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Chapter 91: The Trouble with Marriage
It was a paradox that Percy would never understand—how men could so easily follow a King with such little experience, negligible accomplishments, and lacking capabilities. Nicholas was just one mortal. The spare prince of a tyrant King who turned his sword against the Covens in a moment of irrational anger. If there was one thing the Havardur Kings could not stomach, it was to be publicly humiliated and insulted.
‘And yet you’ve given me all I need to push you over the edge.’
The Earl smiled grimly as he accepted the offered goblet of wine from Marquess Winifred. ‘Nicholas is a fool to believe that he can play us better than his father did. Look at him strutting around just because the Pope put a crown on his head.’
The inner chamber of the House of Ministry was decorated with hanging tapestries, each bearing the likeness of the seven Havardur Kings. A newly fashioned tabard presented by the royal tailors only moments ago now hung above the King’s chair. The likeness captured within radiated with such confidence and charisma that it hardly resembled Nicholas.
“Your glaring, Cousin.” Serilda’s soft voice brushed against Percy’s ear as the Marchioness settled down into the empty seat beside him and placed her fingers on his wrist. “Patience, Percy. Good things come to those who wait.”
The Earl released his goblet to capture her hand instead and squeezed it as he forced a smile.
“What is it?” Serilda murmured as she leaned towards him. The loose curls of her auburn-chestnut hair brushed against his storm gray jacket.
“Nothing,” Percy replied in a quiet whisper. “I am simply anxious. There is too much uncertainty—and much at stake.”
“All will be well.” The Marchioness smiled as she clasped their joined hands. “Our moment will come before we know it.”
“To the King!” Duke Stryker roared as he stood and raised a toast from his seat beside Nicholas. Due to the Dowager’s absence, Lord Commander Stryker had been granted one of the two chairs beside the King on the royal dais. The second chair stood empty since Lady Kirsi had declined to join the formal coronation banquet.
‘Kirsi said she was going back to Rose Palace to check on Eleanora—but it felt like she was withholding something from me.’
“To the King!” the counselors around the table intoned.
“And perhaps, one day soon, a queen!” Earl Coldwell interjected before drinking.
Serilda snorted and rolled her eyes. “Could he be any more obvious?”
“They will have to strip Eleanora of her title first,” Percy remarked cynically. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well that Kirsi decided to stay in Rose Palace until the Pope departs for Zarus.’
King Nicholas waved aside the counselors’ cheers and well wishes as he leaned against the armrest of the central throne chair. His smile was beginning to look tired, and he was constantly fidgeting with the heavy crown and golden wreath that shifted whenever his head tilted or turned.
“How long is he going to keep wearing all that?” Serilda whispered as she reached across Percy’s seat for the wine. The Earl caught her hand and lifted the pitcher himself to fill her goblet.
“Let him enjoy it, Marchioness,” Marquess Winifred commented with a faintly drunk smile. ‘While he still can,’ the Marquess’s tone all but implied.
“Your Majesty!”
The Earl sighed and composed his face as he turned to where Earl Coldwell now stood in Marquess Borghese’s old chair.
“As eager as we are to celebrate this joyous day,” Coldwell continued with an apologetic smile. “Might I suggest, as we are all gathered here already, that we discuss the issue of the Prime Minister’s empty seat?”
Several murmurs of disapproval, the majority of them from Percy’s side of the table, filled the chambers as the King glanced to where the black pillow with the late Prime Minister’s necklace of office waited before the dead man’s chair.
“Lord Chase,” Nicholas replied with notable coldness as he focused his gaze on the standing Earl. “Now is hardly the time.”
“Indeed, your Majesty,” Winifred interjected as he rose to face Earl Coldwell. “The choice of next Prime Minister cannot be rushed. An election of the nobles will choose a new Prime Minister. We can hardly decide the matter here and now as we please.”
“If this were a normal selection to replace a living Prime Minister, I would agree with you, Marquess,” Coldwell replied calmly. “However greatly we are all grieving the loss of Lord Attwood—the process of an election could take several weeks. We have Viscounts as far out as the southern coastline. Rather than wait for them all to travel such a great length to cast their vote, I believe it would be more feasible to set a deadline for the election.”
“It appears my opponent believes he can win if he rushes the result in this manner,” Percy commented with a dry chuckle.
