for myself.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Elwyn. Rohesia wasn’t actually her mother, but the woman liked it when Elwyn called her that, so whenever they were on speaking terms, Elwyn tried to remember to do it.

The queen cleared her throat. “There has been some speculation that you have found yourself in...a difficult position.”

“Do you mean people think I’m pregnant?” Elwyn managed a weak smile. “No, Mother. Trust me, I’m not pregnant.”

“Well, I stopped bleeding three days ago, and it’s been two months since I’ve had sex. And even then, it wasn’t the sort of sex you can get pregnant from. So yes, I’m certain.” Elwyn sighed and rubbed her eyes. She reminded herself that she was trying to be good now. “I’m sorry, Mother. I shouldn’t snap at you.”

“Think nothing of it.” The queen seemed to relax, though without slouching even slightly—it was a talent she had. “I am glad you have been...careful. So, are you here hoping to...make some kind of fresh start?”

A wave of emotion swept over Elwyn as she saw how earnest Rohesia was. Elwyn’s throat tightened, and her lip quivered, and all she could do was nod her head.

“Good for you, my dear,” said the queen. “I have been worried for you, and for your brother. Neither of you has been yourself recently. Or rather, if you have been, then you have been the worst possible versions of yourselves. Perhaps you should go see him. You two need each other.”

Elwyn wiped away a tear. Rohesia loaned her a handkerchief, and Elwyn blew her nose a few times. It echoed horribly down the big, shadowy nave.

When she could speak, she said, “I was always under the impression you thought I was a bad influence on Edwin.”

“I did, and sometimes you were.” Rohesia put a hand on her arm. “But you are also his best and oldest friend, and you can make him listen when no one else can.”

The queen gave Elwyn a ride to the Villa Cedra in her carriage, and then sent her across the courtyard to Edwin’s study with a pat on the back and a whispered, “Good luck.”

Elwyn knocked on his door. After a few moments, he opened it. His face fell the moment he saw her. He might as well have punched her in the gut. It hurt to see how much he hated her.

“Ha! I don’t know about you, Elwyn, but the reason I’m miserable is that my wife still doesn’t want to have sex, and you talked my mistress into dumping me. It’s frankly a little disturbing how much interest you’ve taken in my sex life.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” she thought. She knocked a few more times, but he never responded.

Back at her apartment, Elwyn poured herself a very, very large glass of wine and went out on the roof to drink it. “I am such a worthless shit,” she thought. “But maybe I can do better next time.”

As Irena slowly weaned herself off her drugs, she wasn’t as bad as Edwin had feared. She was much, much worse. Sometimes she was very sick—cold sweats and vomiting and such. Edwin tried to sit up with her, but she made him leave the room.

“You’re waiting so you can force yourself on me in my sleep!” she would shout. And she would say things like that in front of his mother and Lady Rada and his 9-year-old cousin, Helena, who were trying to help, too. It was mortifying.

Gradually the illness subsided, but her temper remained volatile. She started to obsess over their daughter’s future prospects, and as a result, she began to nag Edwin about his political ambitions.

One morning, as he was answering letters, she burst into his study and demanded to know, “When are we going back to Myrcia?”

He might have pointed out that she couldn’t, logically, go “back” to Myrcia, since she had never been there in her life. But he didn’t want to provoke her any more than she already was provoked.

“Well, it’s a matter of building the proper coalition,” he said. “We’re in contact with a number of nobles who—”

“In other words, you’re doing nothing,” she said. “Finster’s balls, my friends were all so jealous that I was going to be a queen.” She stamped her foot. “But I’m the queen of nothing, Edwin, and you’re the king of fuck-all.”

“It takes time,” he said soothingly. “I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so concerned with—”

“Because we have a child now, you stupid, lazy shit! Do you care about her at all? Because if you did, you wouldn’t let her grow up as a beggar, living off charity.”

That hurt a great deal. Irena was more right than she knew. Edwin felt deeply ashamed of himself as he thought of how completely ineffectual he had been about plotting his return. He had council meetings, and he wrote letters to sympathetic nobles. And the Emissariae were gathering intelligence for him, of course. But he hadn’t done anything practical.

He didn’t have a grand plan, or even a small, shabby plan. Yes, in theory he wanted to win back Myrcia, and he often talked about how he would someday, but he had no idea how to do it.

And he would have to admit that things were still very much in the planning stages. “Building an army takes time,” he explained.

“Why do you need an army?” she grumbled. “In this country, if someone wants the emperor out of the way, they poison him.” She waved a hand toward the other wing of the house. “I mean, you’ve got these Emissariae at your beck and call. Maybe instead of whoring around like little tramps, they could slip arsenic into Broderick’s morning coffee.”

Edwin told her that wasn’t the way that gentlemen did things. That was very important to him—all his life he had tried to behave like the brave knights in the stories he had read as a boy. He tried to keep in mind the lessons his Uncle Lawrence had taught him about chivalry and fair play. But then again, his uncle had been a truly abysmal general, and his incompetence was the main reason Edwin and his family were in exile now.

