TheKingsViper (18 page)

All the time Arnauld paced, his expression grave and intent,
the goblet rolling in his fingers, the wine within forgotten. When she
finished, she looked up at him and awaited his verdict.

“Baron de Meynard has already given me his account, of
course. Do you know how he described you, my lady?”

“No, your majesty.”

“He said you were reasonably biddable.”

Oh that stung. But it was exactly the sort of coldly
unflattering assessment the King’s Viper would pronounce. Eloise lifted her
hands and then folded them submissively. “I’m pleased to have met with such
approval.”

“What did you think of him, my lady?”

Her heart, which had been numb for days, rediscovered its
capacity for fear with a sickening lurch. “In what way, your majesty?” she
asked, stalling.

“Let me be honest with you, my lady of Venn. This miraculous
return of yours, when all was thought lost and all hope abandoned, has caused a
storm of speculation both within and without the Court. There were many who
felt that the task of escorting you should never have been entrusted to the
Baron de Meynard in the first place. There are those…” He hesitated, and when
he spoke again there was something in his face that made her think he was being
honest with her, at least to some extent. “There are those among my subjects
who think less of me because I honor the man. They decry his low birth. They
tell me that he has no genuine blood-loyalty to the royal line. They think,
though they do not tell me to my face, that I am mistaken to trust him.”

Eloise let her lashes sink modestly, making it clear that
she did not see herself fit to hold any opinion on the subject.

“Do you know that he saved my life, many years ago? That’s
how he came into my household. I was thirteen years old and I fell into a river
one day while messing about on a bridge. My guards were all in heavy armor, my
companions all too frightened of the swift waters. Severin, who was merely in
the vicinity, dived in and hauled me from the depths. That is something we have
in common, you and I—is it not, my lady?”

Wanly, she smiled.

“I insisted, after that, that he be numbered among my
closest companions—against, you realize, great opposition from those who saw it
as their own right. So, you understand, it means a great deal to me to be able
to place my utmost trust in him. I embrace him as a friend, not merely a
subject. Over the years there have been occasions where I’ve owed him my life
and my throne. Now I owe him a debt of gratitude for my betrothed, returned to
me. Lady Eloise, tell me that my faith is not misplaced. Tell me that he is as
true to me as I believe.”

Ah, there it was, the first intimation of the question that
would be in everybody’s secret heart:
Did he swive you?

Eloise stared, her emotions churning within her. She
couldn’t really comprehend the complex relationship between the two men who,
between them, held her life in their hands. Arnauld’s warmth toward Severin was
obvious—yet she’d been told exactly what he would do to test that bond, how poor
his payment would be for that loyalty. Was it the friendship he cared for, or
his honor, or his pride in his own judgment? Was it self-interest or honesty
behind his sincere desire?

She realized she had hesitated a moment too long, and she
dropped her eyes.

“I’m sorry, your majesty.”

“Sorry?” His voice was soft, and as cold as the first touch
of steel.

“Your warm regard for the Baron de Meynard is quite clear. I
wish that I could feel the same way, for your sake. But the fact is, I found
him a harsh and uncouth man. He didn’t seem to remember or care that I am a
lady of gentle breeding, not some strapping peasant wench. He did not treat me
with respect as due your betrothed. He made me walk ’til my feet bled and
offered me no kindness, nor any word of encouragement. Upon occasion, when I
felt I could go on no longer, he would mock and berate me unbearably. I’m sorry
to tell you these things when you feel so strongly in his favor, but he was not
kind to me. If I was little trouble to him, as he reports, it was because I was
afraid of him.”

She shut her mouth firmly, thrusting out the lower lip a
little, and listened to the thump of her pulse in her ears for what seemed like
an age.

“Hh,” grunted Arnauld, and she looked up to see his smile.
“My lady, does it not occur to you that the man saved your life at risk of his
own? That you faced death or worse in Mendea, and that he sheltered you from
every harm?”

“Of course, your majesty—but could he not have been—?”

“That in the face of that great endeavor, a little uncourtly
language does not even weigh in the scales? And that, in the circumstances, it
might even have been necessary in order to goad you to efforts to which you did
not know yourself capable?”