“Forgive me, Lord Percy, but that is not the case. I am simply worried that leaving our new King without a trusted advisor and the House without a governing voice for an extended period of time will prove detrimental to the start of King Nicholas’s reign. We cannot be without a Prime Minister at such a pivotal moment.”
Grumbles, for and against, filtered around the table as Nicholas ran a hand down his face and sighed.
‘Nicholas must know that this is part of their plan to push Coldwell into the seat of Prime Minister. That is why only Viscounts near the Capital have been targeted thus far.’
The quiet but distinct sound of the chamber door opening turned the counselor’s attention to where a knight appeared ahead of a woman dressed in the habit of the church. The King straightened with a faint smile of relief and waved the nun towards him quickly.
“Your Majesty,” the nun murmured. She bowed at the waist and then whispered something in the King’s ear.
“I wasn’t aware that the church’s services would still be required after this morning,” Serilda commented lightly as she tapped the base of her goblet.
Percy glanced at her and frowned before responding. “It’s possible—I did think it odd that Lady Priscilla did not attend the coronation.”
The Marchioness arched a brow and smirked as she selected a grape from her plate and quickly followed it up with a tiny square of sliced cheese.
“Excellent,” Nicholas replied with a delighted smile that came off slightly forced. “Thank you, Sister Margrett. You may go.”
Percy glanced around the table of nobles and noticed a smug look of satisfaction on Earl Coldwell’s face as the nun left the chamber.
The King rose from his throne chair to face the table of counselors and raised his hands for silence. “My Lords, I will decide on a date for the election another time. Right now, my future bride and Royal Consort, Lady Priscilla, is waiting for me at the royal chapel. I would be delighted to invite all those here to attend if you wish, but I must ask that you leave all business matters until tomorrow morning. I wish to celebrate my coronation and my wedding in private for the remainder of the day.”
“Here, here!” Duke Stryker intoned as he stood and raised his goblet to the King. “To your Majesty’s wedding!”
The other counselors rose to their feet and mimicked the Duke’s cheer with loud applause as Nicholas stepped down from the dais, shadowed as always by his faithful knight captain.
“I shall be going, my Lords,” Earl Coldwell announced as he set his cup down. “My wife is with the bride already and awaiting our arrival.”
“Lord Percy!” Duke Stryker called out calmly as he placed his empty goblet by the Earl’s cup. “Perhaps you will inform Duchess Krisi and invite her to join us.”
“I’m afraid the Duchess is rather preoccupied at the moment, your Grace,” Percy replied with a stiff smile. “Besides, the chapel is small. Perhaps only those close to the bride should attend.”
“Nonsense!” Nicholas protested as he strode towards the table while fidgeting with his royal cape. “I insist you be there, Lord Percy. And you as well, Marchioness Serilda.”
“As you wish, your Majesty,” Serilda replied with a faintly bemused smile as she curtsied beside the Earl.
“Excellent!” The King nodded and flashed Serilda a genuine smile that set Percy’s teeth on edge. The Earl did not miss the quiet look of anger that spread across Marquess Winifred’s face as he returned to his seat and glared at the goblet in his hand.
“It appears we have been summoned,” Serilda murmured with a forced smile as they watched the King, Duke Stryker, and most of the nobles from the Royal Party file out of the Ministry Chamber.
Winifred’s chair scraped softly against the floor as the Marquess stood and turned to face the Earl. “Lord Percy, a quick word in private, if you’d be so kind.”
“Of course,” Percy replied as he passed his hat and cloak to Serilda. “Would you wait for me outside in the carriage, Seri?”
***
“It is bad enough I have to endure all the rumors going about the capital that Lady Serilda is playing the part of the King’s Mistress again,” Winifred growled as he paced the quiet clerk’s office that Percy had unlocked for their use. “But the King continues to go out of his way to act inappropriately when the Marchioness is already engaged to my son!”
“The King has made it very clear that he wishes to marry, Lady Serilda,” Percy explained with notable disgust as he brushed off the clerk’s desk chair and then sat down.
“What?”
The Earl raised a cautioning brow and watched as the Marquess hastily erected a magic barrier around the room. “Nicholas informed me early this morning that he intends to tie himself to the Air Covens through marriage to the Marchioness.”