As the days went on, and Irena kept nagging, and nagging, and nagging, he began to wonder if there might not be something to her idea. Yes, it wasn’t how he had been taught to fight, but that sort of thing wasn’t without precedent. His cousin, Prince Maxen, whom Edwin had never known, had been the heir to the throne, and he had been poisoned. There were plenty of stories of the old Kingdom of Leornian that ended with the king being assassinated. It wasn’t pleasant, and maybe it wasn’t even moral, but there was no doubt it was effective.

His first stop, as Irena had suggested, was across the courtyard at the office of the Emissariae. Seeing Callista felt awkward, even now. A consummate professional, she was always perfectly polite, but the way she acted as if there had been nothing between them made Edwin sad.

Fortunately, Vittoria was there today, as well, which made things a little less tense. Edwin shut the door, and in a low voice, he posed the question: “Could you help me assassinate Broderick the Black?”

“I can’t recommend it,” Vittoria said. “At least not without a lot of careful planning. You would need to be in a position to take over immediately. It’s a very tricky thing to pull off. People tend to remember successful coups, but most times, they actually fail.”

Edwin couldn’t forget how Broderick had seized the throne and forced him to flee for his life. But he knew that a few decades before he was born, there had been a failed coup in Myrcia. It had ended with Queen Merewyn locked in a tower and her lover executed. So he could see Vittoria’s point, but he continued to press her: “Fine, but can you help me?”

“I do hate to seem rude,” Callista said, “but I must remind your majesty that we are agents of the Immani government. Assassinating a foreign head of state—even a foul usurper like Broderick—could only happen on the orders of our superiors.”

Edwin left their office, very much annoyed that for once, they were incapable of helping him. He thought of the Emissariae as a law unto themselves, and it took him aback to learn there were actual limits on what they could, or would, do.

Next he tried the expatriate community, asking around discreetly here and there. Baron Walter and Lady Rada tried to help him find an assassin, but they both obviously disapproved of the plan.

Then one Sunday after church, as the royal party milled about in the April sunshine, enjoying the flowers in the churchyard, Sir Robert Tynsdale sidled up to Edwin. Sir Robert was one of Edwin’s cousins, the natural son of Edwin’s uncle, the late King Ethelred, just like Broderick was. His wife, Alicia, had been Elwyn’s best friend at Atherton, and his son, Bryan, was at school now with Alice and Jennifer.

And yet, he was always something of a peripheral figure at the exile court. Partly this was because of his quiet, retiring personality. But mostly it was because of his reputation as a man who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty in secret. Both Edwin’s father and his mother had employed Robert from time to time. Edwin, who otherwise quite liked Robert, had thus far avoided doing so.

“Rumor has it you’re looking for a poisoner, your majesty,” Sir Robert said in a low voice.

Robert nodded. “I think I might. Meet me in the garden of the villa tonight and tell me all about it.”

When the royal family got back to the villa and all the doors of the bedroom were shut, Edwin told Irena what he had done and what Robert had said.

For a moment, Irena stared at him, and he waited with bated breath, sure that she was about to yell at him again. Then she smiled.

“Well, it’s about time,” she said, in a low, honeyed tone. A tone she hadn’t used in a very long time. She slowly unlaced her bodice and beckoned him over to the bed. “You’ve been a very good boy. And you’ve waited so long. I think you deserve a little...reward.”

Yes, Edwin was still a bit cold and standoffish, but they were at least saying “hello” at church now, and Elwyn was visiting the nursery a couple times a week. That was a start, wasn’t it? Edwin and Irena seemed to be on good terms again, at long last. Not that Elwyn liked Irena any better than she ever had, but it was nice that Edwin wasn’t miserable anymore.

Even better, Alice and Jennifer had finished their two years at Atherton, and they would soon be home. Elwyn couldn’t wait to see them. She had traded letters with them, but it wasn’t the same. She could tell, between the lines, that both girls had grown up a lot, and she was eager to see what they were like now.

She vowed that she would set a good example for them. She would take them dress shopping. She would take them on hunting trips. She would take them to the theater and introduce them to the right sort of young gentlemen at the right sort of parties. She even had an idea—if Rohesia and Earl Cedric Stansted could be persuaded—that she might take the girls on a Grand Tour to Presidium and some of the other great cities of the Empire.

Then in mid-June, a letter arrived from Alice, and Elwyn broke the seal eagerly, hoping it would give some indication of when they would be arriving.

I guess we’re not coming home, even though we’re done with school. Mother wrote and said we’ll be staying with the Duke of Wislicshire for at least a year, at his house here in town. His daughter Katherine is a complete bitch, but she’s getting married (poor fellow), so she won’t be around much. I’ll be very sorry not to see you and Mother and Edwin. I wish you could come visit.

Elwyn let out a long sigh. All her summer plans had been spoiled. It was quite dispiriting, really. But there was nothing to be done about it. She wrote Alice back, saying that she hoped they would have fun and would get to go hunting more now that they didn’t have schoolwork to do.

