Wedding Hells (Schooled in Magic Book 8) (17 page)

Emily felt her cheeks heat with a mixture of embarrassment and outrage. She’d known he’d wanted to control her, when he’d offered her the barony, but how
dare
he try to dictate her personal life? The last thing she wanted was to let him think he could choose her husband.

“Caleb is not a nobleman,” she said. “His father may be a knight as well as a general, but Caleb is unlikely to become the heir.”

“I am your liege lord,” Randor said, forbiddingly. His eyes darkened at her tone. “I have the right to approve or disapprove of any suitors you might happen to have. Your children will be Alassa’s subjects.”

Emily forced herself to keep her voice calm. “The question of who I marry is none of your business.”

“But it is,” Randor told her. His voice was level, but she could hear an undertone of anger, an undertone he probably meant her to hear. “Your husband will be the highest-ranking male in the barony and among the highest-ranking males in the
kingdom
. Your children will be powerful aristocrats in their own right. Any courtship should have been approved by me before it became public.”

Emily blinked. “It’s public?”

Randor met her eyes. “You have a fair claim to being the second or third most powerful person in the kingdom,” he said. “There isn’t an aristocrat in Zangaria who hasn’t heard about your...
boyfriend
. Your visit to Beneficence with an escort is enough to tell them that you started a courtship. I imagine they are quietly assessing the prospects for your marriage and trying to calculate what it means for them.”

“Nothing,” Emily snapped. Her personal life wasn’t any of their business either. “It means
nothing
to them!”

“They will not see it that way,” Randor said. “Why do you want to marry him?”

“I believe a courtship is intended to discover if we
do
want to marry,” Emily said, stiffly.

“You would not have entered a courtship if you were not at least willing to entertain the possibility,” Randor pointed out, sharply. “Why do you want to marry him?”

“He’s...comfortable,” Emily said.

“He’s comfortable,” Randor repeated. “Comfortable?”

Emily bit down hard on her temper. It was bad enough that he thought he should have a say in her personal life, but now he was
questioning
her choices? She wanted to turn and storm out of the room. Only the certainty that Alassa would never forgive her for fighting with the king before the wedding kept her rooted to the spot.

And she had
no
intention of explaining to King Randor, of all people, why
comfortable
was so important to her.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, trying to convey defiance as best as she could. “He’s comfortable, he’s intelligent, he’s capable, he’s caring...what more do you want?”

Randor, oddly, smiled. “I’d want a reason to marry him.”

“They
are
good reasons to marry someone,” Emily said. “Aren’t they?”

She took a breath, trying to see things from his point of view. Randor, raised in a world of aristocratic marriages,
wouldn’t
consider them good reasons to marry anyone. He’d expect someone with huge tracts of land, or colossal wealth, rather than just considerable magical power. But Emily couldn’t marry one of the other barons, or a foreign nobleman, without upsetting the balance of power in Zangaria. Caleb wasn’t a threat...but, as far as Randor could tell, he didn’t bring anything
new
to the match either.

“I like him,” she said. “I don’t know if we’ll marry or not, but that’s our decision.”

Randor frowned. “And what has your father said about the affair?”

“He hasn’t told us to stop, if that’s what you mean,” Emily said, crossly. Void had teased her, before offering some surprisingly practical advice - and
he
had no right to dictate her choices either. “I think he feels the decision should be mine.”

“It isn’t just your decision,” Randor said, coldly.

“Yes, it is.”

“I believe your young man has been invited to the wedding,” Randor said, ignoring her. She knew perfectly well he’d have approved the invitation before it went out. “I shall speak to him during a quiet moment, should we have one, and then give you my final judgement.”

Emily stared at him for a long moment. It sounded almost as if Randor was planning to make a public announcement. The thought was outrageous.

She braced herself. “It is
our
judgement that counts.”

