The light spilling through the floor-length windows of Somerset House was thin and wintry. Silk drapes stirred as if sensing the mood in the room subdued, waiting.
At a marble-topped table, Lady Marianne , daughter of Lord Chancellor Eldric, sat poised with her hands neatly folded in her lap. At twenty-one, Marianne carried herself with the practiced poise of one raised for court life. Her golden-brown hair was pinned into intricate braids and her gown was cut modestly, its pearl-stitched sleeves a quiet reflection of her station. Her profile was exquisite, graceful neck, fine-boned features, and eyes a pale green that missed nothing. Every inch of her bearing spoke of her high birth and careful tutelage in court manners.
Beside her, a lady-in-waiting refilled her tea.
"I've heard my father will be returning soon," Marianne said at last, her voice measured and calm.
"Yes, my lady," replied the maid.
A pause. Then Marianne looked toward the window, though her thoughts were nowhere near the gardens outside.
"I'm sure father has been very busy."
That was an understatement. The Lord Chancellor was forever closeted with the Queen or hurrying to council chambers, grasping at fragile alliances as the crown prince, her betrothed remained missing.
She hadn't seen him properly in weeks.
When last they had been together, Crown Prince Stefan had been all easy charm and quiet strength, pressing a kiss to her gloved hand before riding off to tour his holdings. That was before his sudden disappearance.
And now the court whispered not merely of his absence, but of treachery.
As betrothed to the heir, Marianne's position was precarious. Without Stefan, what was she?
But Marianne Somerset was her father's daughter. Cool-headed and fiercely intelligent.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Hensley, appeared at the door. "My lady," she said with a small curtsy, "a messenger has come from Whitehall. A letter, for you."
Marianne's brow arched faintly as she accepted the envelope. The thick parchment bore Queen Isolde's seal pressed in red wax.
She broke it carefully and scanned the contents.
My Dearest Marianne,
Join me for tea this afternoon in my private gardens. It is my sincerest wish to spend a quiet hour together, my dear, away from the burdens of our time.
Ever yours,
Queen Isolde.
A subtle tension gripped her chest as she reread the elegant script. The Queen rarely extended such personal invitations without purpose. Especially not in a season so precarious.
She rose, hands smoothing the folds of her dark green dress.
She glanced at Mrs. Hensley and nodded. "Have my carriage prepared."
As she rose, Marianne felt the weight of expectation settle over her shoulders like a mantle. This invitation was more than a mere courtesy; it was an unspoken acknowledgment of her position. Without the crown prince, she was both a political pawn and a symbol of stability for the queen's faction.
And Queen Isolde was far too clever to summon her without reason.
She paused at the door, hands trembling faintly before she smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin.
Whatever this tea might truly mean, Marianne was determined to meet the Queen with grace and to listen closely to what was not being said.
And perhaps she would hear something more than rumors.
As she moved toward the door, her thoughts weren't on tea or silks or polite visits.
If the prince was truly gone, she would need a new plan.
And if he was alive…she would wait as long as it took.
Lady Marianne's soon arrived in the palace to see the queen. The Queen's private gardens were tucked within the sheltered heart of the palace, shielded by tall marble arches and a curtain of flowering wisteria. A covered pavilion overlooked a small fountain where water murmured into a stone basin, a sound that felt strangely tranquil against the hum of intrigue that always clung to the court.
Marianne paused at the edge of the terrace, allowing her gaze to drift across the scene before stepping forward. Queen Isolde was already seated at a small round table draped in embroidered linen. She was radiant in a deep violet gown that contrasted the green gardens, her dark hair pinned with jeweled combs that glinted like eyes in the light.
"My dear," Queen Isolde greeted warmly as Marianne approached, gesturing to the chair opposite her. "Do sit. The journey from your father's house was not too taxing, I hope?"
Marianne curtsied gracefully before sinking into the chair. "Not at all, Your Majesty. It is an honor to be summoned." Her hands folded neatly in her lap.
A servant in royal livery glided forward to pour the tea. Only when they were left alone did Queen Isolde lean slightly toward her guest, a measured softness in her voice.
"You've been most patient in these uncertain days," the Queen began, lifting her teacup but not yet drinking. "Your betrothal to my son was meant to herald a bright future. Now…" she paused, her lips tightening briefly, "I fear the court buzzes with rumors instead."
Marianne held the Queen's gaze. "Your Majesty, my loyalty to you and to the prince has never wavered. I wait for him because I believe in him." Her voice was steady, though her fingers twitched against the folds of her skirt.
Queen Isolde smiled faintly, though it never quite reached her eyes. "Your devotion is admirable. Rare, even. That is why I wished to speak to you." She lowered her voice slightly. "We cannot allow this absence to breed chaos forever. The prince must be found or declared. And until then, those close to him must be protected."
The weight of those words was as delicate as the teacup trembling faintly in Marianne's hands.
"You mean my family," Marianne said softly, piecing together the implication.
"Your family, your prospects, your reputation," the Queen replied. "There are those who would like to see you shifted aside, Marianne. They believe that without the prince, you are merely a pawn to discard." She set her teacup down with a sharp, final click. "But I have my own plans. Plans that require someone of your steadfastness and grace."
Marianne's heart quickened, understanding that this was more than sympathy, it was another alliance being offered.
"I will do whatever is required," she murmured, bowing her head.
Queen Isolde's shewd eyes studied her for a moment, her gaze sharp yet strangely kind. "Good. I am pleased to hear it." She gestured to the tea tray as though they'd simply been chatting about idle amusements. "Now drink, my dear. Soon enough, you may have need of your strength."
And as Marianne raised the teacup to her lips, a spark of unease flickered through her. Beneath the sweetness of the queen's invitation was the taste of iron and the first true step into the tangled game of the throne.