The next day, Elwyn paid one of her visits to the nursery. Rada was lying down in her room, so only Rohesia and one of the housemaids were looking after the children. Elwyn played games and read a few stories.

Irena looked in and froze in the doorway when she saw Elwyn. But she nodded and said, “Good morning,” in a perfectly civil tone. Then she went and sat by herself on the other side of the room.

Things seemed to be going well, until, just for the sake of conversation, Elwyn mentioned the letter she had gotten from Alice. “Why are they staying at Atherton?” she asked.

“Edwin and I made the decision,” said Irena brightly. “We aren’t sure the...moral tone here in Teperum is suitable for young Ivich ladies.”

“It means,” said Irena, smiling still but looking at Elwyn, “that there are people here in town who would be a bad influence on Alice and Jennifer. And we need to keep them safe, so they continue to be good girls like you, Helena.”

Elwyn felt a sickening tightness in her chest. “Are you...implying something, Irena?”

Rohesia sprang into action and had the housemaid take Helena and Louis down to the kitchen for a snack, before either child could ask what was going on. Then she led Elwyn out into the courtyard, while Irena sat in the nursery, grinning smugly.

“I don’t understand,” said Elwyn, choking back tears. “Why punish Alice and Jennifer for what I’ve done? And I’m doing so much better now, Mother. I really am.”

“I know, dear,” said Rohesia sadly. “And while I do not think you would intentionally harm them, a reputation like yours doesn’t ever go away. It pains me to say it, but it’s true. Scandals can cause heartache and misery for years. Did I ever tell you about what happened between me and Duke Aldrick when we were younger?”

“You mean when you almost eloped with him, but got cold feet at the last moment?”

“I...I....” Rohesia’s jaw dropped. “I had no idea you knew about that.”

“I confess I’m a little surprised you never flung it in my face when we were arguing. But I’m glad you didn’t. Thank you.”

“He walked in while I was explaining to Aldrick that I couldn’t go. I thought my reputation was ruined, but your father was very sweet about it all. It’s one of the things that made me finally want to marry him. He kept the whole thing secret.”

“That’s the difference between you and me. My scandals are public. And they don’t have happy endings.”

“But when Leornian was under siege, Aldrick refused to send troops to help us precisely because I refused to marry him. And Muriel Gramiren knew about it all, so that’s why she thought it would be funny to send me to live at Aldrick’s palace. So, you see, the consequences go on and on, all your life. You simply have to find a way to rise above it.”

That was a lovely sentiment, but on the way back to her apartment, Elwyn remembered Irena’s foul grin, and she decided Rohesia’s advice, even if well-meant, was terribly naïve.

“Fuck rising above it,” she said to herself, as she wiped away tears of fury. “Fuck it all. What’s the point? Why even bother making an effort anymore?”

She sent out invitations to all her old, disreputable friends. She sent a massive order to the wine merchant, and purchased a dozen jars of scented oil. She hired the most notoriously risqué dancing troupe in the city, and then she wrote letters to her family, telling them goodbye, which she left on her writing desk.

She would have the most obscenely decadent Summer Solstice party in history. She would fuck everyone in sight and get blindingly drunk. And then she would go to the roof and jump off.

The Solstice arrived, and her party was every bit as wild as she had hoped it would be. Her front parlor was like the last days of Paradelphia, with dozens of people having sex in the open, in every possible position. Men with men, women with women, women with men. Men who looked like women fucked women who looked like men. A man dressed as a cat fucked a woman in full legionary armor. It was that sort of party.

Elwyn sat in a corner wearing only a lacy shift. She was kissing one of the dancing girls, while their manager was between Elwyn’s legs doing something very dirty with his tongue and fingers. She looked across the room of writhing flesh, and suddenly she spotted a man standing by himself, fully clothed, gazing around with a bemused smile.

He was a tall fellow, well-muscled, though still trim. He had brown hair and wide blue eyes, and a chiseled, cleft chin. He looked as if the hero of one kind of story had accidentally wandered into a different one by mistake. Like if the brave knight from one of those tales of chivalry that Edwin had loved as a boy had turned up in a book of pornographic Sahasran engravings.

Elwyn sat up, releasing the dancing girl and pushing aside the manager. “Thank you,” she said, “for that prelude to better and—hopefully—bigger things.”

She hurried over to the big dark-haired man and smiled. “Hello. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“What a shame. This is the first time I’ve ever made it over here. I’ve heard so much about this place.” He looked around. “It lives up to its reputation.”

He chuckled. Obviously, he knew who she was. “I’ve heard she is most accommodating.”

“You heard right.” She was going to ask his name, but then she decided she didn’t care. She grabbed him by the front of his tunic and dragged him into the nearest available bedroom.

They fucked all night, in every way Elwyn could think of. He was beautiful, and so very attentive. They fucked until it stopped being a distraction, and became a positive pleasure. They fucked until Elwyn was sober, and it was so good that she didn’t even bother getting more wine. They fucked until the sun came up, and Elwyn realized she had forgotten to kill herself.

