He had not been around much of late. She imagined he’d been intriguing his way about the castle and the noble quarter in the city, securing his newly elevated position in court. He hadn’t been given a formal office, but he’d taken it for granted he was her advisor and close confidant as he had been for her father. She did not favor him, but at the moment he was all she had.

“My lady,” he drawled as he entered the parlor and swiftly bowed. “May we speak privately?” He cast a significant look at Ellen.

Estora nodded a dismissal and the Weapon exited to resume her vigil from outside. “What is it, Richmont? It’s been a wearisome day and I’m ready for my bed.”

He gave her a silky smile she did not like.

“Your readiness for bed is precisely why I’m here,” he said. “There is more yet for you to attend to this night.”

“Can’t it wait? Early tomorrow morning ought to be soon enough. Unless it is an emergency?”

Richmont’s smile deepened. “But now is bedtime. Should you not be going to your husband’s bed as is befitting a new bride?”

She set the teacup aside and it rattled into its saucer. “He’s injured—not well. You know that. He’ll rest better without my presence.”

“Even so, the marriage of a king and queen dictates certain traditions be followed. The witnesses have already assembled.”

“You can’t possibly be suggesting . . . the rite of consummation? He’s ill, Richmont.”

“All the kings and queens before you have observed the ritual, as must the lord-governors, including your mother and father, who did so unreservedly. Of course we are well-acquainted with the king’s condition, so the act will be more . . . symbolic. Still, it must be done to ensure the further appeasement of the lord-governors to make your transition to regnant unimpeachable.”

“Oh, gods,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Estora was certain that most couples naturally desired to spend their marriage night, and subsequent nights, together doing their duty, but in front of others? She could only surmise that the whole tradition of witnesses was carried on by those who were titillated by watching their rulers perform the act.

“I could proclaim a new law revoking the rite,” Estora mused, and as she thought about it, it did not seem a bad idea.

“You could,” Richmont agreed, “but then the lord-governors would definitely challenge your right to reign.”

She stood and paced, gown and robe flowing about her feet. Then she halted. “There is no way Zachary is able. He’s not even conscious.”

“Destarion says he’s had moments of awareness. And you underestimate the male drive. But as I’ve said earlier, Zachary’s condition is being taken into consideration and tonight will be symbolic. We merely ask that you sleep beside him.”

“And this will satisfy your witnesses?”

“For the purposes of the rite, yes. For their personal enjoyment? Doubtful.”

“Of all the maddening things. I’m supposed to be queen, but everyone else is telling me what to do. And even that which is most sacred and private must be performed before an audience.”

“I suggest you accustom yourself to it. It is your life now. So, will you do this thing or must I throw you into his bed myself?”

“Richmont, I do not care for your tone. You do not have the command of me, and in fact, I am not sure I even wish you to take part in my court.”

He closed in on her and grasped her wrist, wrenching it. “Think again,” he hissed.

“You’re hurting me,” Estora protested.

He drew her close, close enough that she felt the heat of his body. His face was twisted in an ugly way she’d never seen before.

“I have labored hard and long to bring this all to pass,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You will not upset my plans.”

“What are you talking about?” She tried to wrest her arm away from him but his hand was like a cuff of steel.

“You will not ruin everything I’ve labored for all these years, for you, your father, and myself.” He released her, and shocked, she stepped away from him rubbing her wrist.

“I believe,” he continued, “willing or no, I can make you comply with my wishes.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying, my dear cousin, there are things I know about you that could irreparably harm you and your standing both in the realm and with your clan. I know about you and a Green Rider named F’ryan Coblebay.”

“Zachary already knows about F’ryan and me.”

Richmont smirked. “Yes, and Coblebay is dead and gone, but there are still influential persons who know nothing of Zachary’s acceptance of your . . . soiled virtue, and Zachary is in no condition, and may never be, to come to your defense. There are still others of more traditional leanings who’d frown upon your dalliances with a commoner. They’d be all too eager to use the information to discredit your standing across the realm. The people expect their king to be marrying a maiden pure and unbesmirched by some lowly messenger. If you do not obey my wishes, I can expand the story, add salacious details, and send it out into the world.”

Estora grew cold. He was right about the traditionalists and how they’d react. Her father had been one of them so she was well acquainted with the mind-set. There were many people who’d go from celebrating her marriage to condemning her. She could be exiled, or worse. And where would that leave the realm? In the very turmoil they were trying to avoid by having moved up the wedding.