“I would not presume to force you into a marriage, Emily,” Randor said. “But your current position requires me to approve your marriage before you are committed. Had you handled it properly, you could have brought Caleb to me before you made it public and I could have told you what I thought.”

“And if you’d disapproved of Jade,” Emily snarled with sudden reckless abandon, “would you have expected Alassa to simply dump him?”

“I expect my daughter to do what is best for the kingdom,” Randor said, sternly. “Her marriage is not a personal affair, any more than mine was. If Jade had proven unsuitable, I would have urged her to abandon him before her reputation was in tatters.”

Emily clenched her fists. “And what if she’d wanted to
keep
him?”

“She would have known better,” Randor told her, coolly. “She was raised to understand that her marriage would always be political. I am fond of my wife, Emily, but I did not choose to marry her. My father made that choice for me.”

“It must have been easy for you,” Emily snapped. She caught herself before she rubbed his mistresses in his face. “It isn’t so easy for women.”

“Life is rarely
fair
,” Randor said. He gave her a considering look. “Lord Hans argues that a woman cannot be expected to run a barony. Your behavior has been taken to suggest he has a point.”

Emily took a long breath. “You mean finding a boyfriend without your approval?”

“I mean adding new laws, tipping over long-held certainties and encouraging the spread of innovation,” Randor said. “You are the
first
Baroness of Zangaria. Your conduct will be considered when the aristocracy wonders about the value of having a second - or third.”

“Like Alicia,” Emily said.

“Like Alicia,” Randor agreed. His face had gone still again. “Your conduct may also reflect badly on my daughter. There has
never
been a ruling queen in Zangaria.”

Which is why you spent so much effort on trying to sire a son, bastard or not
, Emily thought, sourly. It struck her that she hadn’t seen anything of Queen Marlena in
years
.
And now you’re lumbered with a single heir - a daughter.

“And the aristocrats will be watching carefully for signs of weakness,” Randor added. “It does not take much to fan the flames of prejudice.”

“I know,” Emily said.

Randor leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have much choice,” he said. “If I don’t approve of your boyfriend, I cannot allow you to marry him.”

Emily met his eyes. “And if I
do
choose to marry him?”

“You’d have to give up Cockatrice,” Randor said. “And you wouldn’t be able to nominate your successor.”

And
that
, Emily knew, was his ultimate weapon. By any reasonable standards, Cockatrice was a fantastic reward. It was more than just land and money; it was absolute mastery of hundreds of thousands of lives. The mere possession of the land made her a powerful noblewoman and gave her a voice at the very center of the kingdom. They might hate her, they might distrust her, they might fear her...but they could not dismiss her. No wonder Alicia, Lord Hans and Lady Regina were so desperate to be confirmed in their titles. They
needed
them if they were ever to amount to more than a handful of well-born children leeching off the king.

And they’d never be able to understand why someone might give up the barony for
anything
.

Emily stared down at her hands. She hated the barony; she hated knowing a single word from her could turn an entire country upside down. And yet, she’d used it to help steer social change and introduce new innovations...

And Frieda is my heir
, she thought. It was customary to name
someone
who would take her place if she died; Frieda had seemed the best choice at the time.
She’d be deprived if King Randor took the Barony back.

She felt her headache growing stronger as she fought to control herself. King Randor wasn’t her father, he wasn’t someone who had a
real
claim on her...she hadn’t been
raised
to consider herself the mistress of all she surveyed. Alassa - and Regina, and Alicia - might be cold about their marriages, but she knew she could never be like them. The idea of marrying a stranger for political reasons was anathema to her.

“I think I will make that decision when you make yours,” she said. She wanted to shove the barony in his face, to tell him it didn’t matter to her, but Alassa would be upset and her wedding would be disrupted.
And
it would impact on the lives of hundreds of thousands of peasants. “If you want me to marry someone harmless, you could hardly make a better choice.”

“He’s a sorcerer,” Randor said. “
Harmless
is not the word I would use to describe him.”