She rolled over on her side to face him and took his hand and shook it. “Elwyn Sigor, by the way. But you knew that.”

“Severus?” She tugged at his ear teasingly. “Like Horatius Severus, the first emperor?”

That made him laugh. “Well, my father is a senator, and my mother’s father was, too, and I’ve got two uncles who are Military Legates, and one great-uncle who’s a Proconsul, and another who’s the Megadux of the Middle Sea. So, yes. Privileged assholes, the lot of them. Me, too, I guess.”

She kissed him. “It takes one to know one, Paulinius Severus. It takes one to know one.”

Vittoria had been right—an assassination took a lot of careful planning. As Sir Robert explained, “A madman could walk up and stab you on the street. That takes no planning at all. But a madman doesn’t care about surviving, and he doesn’t have accomplices he can betray.”

Even if everything went perfectly, there were still no guarantees. Sir Robert had tried this sort of thing before. As he reminded Edwin, he had very nearly managed to poison Broderick the elder and Muriel Gramiren on the same day Edwin and his family had been forced to flee the castle. Edwin had forgotten about that. Robert had been seconds from success, but in the end, the only person who had died was Anne Meriwether, the usurper’s mistress.

That was an important consideration—how many innocent lives was Edwin willing to sacrifice? And beyond that, the most basic question of all: who would be the targets?

At first, he had thought of Broderick the elder and Duke Lukas of Severn, but Robert counseled against killing the duke. “He and the usurper are feuding at the moment. It started as some stupid thing about a wedding, but it keeps getting worse. Lukas might be persuaded to come over to our side. Or at least not to interfere when you invade.”

“I’d recommend both Brodericks and Muriel,” said Robert. He and Edwin were out in the meadow beyond the garden, in the shade of a big oak. There was nothing but grass and clover for three acres around them. It would be easy to see anyone trying to sneak up.

“Broderick the younger?” said Edwin, a bit uncertainly. “He’s always been very good to us.”

“His virtue actually makes him more of a threat in the future,” said Robert. “If he were a drunkard and a womanizer and a murderer, then people would rejoice to learn he wouldn’t be their king. But by all accounts, he’s a sober man, an honorable and talented commander, and he loves his wife to distraction. That makes him admirable on a personal level, of course. But politically, it makes him more dangerous. People might prefer him to you. No offense.”

Edwin nodded. He tried to make sure that jealousy wasn’t playing any part in his decision. He was uncomfortably aware of how the young Broderick was better than him at...virtually everything. By rights, Edwin should have hated him for that. But he never had. And he didn’t now. Yet Robert was right. As horrible as it was to contemplate, the very fact that Broderick the younger was a good man made it more urgent to dispose of him. Edwin was appalled and disgusted at himself for even thinking of it. But there didn’t seem to be any choice.

“You’re right,” he said. “He should die with his parents, then. But his wife and his daughter, Hariette, will have an estate and an income for life.”

Robert nodded. “Very wise, your majesty. Raise the girl to be grateful to you. That will end the feud, and....” He stopped, peering back toward the garden. “Ah, I think her majesty is looking for you.”

Edwin stood and brushed off his trousers. “I should probably go see what she wants.”

She smiled. “Good for you, darling.” But then her smile faded. “I’ve just come back from town, and I’ve heard the most distressing news.”

“Oh? What happened?” He held out his arm. She took it, and they walked into the rose garden.

“Fuck me,” groaned Edwin. “What has she done now? I was starting to think she had learned how to be respectable.”

“Far from it,” said Irena, unable to hide her grin. “She has seduced a young prefect in town. And she has been living in sin with him for several weeks now. Not just coupling with him at parties, you understand, but actually living with him.”

“That’s new. She’s never done that before,” said Edwin. He was genuinely disappointed that Elwyn had stopped trying to be good, just as he had started to notice that she was making the effort.

“It’s worse than you think. The boy’s name is Paulinius Severus.” She paused, waiting for him to reply, then added, “Do you know who that is?”

She shook her head. “The Severi are the richest family in the world, my dear. We don’t have a royal family, as such, but if we did, then they would be it. Paulinius is a direct descendant of our first emperor. His father is Senator Gaius Severus, twice co-consul and personal friend of Emperor Tullius. And my understanding is that the esteemed senator is furious about what his son and your sister are doing.”

“Oh, bugger.” Edwin rubbed his temple with his free hand. “Why does she do these things?”

Edwin dropped her arm and turned to look at his wife. “What do you think I could possibly do about it?”

“Force her to listen to you. Make her stop. But I suppose you’d have to have more balls than she does.”

Irena smiled again and took his hand, leading him into the shade under a densely-overgrown old grape arbor. “And what will you say when you talk to her?”

“No, Edwin! A king does not ask. A king gives orders, and if those orders are not obeyed, then there are severe consequences. Do you understand that?”