She stared at her hands and counted silently to three before
saying, “Your majesty, perhaps I was a little childish. A little short-sighted.
I humbly accept your rebuke and your greater wisdom. Please forgive me.”

He swept forward and she thought for a moment that he was
going to pat her on the head, but instead he took up her hand and kissed it,
drawing her to her feet. “There. Do not blame yourself, my lady. The road home
was long and cruel and you bore a burden of suffering that you had never been
raised to carry. It would be unfair to expect you to see the whole picture. It
is enough that you are safe, and that now in hindsight you recognize that you
owe the Baron de Meynard for that, even if you cannot like his manners. He’s
not, I admit, the most charming of men.”

“I do not deserve such grace as you have shown me, your
majesty.” She could see the satisfaction shining out of him, like sunlight.

“You deserve joy and peace and comfort, my lady. All the
good things of the world.” For a moment a shadow slipped over that sun. His
gaze seemed to bore into her.

He can’t be thinking of swiving me tonight. Not tonight
.

Arnauld cleared his throat. “And this evening you deserve
the sweetest of sleeps. I thought you very fair from the moment I saw you, but
I wouldn’t have that beauty tried by exhaustion.”

They both made farewells, couched even more formally than
their previous conversation, and Arnauld retreated to the door. He looked over
his shoulder at her as he left. “Such a shame,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Your majesty?” she whispered.

There was no reply. He closed the door behind him as he
departed. Eloise was left staring.

Good,
she said to herself.
Good. That went well, I
think. He could not have been more pleased with what he heard.
Then, far
more bitterly,
And look what they have made of you already, Ella
—
a
mouse playing at being a serpent. Trying to manipulate your king
.

Was that worse than betraying him with the one man he
trusted? It had felt worse. Lying to Arnauld had bruised her conscience, yet
she still could not find in herself a particle of regret for that passionate
night in Rounay. No, despite all the pain it had caused.

She knew she had only a moment before the ladies-in-waiting
returned to attend her. Turning her back upon the door, she wrapped her arms
about the pillar of the bed and laid her forehead against the carved wood, eyes
closed.

Severin. Severin. What is he going to do to you?

* * * * *

The next day, Eloise was preparing to go out when she was
visited, with no warning, by Arnauld’s mother. The Queen Dowager swept into her
chamber accompanied by several well-dressed ladies.

“Lady Eloise,” she said. “You are dressing to go out of
doors?”

“I was, your majesty. Lady Katrine of Tockforton has invited
me to walk with her in the rose gardens this afternoon.” Eloise had received a
number of invitations to social gatherings—hawking, musical soirees, the
consumption of drinks and sweetmeats—from noblewomen since her arrival. She was
the single greatest focus of interest on the distaff side of the Court.

“Well, that can wait. We have more important business.”

“Of course, your majesty.” The Queen Dowager was a tall,
bony woman with eyes like a winter’s sky. Eloise hadn’t actually been looking
forward to spending time with Arnauld’s mistress, the woman she was putatively
about to supplant, but this particular interruption brought no sense of relief.

“The young woman betrothed to marry the King of Ystria must
of course live up to the very highest expectations. You will allow me a
physical examination of your person.”

“Oh. I see,” said Eloise, her gaze skidding round the royal
entourage arrayed about her room. All were female except three men in very
sober robes, each sporting a white beard.

“Be so kind as to remove your kirtle, Lady Eloise, and place
yourself upon hands and knees upon the bed.”

“Your majesty?”

“It will not hurt, child. And these men are my personal
physicians. You have nothing to fear.”

The words were reassuring, but there was nothing kindly in
the Queen’s tone of voice. The physicians’ expressions were stony and Eloise
felt her skin grow clammy with anxiety. “Your majesty,” she repeated, humbly,
but casting an appealing look at her own ladies-in-waiting. She had some vague
hope that they would speak out for her, but they only came forward to disrobe
her. In moments Eloise was stripped down to her bare skin, and she covered her
breasts and groin with her hands. She knew her body was blotched with bruises
from the river-crossing. She’d scraped both shins and the scabs were still
rough. She felt like a wasp-grub exposed in its broken nest, pale and ugly and
about to be pecked at by a flock of bright birds.

