An Accidental Queen

Chapter 11

"IT IS TIME."

The words drew me from my slumber, urging my senses from lethargy like cool water against bare flesh. When I felt the soft feather mattress beneath my frame, I remembered I was no longer sleeping beside Fleurine upon my straw pallet in the manor but slumbering in my temporary bed-chamber. In the King's castle.

A rush of adrenaline soared through me.

My eyes fluttered open to behold the narrow features of Martine, her thin hands clutching her waist and her face bearing an expression of disappointment. I had promised I would be prepared when the time came for me to greet the King. Instead, I had fallen asleep, likely wrinkling my gown and tangling my hair.

Confirming my suspicion, one of my senior attendants—a stately woman with silver hair—dropped the damask robe she was carrying and sputtered in shock. "My lady! You must not be seen by the King... His Majesty like this!"

In a matter of seconds, prodding fingers were tugging at the wide sleeves of my gown and my spools of hair, attempting to make me presentable once more. Ointments and perfumes of various kinds were applied behind my ears and on my cheeks, burning my skin. Though I hated being groomed, I was secretly grateful for the chance to steal a few more moments before meeting the King and the rest of the royal household as fear thrummed through me.

When Martine gestured for me to depart, my heart began slamming against my chest. I clung to the fabric of my gown and watched the pointed toes of my feet as they marched through the adorned corridors of the castle, my cheeks heating from the warmth of the candles lining the walls. I hardly knew where we were going or where we had come from, each section of the castle as lavishly decorated as the rest.

With my ladies encompassing me, we finally reached the great hall. I pulled back my shoulders and swallowed the knot forming in my throat.

Before me stretched the largest room I had ever seen. Armour and weapons were strung from the walls, glistening against the light emanating from the open hearth and candle flames. Banners emblazoned with the royal emblem were suspended from the soaring ceiling, offset by large azure cloths. Patterns I had never seen before were present in the gold-trimmed carpets and tapestries, suggesting they had come from faraway places—lands I had only ever heard of in stories and dreams.

Lower tables accommodating the knights and other minor nobles peppered the room, who had then stood to greet me. They bowed like reeds as I passed.

Perhaps most impressive of all was the sprawling oak table covered with damask cloths that ended with a hulking armchair, shrouded in a canopy of silk and elevated by a dais. I could not see who occupied the coveted seat beyond the vague outline of an ashen beard and furrowed brow, but assumed him to be a man of great importance.

As I stepped closer to the dais, my gaze swept across the line of unfamiliar staring faces, before settling upon a young man with  eyes the colour of the sea and dark hair. He was draped with a dark cloak adorned with gleaming silver buttons announcing his wealth and importance.

Was this the man I was supposed to marry?

His lingering gaze seemed to answer my question. His luminous eyes caressed my features, remaining trained to me as I swept to the ground in a curtsy.

I had not considered he would be as curious about me as I had been about him. I was, after all, his bride and the woman with whom he would continue his father's dynasty, the future mother of his children. Unlike Gerard and the other men at the manor who selected their brides before seeking the Count's approval, Charles Augustus had been powerless in his betrothal. He was the son of a King and yet prevented from directing the course of his life.