“All you’ve ever wanted?” Irena muttered some Immani profanity. “What about going back to Myrcia? What about regaining your throne? What about restoring the honor of your house? What about our children growing up proud of their name? Don’t you want any of that?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Obviously I want those things, too. It’s a figure of speech.”

“Is it? Thank you for the language lesson. Here’s one for you: ‘Thladias.’ It’s a term from the old Thessalian kingdoms for a man whose balls have been crushed. Elwyn must have yours in a vice grip. Otherwise, you’d stand up to her like a man.”

“Blast it all, Irena. Fine. I’ll make Elwyn stop seeing this Severus fellow.”

The smell of bacon and coffee came up the stairs before Paulinius did. It was no longer a surprise when he made breakfast for her, but she always pretended to be surprised, anyway.

“Oh, how wonderful!” she cried, as he came in with the tray. And some sort of citrus juice in a pitcher—that was new. She giggled and pushed the covers back a little. “You really don’t need to keep doing this.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, putting down the tray. He poured the coffee and juice, and then crawled back into bed to sit next to her.

“My servants are going to get spoiled,” she said. “They’re going to get used to not having to make me breakfast.”

“I don’t think your servants are used to seeing anyone awake in this apartment before noon.”

“Lies and vicious half-truths!” She pelted him with a bit of bread roll. “I used to get up before dawn to go hunting, you know.”

“You don’t need to stop doing that on my account,” he said. “Have you ever hunted in the Silva Vetusta?” This was an ancient park and preserve that started about twenty miles northeast of Teperum.

Elwyn paused with a strip of bacon halfway to her mouth. “No. I didn’t think you could.”

“You’re too good to me,” she said. And she snuggled up closer to him as she munched her bacon.

He always denied that he was too good, but he really was. It wasn’t just breakfast or a permit to go hunting. He did all sorts of thoughtful little things for her. He went to the market for her and her housemaids. He went to her dressmaker to pick up clothes for her. If she remarked idly that she liked or disliked a certain color or style of jewelry, he always remembered.

It never had the feel of flattery or ass-kissing, though. Elwyn had experienced enough of that over the years that she could spot it instantly. Paulinius did these things because he liked doing them, and because he liked Elwyn. It was a little hard to believe, but he did. And he wasn’t a pushover. He didn’t act like her slave or worshipper. If she asked him to do something and he didn’t want to do it, he politely refused and explained why.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was actually eleven years younger than her. He was poised and self-confident, but never arrogant. Though he was very handsome, he was never vain about it. When he was wrong, he admitted it immediately without embarrassment.

Elwyn knew she had a habit of falling too hard and too fast for people. She knew she should slow down. She knew this might end the same way all her love affairs eventually did: with loneliness and heartbreak and self-reproach. But she couldn’t stop herself from loving Paulinius. She had only known him two months now, but he felt different. He felt “right,” in a way no one else ever had. Not since Lily and Sir Alfred, anyway.

Today they had planned to go riding west of town and have a picnic lunch. She had decided the time had come to tell him that she loved him, if he didn’t do it first, which she suspected he might. But before they could get started, a letter arrived from the Villa Cedra. The message was simple:

So, the picnic was rescheduled for another day, and Elwyn went up to the royal villa, wondering what on earth Edwin could want that was so blasted urgent. Did he want to make up and be friends again? Or was it foolish even to hope for such a thing anymore?

When she arrived, Edwin was talking with Sir Robert Tynsdale and some other men in his study. Probably he hadn’t anticipated that Elwyn would respond so quickly to his summons. She sat and waited outside the door, in the cool shade of the arcaded courtyard. She honestly hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help overhearing what the men were saying.

“Muriel won’t be much of a problem,” said Sir Robert. “She’s known to be a heavy drinker of wine. The elder Broderick, as well. They rarely drink together, though.”

“It’s tricky. I’d suggest slipping it in the malzbier he drinks with the Odelandic troops at his headquarters, but now we’re talking about getting poison in three different containers in three different places. That’s vastly more difficult than one bottle in one place.”

The men didn’t seem to be able to come to a conclusion, and the meeting ended soon thereafter. Elwyn heard them coming, ducked into another room, and then came back to Edwin’s study.

“Yes. You’re not seriously going to kill young Cousin Broderick, are you? He saved our lives, remember?”

“I can’t make any promises, Elwyn. It’s none of your concern, and that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. What’s this about you letting a fellow move in with you?”

“Paulinius Severus: that’s his name.” Elwyn crossed her arms. “I’d say he’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Elwyn, his father is a senator! A former co-consul with the emperor! And according to Irena, the senator is furious at you. And at me! He thinks you’re doing this as part of a plot to get money.”

“Good, because the senator might cut his son off without a single farthing. What would you do then? What would you do if I cut off your allowance?”

Elwyn glared at her brother. The threat was as ridiculous as it was cruel. “If you do that, then I’ll go work as a bar wench in the city. I can turn tricks on the side for a little extra—”

Edwin brought his fist down on his desk. “Are you going to stop seeing this Severus fellow or not?”