The Marquess sputtered out a wordless protest, choked, and covered his mouth as he leaned against the bookshelf of organized scrolls.
“The King has asked for my approval on this,” Percy continued in a lowered tone as he laced his fingers together calmly.
“And did you give it?” Winifred’s quiet but angry voice cracked with audible rage as he glared at the benign scrolls.
“I gave the King the same response I gave you and your son when you asked for Serilda’s hand in marriage. The lady will choose for herself.”
The Marquess scoffed, then closed his eyes as he leaned his head back with a sigh. “I only wish I knew the Marchioness well enough to be certain of her answer.”
“Then allow me to put your mind at ease. Serilda has declined,” Percy replied, allowing a faint smile to creep over his face as the Marquess spun towards him with a look of relief. “In her own words, she would never accept an offer of marriage that would require her to share her husband with another.”
The Marquess chuckled as he pushed away from the shelf and brushed back his hair. “Well, I am relieved to hear it. I should have expected no less. You can assure the Marchioness that Eustice is no such fool. My youngest is utterly smitten with her. We should decide on a wedding date and—”
“I shall relay your request to the Marchioness,” Percy interjected as he tapped the man’s hand. “But I imagine Lady Serilda will want a spring wedding. That way, she can wear her mother’s wedding dress beneath the blossoms at Kensington Hall.”
“Yes. Yes, of course! A spring wedding will be splendid,” Winifred replied with a beaming smile that faded as he moved closer and leaned against the desk. “But tell me—does the King know?”
***
Rose petals swirled and danced across the palace’s nearly empty street. A few petals carried by the breeze attached themselves to the shining uniforms of the knights who escorted the new King and his counselors towards the royal chapel.
The pretty little chapel was already adorned with purple streamers and mountains of white chrysanthemums that adorned every window box, step, and pillar. Bishop Murdock stepped through the chapel door swiftly to greet the King as the nobles dismounted their carriages to file down the chiseled stone pathway.
“His Holiness wished to attend to bless your marriage,” Murdock explained as he led the King inside and gestured to where the Pope and two Cardinals sat in the front pews, quietly conversing with Duchess Verity. Noting the King’s arrival, Jericho turned and nodded his head to the king in silent deference.
‘Does he still view himself as so far above me?’ Nicholas wondered as he returned the nod. “Then we are doubly blessed today.”
Murdock smiled as if he had expected no less and quickly turned to address the Duke and nobles behind him. “Please, your Grace. If you and the rest of the King’s guests would take a seat, we shall begin shortly. Your Majesty, if you will stand at the altar beside me?”
Nicholas nodded and followed behind the Bishop while the rest of the nobles filed into their seats. He noticed the members of the Royal Faction had claimed the pews directly behind the Pope while Percy and the Noble Faction filed into the back pews, leaving one distinct empty pew between them.
‘Like oil and water.’
As the Bishop had promised, the ceremony began shortly. Lady Priscilla appeared in a pure white wedding dress, followed by two familiar attendants and Countess Coldwell. The Countess held the end of the long white train as the bridal party moved down the aisle to the triumphant tune of a small choir singing from the loft above.
‘It’s nowhere near as grand as the wedding the Dowager threw for Eleanora and me,’ Nicholas noted as he waited for Priscilla at the other end of the pews. ‘But at least this time, I know for certain that my bride is pure.’
Indeed, of all the women the King had loved and married, Priscilla was the only one who had saved herself for him. Nicholas felt a moment of gratitude as he took her offered hand, smiled at his bride through her veil, and then turned to face the Bishop.
As Murdock droned on through the traditional rites of marriage, Nicholas became aware of Priscilla’s frantic heartbeat through the laced sleeve of her wedding dress. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles encouragingly and was startled to find his hands completely dry.
‘I was a nervous sweating mess when I married Eleanora. Perhaps because she so obviously did not wish to marry me.’ The King glanced once more at his new bride but felt not a quiver of joy at her chaste image. ‘I can tell what Priscilla is feeling even through her veil. I know she is driven by ambition and the demands of the Royal Faction more than love for me. She might even want revenge for her father’s death.’
Priscilla sensed his gaze and turned towards him. Nicholas could feel her uncertainty and offered his naïve bride another reassuring smile before a priest carried forward a pillow with two gold wedding bands.
