The Queen's Consort by Eliza Brown Read Free Book Online

tapestries. The windows were too narrow for a man, or even a slim woman, to pass through. A huge four-poster bed, hung with gauzy curtains, dominated the room.
                  Clairwyn's dark head rested on this pillow each night. With an effort, Ansel didn't touch the silk that had touched her.
                  The Highland woman moved directly to a large bathtub set to the left of the bed. “The box, please,” she said, gesturing. “Put it on this table.”
                  The servant deposited the box as instructed, then bowed deeply and left the room. Silently Ansel moved to the woman's side as she opened the box.
                  He watched with interest as she lifted a fabric-wrapped bundle, but it only held bathing salts. Another bundle proved to be a white lace gown and robe. If Clairwyn was wearing it, the ensemble would have been very interesting indeed. Since she wasn't, Ansel couldn't care less.
                  The room was circular and the tapestries were hung from straight wooden dowels set into the walls. That left an intriguing gap, large enough to easily hide a man, between the fabric and the stone.
                  Ansel explored the gap and, as he'd expected, he found a trap door. With only one obvious exit and entrance into the room it was only prudent for the Queen to have an escape hatch.
                  “Madam.” A man's voice, seeming right next to him, sent Ansel's heart racing until he realized that it was on the other side of the tapestry. At the same time he realized that this Guard hadn't been one of the pair at the door. They must have changed the Guard since he’d entered the room.
                  “What is it?” the blind fey snapped.
                  “The Queen approaches,” the Guard said. “We must search the room.”
                  Ansel eased open the trapdoor to reveal a narrow staircase.
                  “I sent my man away,” the fey told the Guard. “I am alone here.”
                  “Nevertheless, we will search.”
                  “As you will.”
                  Ansel's nimble fingers searched the edge of the trapdoor for a latch. There would be some way for the Queen to lock this door behind her as she fled—
                  Bootsteps reached his ears. There were not many places to hide in the Queen's room. He had only a moment before a heavy hand snatched aside the tapestry that hid him.
                  Ansel crept down the stairs and, as quietly as he could, lowered the door. He tensed his muscles to keep the trapdoor ever-so-slightly ajar. If the door snapped closed and locked, he might be forced to find out where these stairs led.
                  And, he was sure, there were bound to be a large number of angry Guard wherever these stairs ended.
                  He heard the tapestry shift and listened as the Guard moved through the room. After a few more anxious moments he heard Clairwyn's voice.
                  “Aunt Gladnys.” She must be greeting the fey. “Your name is ironic. You rarely bring good news.”
                  “My parents knew it would be so. They must have enjoyed the irony.”
                  Ansel tiptoed back to the tapestry. With great care he cut a tiny slit in the fabric and peered out.
                  “The women in our family have always been gifted,” Gladnys continued.
                  “Fat lot of good it's done them,” Clairwyn replied. She swirled her gown and sat in an upholstered chair, her profile toward Ansel. Her fingers tapped the fabric in a staccato rhythm.
                  Gladnys nodded. “Interring your sister wasn't easy, dear, for any of us.” She was still busy at the table, digging in her stupid