“I don’t know, Edwin. I can’t make any promises.” She turned and walked out of his study, fuming. He shouted after her, telling her to come back, but she ignored him.

Crossing the courtyard, she came to the little office of the Emissariae. Callista was at work there, translating messages.

“Did you know my brother is plotting to assassinate the Gramirens?” Elwyn asked. “Are you part of this idiocy?”

“I know about it,” said Callista, “but officially we can’t do anything to help. Not without specific orders from Lily or Lord Faustinus or Lady Moira. And because we told his majesty we can’t help, he refuses to tell us what he’s planning. It’s rather frustrating.”

“Orders from higher up...,” Elwyn echoed thoughtfully. Then she reached over Callista and grabbed a sheet of thin rice dispatch paper. “I need to send a message. Can you make sure it gets delivered?”

“Lily Serrana. I want her to help save young Broderick. I don’t care about his parents. They’re awful people who deserved to die long ago. But he’s a good man, and if Lily remembers anything about...those days, then she should remember that.”

Edwin paced the rose garden, fanning himself with his straw hat. It was beastly hot now in these last days of August, and he would have liked to be inside. Except that Elwyn kept stopping by, trying to talk him out of killing Broderick the younger. And he was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that the Emissariae were spying on him. So he was forced to come out here if he wanted to meet with Sir Robert, or even have a few minutes’ peace by himself.

He heard the gravel crunch and turned to see his wife approaching. She didn’t look happy. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Did you know Elwyn is still living with that Severus boy? She’s totally ignored you, Edwin. You’re powerless to stop her.” She raised an eyebrow. “One might almost say...impotent.”

“Irena, please,” he sighed. He returned to his pacing, and Irena followed him, step for step, hands on her hips.

Deep down, he didn’t really care if Elwyn ignored his orders. Edwin had quietly asked around, and by all accounts, Paulinius Severus was a decent, upstanding sort of fellow. Elwyn seemed happy with him, and Edwin had always hoped that Elwyn would find someone to make her happy.

“Have you noticed that he’s coming to church with her now? The only reason he would do that is if he was thinking of converting. And the only reason he would convert is, well, the same reason I did.”

Edwin stopped and thought about that. He shivered a bit, in spite of the heat. “Oh, Earstien. You don’t think she’s actually planning to marry him, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re betrothed already. And possibly by necessity, if you know what I mean. She’s an old maid, but she’s not so old that she couldn’t get knocked up. Can you imagine how angry the senator will be when he finds out? Can you imagine what he’ll say to the emperor? Some men know how to control their families, Edwin. Some men know how to punish people who disobey them.”

Edwin rushed to his office and wrote a very pointed letter to his older sister. He was polite, of course, but he demanded answers to two questions: first, was she engaged to Severus? And second, was she pregnant? He sent the message off with a footman, and in two hours, the servant was back with Elwyn’s reply:

You are free to imagine whatever you like about me. I do not have to answer your questions. It’s none of your business who I marry and what I do with my body.

“None of your business?” cried Irena, who was unfortunately present to see Elwyn’s letter. “She’s a princess of the Royal House of Sigor, and you’re the head of the house. It’s entirely your business! This is practically treason, Edwin.”

He was furious, and Irena kept pushing him and pushing him. But he still wanted to give Elwyn one last chance. So, he wrote her back, telling her that if she didn’t answer his questions and agree to stop seeing Severus, then her allowance would be cut off, and she would be barred from any court functions.

“You will not be allowed in the villa,” he wrote. “No one in the family will receive you.”

Elwyn wrote back: “Do whatever you like. It’s still none of your business.”

So that was it. He gave the orders to the guards not to admit Elwyn, and he sent notes to his mother and Helena and Lady Rada explaining that they were never to receive Elwyn or visit her. It pained him to do it, but he didn’t see how he had any choice. She had forced his hand. She had put him in a position where he either had to punish her, or he was going to look like a fool in front of the court and his wife.

It still hurt terribly, though. Elwyn had been his best friend for years, and it felt wrong to cut her off like this. He couldn’t talk to Irena about how guilty he felt. Already, she was telling him that he hadn’t done enough to “bring Elwyn to heel,” and she threatened that she wouldn’t have sex with him until he did more. After a while, it made him angry to be around Irena, so he avoided her whenever possible.

In mid-September, after Elwyn had been barred from the villa for two weeks, and Edwin had almost stopped speaking with his wife, Vittoria came into his study one morning with a new girl—a beautiful, curvy brunette with doe eyes and full pink lips.

“This is Rossana, your majesty,” Vittoria said. “She’s a recent recruit, and she’ll be working here with us.”

The girl took his hand and curtsied. Looking up at him with those wide brown eyes, she said, “I’ll do anything I can to please you, your majesty.”

He looked her over for a second, then smiled. “Why don’t you come have a walk with me in the garden?” She took his arm, and he nodded at Vittoria. “Thank you. Don’t let me detain you from your work.”