“Perhaps not,” Emily said. “But who would you want me to marry?”

“You’re a sorceress,” Randor pointed out. “You would not
have
to marry young.”

Emily winced. Mundane women in the Nameless World had real problems having children after passing thirty-five. The combination of poor nutrition and worse medical care made it imperative for women to marry young, recognizing there was a strong risk of death in childbirth if a magician wasn’t in attendance. A sorceress, on the other hand, could remain physically young for decades, if she wished. Randor had probably been expecting her to refrain from finding a husband for years.

“Or marry at all,” she said, darkly.
That
might have suited Randor; Emily would die without a legitimate heir, leaving the barony to revert to the king. Or queen, if it happened on Alassa’s watch. “Do you
want
me to marry?”

“I want you to make your decisions for the good of the kingdom,” Randor said. He rose to his feet, a clear sign the interview was over. “And one other thing, Lady Emily?”

Emily eyed him, warily.

“You seem to have forgotten to address me as Your Majesty,” Randor said. “I
cannot
allow that in public.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” Emily said, embarrassed. She still wasn’t used to addressing
anyone
by an honorific. “My temper was running high.”

“Be sure your tongue doesn’t run away with you,” Randor advised. “Saying the wrong thing in public could be disastrous.”

Emily nodded, remembering Master Grey.

She opened the door - and blinked in surprise as she saw Alicia standing outside, waiting for the king. Alicia’s pale face flickered through a number of unreadable expressions before Randor called her into the room; she stepped past Emily, keeping as much distance between them as possible, and closed the door behind her. Emily shook her head and headed to the hidden stairwell. She could walk back to her room without encountering anyone, if she was lucky. She needed time to calm down before she lost control of her powers...

And then I have to go get my dress fitted, again
, she thought. One day - barely even that - and she was already feeling as wretched as Alassa.
Is it ever going to end
?

“Y
OU LOOK LOVELY,” QUEEN MARLENA SAID
. “A delicate flower, to be sure.”

Emily felt her cheeks redden. Imaiqah had caught her just before she could enter the Royal Apartments and dragged her into the fitting room. Queen Marlena - looking older and paler than Emily recalled - had been waiting, accompanied by a pair of seamstresses. They’d promptly pushed Emily into the center of the room and started holding various dresses up against her. Resistance, it seemed, was futile.

“I feel too exposed,” she said, once she had a chance to take a look at herself in the mirror. The long white dress clung to her curves in embarrassing places. “One splash of water and everyone will see everything.”

“Charm it against translucency,” Marlena said. She’d waved off every question Emily had tried to ask about her health, or anything that wasn’t related to the wedding itself. “But you don’t want to be wearing that outside the formal pronouncement.”

“I don’t want to be wearing this at all,” Emily said. She didn’t want to
think
about how much the dress had cost. “Can’t I wear something darker?”

“The pronouncement ceremony protocol expects everyone to wear white,” Marlena told her, sternly. “You can wear blue during the reception and the wedding itself, if you wish, but white is required for the formal pronouncement.”

Emily sighed. “Do we really need so many dresses?”

“Yes,” Marlena said. The look in her eye told Emily that there was no point in trying to argue. “And they do make you look lovely.”

The seamstresses hastily undressed Emily and held out a long blue dress that seemed more natural to her. Emily pulled it over her shoulders, studied herself in the mirror and then waited for the seamstresses to make a number of minor adjustments. By the time they were finished, the dress was clinging tightly to her, but at least it wasn’t anything like as revealing as the white dress. The seamstresses checked their work, then looked at the Queen.

“Good,” Marlena said. “Run us up two more of those, fitted to the same measurements. I’ll want them ready for the final fitting in a week, before the ceremony starts in earnest.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” one of the women said. She curtsied hastily. “Do you want to check the other dresses now?”

“No,” Marlena said. “I believe you can tighten up the measurements alone.”