The King picked up the smaller gold ring while Priscilla hesitated. “Don’t worry,” Nicholas murmured as he leaned towards her veil. These are merely symbolic for the purposes of this ceremony. I will find you a suitable ring as soon as possible to replace it with.”
The bride nodded and took the larger ring. At the Bishop’s instructions, they faced each other and slid the rings on each other’s fingers before clasping their hands together.
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Priscilla whispered as Murdock bound their wrists with a long strip of purple silk cloth.
Nicholas raised a questioning brow as his bride turned to accept the petal bite of honey from Duchess Verity. The King turned and received his portion of the sweet nectar offered by Duke Stryker. Then the bride and groom faced each other once more as Bishop Murdock walked around them three times, muttering chants while holding a candle from the altar.
“You may think me foolish,” Priscilla whispered as they took one step closer to each other with each of the Bishop’s passing turns. “But I have—dreamt of this moment—since I was a child.”
“You are no longer a child,” Nicholas replied somewhat harshly as he repressed the urge to laugh. ‘To think that such a childish dream could survive your father’s death and your family’s public humiliation.’
Priscilla’s gaze faltered as Murdock blew out the candle. The couple turned to face the Bishop, who unwound the purple ribbon tied to their wrists.
“Before the eyes of the Saints and in the presence of his Holiness, noble lords, and ladies,” Murdock intoned solemnly. “I now pronounce you, King Nicholas Havardur and Lady Priscilla Borghese, husband and wife!”
A polite applause soon rose to a jubilant roar as Nicholas leaned down to give Priscilla a sweet but sticky kiss on the lips. She blushed again and lowered her gaze as the King took her right hand and turned to present her to the cheering nobles.
The Pope stepped forward to greet them with arms outstretched. Priscilla instinctively bowed her head and knelt on the floor. The King looked down at his kneeling bride and felt a moment of unsettled anger before he joined her. ‘This is why I would rather join hands with the Covens. At least they do not pretend to be anything more than what they are.’ He flinched as the Pope sprinkled drops of holy water over their bowed heads and joined hands.
“May the Saints bless this marriage with strength, patience, and fruitful labor,” Jericho intoned with his unsettling quiet yet powerful voice. “May the Saints grant their favor and protection to this most faithful King and his Consort. May the children of this noble couple inherit the love and faith these two shall build together and carry forward into the next generation.”
Nicholas looked up just in time to see the Pope’s gesture for them to rise. He stood and helped Priscilla find her feet as the attendants behind her arranged their Mistress’s train.
“By the will of the Saints, I, Pope Jericho the First, do bless this marriage and present this most illustrious couple with gifts of celebration.”
The two Cardinals behind the Pope stepped forward to present each spouse with an ornamental white and gold jewelry box.
“We are most grateful for your gifts,” Nicholas replied as he accepted the box and passed it over to Captain Beaumont. ‘Some piece of jewelry, no doubt. I’m surprised his Holiness had time to prepare something given how quickly I rushed this marriage.’
The Pope nodded, a flicker of amusement in his unnerving pale golden eyes as he turned to address Priscilla. “I trust that you will find my gift invaluable, Royal Consort.”
“I am humbled by your generosity, your Holiness,” Priscilla replied as she dipped into a curtsey.
Once more, Nicholas felt himself comparing his new bride to Eleanora. He could not imagine his Crown Princess treating the Pope with any respect. In fact, the hostility she would no doubt have showered upon Ventrayna’s hated enemy would almost be a breath of fresh air after the last few days of paying lip service to this Divine Heir.
“Well done, your Majesty!” Duke Stryker called out as he and his wife stepped forward to greet the couple next. “I trust this is one marriage that won’t require any additional pressure to consummate.”
Nicholas’s smile tightened as the nobles around them let out nervous and awkward laughs.
“Husband, mind your words,” Verity chided with an apologetic smile to the King. “I’m so sorry, your Majesty. He becomes unmanageable once he’s in his cups.”
‘I know someone else with a similar issue.’
The King nodded amicably and watched as the Duchess stepped forward to kiss his bride’s cheek. Nicholas missed their conversation but surmised its intent by the deepening blush on Priscilla’s face.
