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

box.
                  Clairwyn dropped her head to her hands and sighed. After a long moment she gestured and a servant moved forward quickly. “Find Prince Ansel,” she said. “I would speak with him.”
    The servant bowed and left the room .
                  Gladnys lifted a round cooking pot out of the box. How did such a small box hold so much?
                  Clairwyn sighed. “I must speak to Ansel. I should tell him that I don't blame him for my sister's death.”
                  “Or the deaths of your parents? And brothers?”
                  “Those were acts of war. Or so my advisors tell me.”
                  “Your advisors want you to act, dear.”
                  Clairwyn stood abruptly to pace the room. “I know they want action. I have taken some steps.”
                  “They want more.”
                  Clairwyn gestured broadly. “It has never felt right. Not until now.”
                  Ansel gritted his teeth. A woman shouldn't be burdened with these decisions. 'Twas a man's duty to make the hard choices for her.
                  “If all goes well,” the fey said, peering into her pot, “much will be decided tonight.”
                  “It must go well.”
                  “All of the signs say that you have extraordinary gifts, girl.”
                  Clairwyn rubbed her brow and continued to pace while the fey added ingredients to her pot. Disturbingly, it started to simmer as it sat on the table. It had no heat source that Ansel could see.
                  The blind fey stirred her pot. Green smoke began to twine from it toward the ceiling. The hair on Ansel’s neck stood up, but Clairwyn didn't seem alarmed by the sight.
                  “Ansel is important, isn't he?” Gladnys asked.
                  “He is crucial.”
                  The fey nodded. “I knew he was here for a reason. Tell me. When did you know?”
                  Clairwyn's smile lit up her face, seeming to banish all the cares that weighed her down. “It was the challenge,” she replied.
                  The challenge. Ansel scowled. He knew that it was traditional for Highland boys and girls to seek adventure in their sixteenth year. The girls were supposed to pad their dowries and the boys were supposed to establish themselves as men. The challenge took different forms depending on the youth or maid.
                  “For my sixteenth birthday,” Clairwyn continued, “I crossed the border into Courchevel. I was dancing at fairs—”
                  “More than one?” her aunt asked, amused.
                  Clairwyn shrugged. “It felt right at the time.” Her expression turned dreamy, as if the memories were a drug to her. “I was dancing, and I just felt so beautiful. So powerful. A crowd gathered and the coins rained down around me until my feet didn't touch the ground.”
                  She swirled gracefully and Ansel nearly leaped through the tapestry for her.
                  “And then he was there,” she continued. “I knew who he was, of course. So lordly, so arrogant in his bearing. So—”
                  “Handsome?” the fey prompted.
                  Clairwyn paused in her dance and Ansel’s breath caught in his chest as he waited for her answer.
                  “Not handsome, I'd say,” she said, and Ansel exhaled, disappointed. But she went on. “His face is too strong, too alive , to be called handsome. It's too weak a word for him.”
                  “Silly girl.”
                  Ansel didn't think Clairwyn was silly at all.
                  She started twirling again, tilting her head back so her