“That will suffice, child. Up now. Hands and knees, facing
away from us.”

Clambering upon the bed, Eloise was glad not to have to look
at the ranks of cold-eyed faces awaiting their chance to inspect her. She felt
sick with shame and outrage, though she remembered Severin warning her that
this would happen.
Severin
. No, the one thing she must not do in these
circumstances was to think about him. She braced herself upon the mattress,
staring at the headboard and biting the inside of her lip as an anonymous hand
urged her thighs apart to expose her sex. It felt like a dozen pairs of eyes
were eating into her. She made herself think about the river above Rounay, its
cold and bitter bite upon her skin, as fingers began to poke and prod her.

Her flesh seemed to shrivel up.

They—she could not tell whose hands they were, male or
female—were not rough, but they were horribly thorough. Tears sprang to
Eloise’s eyes and her body spasmed with a hiccoughing gasp. The sense of
invasion and defilement was so acute that she wanted to scream with rage, but
she did not dare. Yet, she thought, it would not be unnatural for her to weep.
They might even expect it of a truly innocent maiden. So she permitted the hot tears
to come bubbling up in stifled little sobs, and pressed her face into the
coverlet.

They were whispering. She couldn’t hear what the Queen
Dowager said, but she caught the phrase “my opinion the hymen is intact” from
one of the old men.
That ought to be the end of it, surely?
she thought.
But it wasn’t, because each of the ladies in the Queen’s entourage had to see
with her own eyes, and it took a long time for each of them to shuffle to the
fore and bear witness.

“You may get dressed, Lady Eloise,” came the verdict at
last. This time, though the words were terse and formal, Eloise thought she
detected satisfaction in the Queen Dowager’s voice. But she couldn’t sit up.
She could not look at them. She pulled her discarded dress across her body and
rolled into a curl, with her hands over her head.

Arnauld’s mother sighed, loudly.

“Lady Katrine will be waiting for you. Don’t keep her
wondering where you are. That would most discourteous.”

There was a clatter of heeled shoes upon the boards as, one
by one, the royal examining committee withdrew from the room.

* * * * *

For a few weeks Eloise was the toast of the female circles
with the Court. For a month she attended banquets, walked and rode and was seen
abroad. She sat at Arnauld’s side on public occasions and danced with him at
balls, though he never engaged her in more than cursory conversation again. She
suspected he found her dull; she knew the women of the Court did. They did not
bother to hide their disappointment when she refused to describe her ordeal to
them. They looked askance that the King’s betrothed should be such a mousy,
distracted, pensive thing.

After that first day, there was no sign of Severin de
Meynard. She didn’t dare ask where he had gone, but his absence felt like a raw
wound in her breast. She did hear, however, that reinforcements had been sent
to the southern river border with Mendea.

Out of the public eye, things were equally busy. She was
never alone, not even when using the close-stool. Night and day her
ladies-in-waiting kept attendance. Even when she lay down to sleep, there were
attiring-women to tuck her in and a servant in the truckle bed at the foot of
her own just in case she needed something in the small hours. She didn’t get a
moment’s privacy. And because she knew those women were there to watch her and
report, she didn’t dare talk to herself, or relax, or weep, though the burden
of tears in her breast grew as heavy as a rock.

Sometimes when she couldn’t bear it any longer, under cover
of heavy darkness, in the small hours when sleep seemed a hundred miles away
and desperation clawed at the bars of her skull, she would seek temporary
respite by cautiously fingering herself to a breathless and silent climax, just
as terrified of discovery as she had been that first time in Severin’s
presence—no, more so, because she had a far grimmer idea of the consequences
now. To be seen to be less than sexless, to be discovered in possession of
carnal appetite, that might be fatal. She knew it was a risk she shouldn’t
take, but she could not bear to abstain, not every night, when it was the one
link back to him. Severin burned in her memory—his voice, his scent, the
texture and shape of his body—and she couldn’t give that up. Only in the
darkness behind her closed eyes could she find freedom, only in memory could
she taste joy.