Of course the first thing he did was to ask Rossana if she could help with the assassination plot. And she seemed much more enthusiastic about the idea than Vittoria and Callista had.

“Oh, I don’t think I’d need to wait for orders,” she said. “I can do anything you like. Though of course the more I knew about what you’re planning, the more I could help.”

They met up in the garden several times that week. She gave him some very good practical advice about poisons, and listened to him vent about his problems with Irena and Elwyn. He didn’t trust Rossana at first, at least not entirely. Then, on Sunday evening, she met him under the grape arbor with a blanket and a bottle of wine.

At the moment she sat on his lap and started unlacing her bodice, he realized she was there to spy on him. The Emissariae and their masters wanted to know what he was planning, and this was their attempt to find out.

He probably should have dumped her off his lap and told her to go to the Void, but he was annoyed at Irena, and he hadn’t had sex in more than two weeks. And then Rossana started doing something with her fingers that made him forget everything else in the world.

They started meeting regularly to have sex and talk about his plans to assassinate the Gramirens. He told her all sorts of fanciful stories about the plot, knowing she would repeat them to her commanders. He told her he was hiring a dozen Odelandic assassins with poisoned knives. He told her he was bringing in the world’s finest archer from Krigadam. He told her he was going to send the Gramirens a roll of silk infected with the plague. He told her he was thinking of giving up on the whole project entirely.

The stories would make the Emissariae look ridiculous later on, when the real plot reached fruition. But maybe they deserved to look ridiculous. It served them right for refusing to help.

She should have known something was up when Paulinius stopped by the trail to tie his boots, even though the laces were fine. But then he said her name, and she turned around to see him there, kneeling.

There was a fallen tree nearby, and she groped her way over to sit on it. She felt as if he had smacked her in the chest with a frying pan. This was a complete shock. She had never considered marrying Paulinius, not until Edwin had mentioned the idea in those stupid letters of his. But she hadn’t let herself hope it would really happen.

“A simple ‘yes’ would be more than sufficient,” he said, coming over to sit beside her.

Her breath started coming faster, and she took in great gulps of air, fanning her face. “I should give you a straight answer,” she said, as the tears started. “I’m sorry. I love you, too, Paulinius. It’s just that I’m such an awful person. I really am, and—”

“No, you’re not,” he said, putting an arm around her. “You think you are, but you’re not.”

“I am! And I’m going to make your life miserable, because that’s all I’ve ever done to anyone stupid enough to care about me.”

“You haven’t made me miserable, and I don’t think you will. If you can’t say ‘yes’ right now, then take some time to think about it, will you?”

After a few minutes, when she had calmed down a little, she promised to give his proposal the consideration it deserved. But she didn’t know how she could possibly accept him. Not even when he assured her that he had an estate of his own outside Albus Magnus, and money from his mother’s side of the family, so they didn’t need to worry about his father’s wrath. She hadn’t been talking about the threat of poverty when she had warned him she would ruin his life.

But he kept asking every morning at breakfast. And every day, she felt more and more inclined to give him the answer he wanted.

More than anything, she wanted to tell Edwin about this and to ask his advice. But she wanted the old Edwin, her sweet little brother, not the angry prick he had become. She wanted her best friend back, but he refused to even let her in the house to talk to him.

All at once, it became clear. In the morning light at her apartment, she knew what she had to do. There was no point in staying in Teperum anymore. There was no point in waiting for Edwin to take her back. He was going in a different direction from her. He had been for a long time, actually. They just hadn’t reached the fork in the road where their paths diverged, yet. But now, here they were.

This was her one chance to be happy, to have a family, and to break away from the stifling court life that she had always, always detested.

“If I don’t marry him,” she thought, “I will regret it for the rest of my life, and I will die bitter and angry at everyone around me.”

Elwyn was about to tell Paulinius what she had decided, when out of nowhere, Callista stopped by the apartment. It had been six weeks since Elwyn had been to the Villa Cedra and spoken to the Emissaria.

“I wanted you to know that Lily Serrana has gotten your message,” Callista said. “And we’re taking steps to ensure the safety of...the person you wanted kept safe. At this very moment, your brother is having a little meeting with his father-in-law, at which Proconsul Glaucus is going to reiterate the terms under which your family is being provided asylum here.”

“Good, I’m glad,” said Elwyn. It was a real relief to know that Broderick the younger would live.

“I’m worried about your brother, though. One small part of our plan has gone a bit wrong, I regret to say.” Blushing, Callista explained that a new Emissaria named Rossana had seduced Edwin in an attempt to learn more about the assassination plot.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Callista. “It was supposed to be flirting, but Rossana was overeager. Then your brother figured out what we were doing. He’s trying to feed us misinformation, except he’s really bad at it. It’s pretty obviously fake. Anyway, all of us—including Rossana—would just as soon end this, but your brother wants to keep the affair going. He’s quite insistent, in fact. I think he’s doing it to get back at his wife for driving you away.”

Elwyn gave it some thought, and she knew what she had to do. She loved Edwin, and clearly he still loved her. But they couldn’t keep doing this for the rest of their lives.