‘She’s so much easier to read than Eleanora.’ The King sighed and forced a smile as several other lords for the Royal Party stepped forward to offer their congratulations.
“Come. Come!” Duke Stryker boomed as he stepped forward to clear a path to the door. “There will be time enough for congratulations later. Allow the couple their privacy.”
“Thank you, Lord Stryker,” Nicholas replied with a relieved smile as he wrapped Priscilla’s arms around his. “My Lady, shall we retire to my quarters?”
“If you wish, your Majesty,” Priscilla murmured demurely as she touched her veil with a shy smile.
“Your Majesty!”
The King turned and frowned at the unfamiliar noble who strode towards them carrying a white and red roses bouquet. “A gift for the bride and groom to celebrate your nuptials.”
“Oh, what lovely roses!” Priscilla beamed as she held out her arms to receive them.
“They were sent by her Grace, Duchess Kirsi Valda, to commemorate your marriage.”
“Oh!” The Royal Consort stiffened with her hands outstretched. Nicholas frowned as the nobleman all but pushed the roses into his bride’s hands, then swiftly bowed and departed.
“Your Highness!” Verity murmured worriedly as the color slowly bled from Priscilla’s face. “Here—let me take those for you—Oh! Saint’s Mercy!”
The King blinked as the Duchess flung the bouquet to the ground. He stared blankly at the splatter of red that now stained his bride’s white dress and sleeves.
“What on earth?”
“Is that—blood?”
“What is the meaning of this?”
“How dare Lady Kirsi send such a vile, underhand threat!”
“Your Majesty!” Verity’s voice pitched sharply with anger and worry as Priscilla sagged against the King’s arm. “This all but amounts to an act of treason. How dare Lady Krisi threaten my niece—your bride!”
“Enough!” Nicholas snapped roughly, struggling to keep Priscilla upright as his fingers slid across the slick red blood that stained her arms. His efforts to hold her only served to spread the blood to his own ceremonial robes. “Someone—take her!”
Lieutenant Olund stepped forward promptly and scoped the pale Consort up into his arms as Duke Stryker hastened forward to help the King remove his robes.
“Your Majesty.”
“What?” Nicholas gritted his teeth together as he regained control of his rapidly slipping patience. “What is it, Earl Hawthorne?”
“I’ve sent someone to fetch the noble who delivered those roses,” Percy explained in an infuriatingly calm voice. “I do not recognize him, and I doubt that Lady Kirsi would ask a stranger to deliver a gift when she has numerous knights at her disposal within the palace.”
The King blinked, then barked out a laugh at the Earl’s intended meaning. “Good. Good. Find out who’s responsible for this farce and bring them to me.”
The furious nobles around them fell into an awkward silence as Percy bowed and swiftly left the chapel, followed by the members of the Noble Faction. ‘Surely, Priscilla would not be so foolish as to repeat the same mistake she made during the Royal Hunt.’ The King smiled bitterly as he accepted Verity’s handkerchief and quickly wiped the bloodstains from his hands and sleeves.
“Well, I shall need to change,” Nicholas announced as he signaled Captain Beaumont to follow.
“And what of the Lady, your Majesty?” Lieutenant Olund murmured as the King moved towards the door.
“It’s still our wedding night. Bring my Royal Consort to Peony Palace. I’ll have a physician examine her. Duchess Verity, if you would send the lady’s attendants to fetch whatever necessities their Mistress will need to bath, sleep, and dress for tomorrow’s ball.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” Verity replied as she curtsied beside her husband.
The remaining nobles all bowed as the King stormed from the chapel and climbed into his carriage. Nicholas offered his bride one final parting glance as his carriage pulled away to make room for the Duchess’s carriage. The King kicked the empty seat across from him with a frustrated sigh and clenched his stained fingers.
‘Duchess Kirsi has no reason to stir up trouble now. But I don’t understand why Earl Coldwell or the Hargreves would take such a risk at the expense of Priscilla’s wedding. Nor do I imagine the Pope would stoop so low as to paint Lady Krisi as some wild, jealous woman.’
Nicholas pressed his hands together and sat stiffly with his head turned to the window. After a moment of contemplation that yielded no clear answer, he reached up to adjust the troublesome crown already slipping off his head.