Most of the other council members were older, but Lord Belleflower was around Apollo’s age. The two had been friends as boys, until young Belleflower grew old enough to understand that Apollo was to inherit an entire kingdom while he was set to inherit only a castle on a cold dreary mountain. Apollo would have removed Byron from the council years ago, but unfortunately Belleflower’s castle came with a sizable private army that the prince didn’t want to risk being on the wrong side of.
It was like that with most of the council members. If any were removed, it would cause a degree of fallout that Apollo was better off avoiding.
“I know you spoke with a couple of other council members yesterday about a quick and speedy coronation,” Belleflower continued. “But there are some of us who feel it imprudent to move forward when there are still questions about your wife.”
Apollo stiffened. “What kind of questions about my wife?”
Belleflower smiled suddenly, as if Apollo had just said exactly what he wanted to hear. “There are some of us that can’t help but wonder: Why did Lord Jacks erase Evangeline’s memories? What does she know that could harm him? Unless . . . she had worked with him to poison you?”
“That’s a treasonous statement,” Apollo interrupted.
“Then prove it,” Belleflower pressed.
“I don’t need to prove it,” Apollo said.
“But it might be helpful,” chimed Lady Casstel. She was one of the oldest and wisest council members, and as such, she often led the way for the majority of the others. “I do not believe your bride to be a murderess. But the rumors that swirled around Evangeline after your death were nasty, and she is a foreigner. It could only work in her favor to find a way to show the people that she is now truly part of this kingdom and is fully loyal to you.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Get her pregnant with an heir,” said Lady Casstel without pause. “It’s not just for the sake of the kingdom, but to protect you. With your brother stripped of his title and currently missing . . .”
Apollo flinched at the mention of his brother, Tiberius, and for a second the scars on his back stung afresh. A few council members seemed to notice.
Fortunately, reacting to mentions of his brother was nothing new. No one would assume Tiberius was the true reason Apollo’s back was covered in scars. Only Havelock and a few of the undead were aware of the truth. Havelock would take the secret to the grave, and Apollo tried not to think about vampires. There were already enough unpleasant matters to deal with, like the council’s sudden request that he produce an heir.
Although from the way Lady Casstel spoke on the matter, it was clear this subject had been discussed prior to the council meeting.
“There is no one else in direct line for the throne,” she continued. “It would be far too easy for another impostor to take the crown in the event something else happens to you.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me again,” Apollo said. “I’ve already bested death. It won’t be coming back for me anytime soon.”
“But it will eventually return for you.” These words came from Wolfric Valor. “Death comes for us all, Your Highness. Having an heir will do more than protect the kingdom—it might scare death away for a little longer.”
Wolfric looked across the table solemnly. If Wolfric had wanted to, this could have been the moment where he told the entire council that Apollo had never actually come back from the dead, but he didn’t.
And although Apollo didn’t like it, he had to concede that Wolfric was correct. People were less likely to make plays for the throne when there was a clear successor in place. Having an heir would also protect his relationship with Evangeline. Once she had his child, there was no way she would leave him. But he didn’t want to force her into staying this way.
“Evangeline still doesn’t remember me,” Apollo said.
“Does that really matter? You’re a prince,” Belleflower inserted. “The girl should feel lucky to be married to you. Without you, she would be no one.”
Apollo shot him a dirty look, and he wondered briefly if there was more to his disdain than the suspicion that Evangeline had worked with Jacks to kill him. “Evangeline isn’t no one. She’s my wife. I’ll work on an heir after she feels more comfortable.”
“And how long will that take?” Belleflower raised his voice, clearly trying to rally the others to his cause. “I was there yesterday. Your wife looked like a frightened ghost beside you, all pale and quivering! If you cared about this kingdom, you’d rid yourself of her and find a new one.”
“I am not replacing my wife.” Apollo shoved up from his chair hard enough to rock the pitchers of wine and make a number of grapes spill from their platters on the table. This conversation was moving too far out of bounds.
It was also veering too far from what really needed to be discussed.
“Evangeline is no longer a topic of conversation. The next person who disparages her will not say another word at this table. If anyone in this room really cares about the kingdom, they’ll stop worrying about Evangeline’s loyalty and start looking for Lord Jacks. Until he’s dead, no one is safe.”
Chapter 5
Evangeline
In the light of a fresh day, everything felt less like a blurred fever dream and more like a picture-perfect stained-glass window. Evangeline’s room smelled of lavender tea, buttery pastries, and some unidentifiable grassy sweetness that made her think of exquisitely manicured gardens.
For one beautiful moment, she found herself thinking: This is what perfect feels like.
Or it should have felt that way.
The broken bits inside of her warred with this elegant scene. A small but firm voice in her head said, This isn’t perfect, this isn’t right. But before the voice could say much more, it was drowned out by a host of other perkier sounds.
They started out softly on the other side of Evangeline’s door. Then, like a pop of soft flowery fireworks, the owners of the voices entered her suite.
Seamstresses, three of them, all smiling as they greeted her:
“Good morning, Your Highness!”
“You look so refreshed, Your Highness!”
“We hope you slept soundly, for your day will be busy, Your Highness!”
The women were trailed by a parade of servants carrying bolts of fabric, spools of ribbons, baskets of baubles and feathers, strings of pearls, and silken flowers.
“What’s all this?” Evangeline asked.
“For your royal wardrobe,” all three women said at once.
“But I have a wardrobe.” Evangeline looked questioningly toward the little alcove full of clothes that was situated between her bedroom and the bathing room.
“You have an everyday wardrobe, yes,” replied the head seamstress, or perhaps she was just the most vocal. “We’re here to fit you for special occasions. You’ll need something spectacular for your coronation. Then there will be your coronation ball, and the Hunt could happen any day.”
“Then of course you’ll be putting together your own council,” the tallest of the seamstresses chimed in. “You’ll need to be smartly dressed for each of those meetings.”