“I have something I want you to give to him,” said Elwyn. “And then I need your help.”

She went to her bedroom, dug down in her trunk, and pulled out a battered mahogany box. Inside lay a white gold crown set with diamonds—the last bit of jewelry that Elwyn had from her real mother, Princess Leofled. She handed the box to Callista and then wrote a note for Edwin.

Where I am going, I won’t need this anymore. This is for Irena. She is your queen and your wife, and she ought to be your best friend. Your lives will be miserable if you don’t learn how to be kind to each other. I hope you can do that, and I hope that sometime soon, she will make you as happy as Paulinius makes me.

It is unlikely I will ever go back to Myrcia now, so we may never see each other again. But I will always pray for you and your family. I will always be,

Your loving sister,

Elwyn

Callista agreed to deliver the crown and the letter. Then she asked, “What was the other thing you needed me to do?”

Elwyn smiled. “Help me plan a wedding in two hours. I’ve decided I’m getting married today.”

The meeting with the proconsul was an infuriating and humiliating surprise. Glaucus made it clear that if Edwin was plotting to assassinate the Gramirens, then he could find a different country to do it in. Damn and blast the man! All that time and effort wasted. Of course, Sir Robert wasn’t giving up quite yet. On the ride back to the villa, he gave Edwin a nod and said, “Perhaps we will need to be more discreet.” Whatever that meant.

Edwin didn’t care. He was looking forward to an appointment with Rossana. Not that he was very happy with her at the moment. Clearly, she and the Emissariae had told the proconsul about the assassination plot. And that wasn’t all. For the past couple weeks, she had been saying the oddest things—chiding him for not spending more time with his wife, asking about his daughter. It was like she was hinting that she wanted to end the affair. But Edwin wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasn’t ready to go back to Irena.

Then Rossana arrived, carrying an old wooden box and a letter. A moment later, she was joined by Callista.

“These are from your sister, your majesty,” Rossana said, handing the message and the box to Edwin. “I think you’d better read it immediately.”

He looked in the box first, and his heart sank when he recognized Princess Leofled’s crown. He knew what it meant that Elwyn was giving it up, and the letter confirmed it.

“She is,” said Callista, in a gentle voice. “She left an hour ago, right after the wedding.”

Edwin might have been offended that she hadn’t invited him, but he knew he had forfeited any right to that when he’d kicked her out of the villa and kicked her out of the family.

Rossana came over and put a hand on his arm. “Your sister wants you to reconcile with your wife. Let me make this easy for you.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “It’s been lovely, your majesty, but it’s time for it to end.”

They left, and Edwin walked out into the garden in a daze. Losing Rossana was nothing. Losing Elwyn was everything.

It almost felt like Elwyn had died, and in a way, she had. The old Elwyn had been his best friend, but she had also been deeply miserable for years. This new Elwyn—Domina Elvina Severa—was someone new, someone Edwin would only ever know from letters. She was happy, she was in love, and she never had to worry about Myrcian politics again.

He mourned her loss, but he was happy for her, all the same. More than anything, he envied her. “Earstien, what I wouldn’t give to be able to trade places with her,” he thought.

But he and Irena could never run off like that. They had to stay here, plotting to overthrow the Gramirens. And if that worked out, it would just mean that he had to rule Myrcia, and all the problems in the world would become his personal responsibility.

He made it all the way around the garden, and he had nearly composed himself, when he looked up and saw Irena coming toward him through the rhododendrons. She looked nearly as stricken as he felt.

“Rossana told me about your sister,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”

Edwin shrugged. “I guess you win.” He tried to be angry at her, but the anger was dissipating like fog in the morning. Elwyn was right—he had to make up with Irena, or he would have to bear all of this alone.

“You’re going to hate me forever,” said Irena, settling onto a bench among the lilacs. “You’re going to hate me for pushing you.”

“It’s not really your fault,” said Edwin. “You pushed both of us: me and Elwyn. But I think you were pushing us to do things that we were going to do anyway.”

“No.” He honestly meant that, though she didn’t look as if she believed him. “Maybe we should have waited a little longer. I don’t think either of us understood what we were getting into.” He sat and took her hand. “But we’re married now, and we have to make the best of it.”

She stroked his cheek. “Is it too trite if I say that I wish we could start over?”

“I’m going to try to be nicer to you. I really am. And if I forget, and I say things I don’t really mean, then you should remind me of today, and how I promised not to do that anymore.”

“And you have my permission to kick my ass if you see me getting too friendly with any other women—especially the Emissariae.”

They kissed, and then they hurried inside to their room, where they consummated this renewed commitment to their marriage. Edwin wondered if Irena would only want conventional, boring sex now, but he needn’t have worried. Outside the bedroom, she might be making an effort to be good, but inside, she was still as adventurous as ever.

She grinned at him and said, “Would it be completely inappropriate if I asked you to fuck me while I wear that crown your sister gave me?”

Clearly, some things about her were never going to change, and he decided he could live with that.