Page 16

“Of course,” she said through her teeth. “How could I refuse?”

Unlike her husband, she had no excuse—much less any requirement—to stay abed in daylight. Until today, she had never regretted that.

It did not improve her mood, twenty minutes later, when she was ushered into the king’s visiting apartments in the Hofburg only to find her ruler clad in a plum velvet dressing gown over silk pajamas and eating a hearty breakfast. Clearly, he had taken time to sleep before demanding this visit.

“Your Majesty.” She bent into a curtsy, gritting her teeth as the movement sent a wave of dizziness through her aching head. “You required my attendance?”

“Oh, well, that’s hardly a friendly way to think about our little visit, is it? Here, why don’t you take a seat at the table? Edwards is bringing one for you now. He can order another pot of tea for you, too. Can’t you, Edwards?”

“Did you happen to bring any tea from home?” Margaret asked hopefully, eyeing the half-full, milky cup before her king.

“No, more’s the pity. It is awful slosh here, but nothing to be done but smile and bear it for the nation, as my mother always said.” King Thomas sighed, his expression turning wistful. “Astounding woman, my mother. Nothing was ever too much for her to bear when it came to the good of the nation.”

“She was a remarkable ruler,” Margaret said sincerely. Giving up on the hope of a brief visit, she obediently took her seat across from the king but shook her head when he proffered a plate of flaky croissants. Normally, their scent would have been enticing, but she had reached the point of exhaustion where even thinking about food made her stomach twist unpleasantly. She kept her gaze carefully averted from her ruler’s meal as he let out another heavy sigh.

“If she were here, I’m sure none of this would be happening. She never put up with this sort of nonsense!” Shaking his head, King Thomas slathered rich butter and jam onto a halved croissant and stuffed it into his mouth, still talking around the falling crumbs. “But it’s no use asking me to deal with this sort of thing, so I’m afraid it’s all up to you now, Lady Riven. Tell me all the fabulous progress you’ve made so far to brighten my day!”

It was possible, Margaret supposed, that some ladies might find the rueful expression he pulled to be boyish and charming as he attested to his own haplessness. Personally, it only made her feel even more grateful than usual for her husband’s calm competence...and even more frustrated that she wasn’t warmly curled around her husband’s rigidly prone daytime figure now.

“Your Majesty.” Her voice was sharp as she leaned forward. “I would have made a good deal more progress if I’d been granted any real assistance in my investigation thus far. Are you aware that I still haven’t been granted access to the Imperial court library?”

“Oh, well, that administrative nonsense is all Florian’s domain.” King Thomas waved off her complaint with the hand that still held the remains of his croissant. “There’s nothing I can do if he’s dragging his heels over protocols. You never knew such a stickler for the rules, the drearier and more obscure the better! The man’s such a relentless prig, he even uses the royal ‘we’ when he talks politics with us in private.”

“And yet,” Margaret retorted, “he drew me out of the ballroom last night for a private meeting, to prevent me witnessing the supernatural waltz.”

“What? Ha! No.” Shaking his head, King Thomas let out a chuckle even as he took the next bite of his croissant, flakes falling and sticking to his beard. “Trust me, Florian would rather be caught dead than alone with some other fellow’s wife. The man takes himself and his all-important honor so seriously, he won’t even tell a little white lie for the sake of convenience—he just lapses into a deathly silence any time he can’t answer a question honestly without causing offense or making trouble for his government. If some rascal tricked you into thinking he was Florian⁠—”

“The emperor didn’t actually meet me alone,” Margaret said tightly. “He only summoned me for what he claimed would be a private meeting.”

“No, he did not.” Snorting, King Thomas wiped his hands together in a brisk movement and then scooped up his tea. “I’m afraid you were misled by a scoundrel, Lady Riven. It’s a sad fact of life that ladies can find themselves taken off guard even in the highest society. If you will publish such scandalous pieces about your love life, you must expect some men to⁠—”

“Your Majesty.” Margaret gripped the edges of the table to hold herself back. “If we could return to the topic of the library...”

“I know, I know. It is a pity you can’t go nosing around those old books.” King Thomas lowered his cup of tea with a grimace—which Margaret could only have imagined as sympathetic to her if it hadn’t been aimed directly at the beverage. “Still, everyone knows how clever you already are, eh? Why, you’ve been studying for years now, so I’m sure you’re fretting your pretty head over nothing. By now, you must know everything necessary about the supernatural!”

Margaret had to seal her lips for a long, fraught moment before she could muster a tight reply. “No one knows everything in any field of study. I will never be finished with learning.”

How could she? There was so much wonder to discover in the world around her. A single human lifetime could never be enough.

The king rolled his eyes at her careful pronouncement. “That is all very high-minded,” he grumbled, “but I didn’t summon you to further your personal education, Lady Riven. There’s a job to be done for the nation, if you recall.”

“As you say.” Curse it, why was Margaret being asked to navigate this tortuous obligation in daylight? This whole appointment would be so much easier with her husband present to smooth the way and to prevent her from murdering their anointed ruler.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she imagined his soothing presence behind her. She couldn’t mimic his conversational ease, but she knew his keen mind traveled naturally in different directions than her own. What might he ask if he were here? The supernatural aspect of a puzzle was always her own focus, but...

“Who will benefit if your private peace talks fail in the end?” she asked. “Emperor Florian?”

“Ha! No, Florian’s been pushing harder than anyone else for peace. That’s why he’s hosting everyone here. He even agreed last month, as a condition of getting the Italians, French, and Spaniards to attend, to give up the Habsburgs’ final footholds in Italy, though the last empress fought fang and nail to wrest that back from Bonaparte’s clutches. She always insisted on maintaining the empire no matter the price, but I think he’d give up Hungary and half of his other eastern holdings if it would only prevent another continental war. It’s all too bloody for him—you’d never know he was Bonaparte’s grandson from the way he talks.”

“Hmm.” Was that actually the case? Or was it merely another Viennese social ruse for the sake of respectability? The fact that Florian had sent that equerry to get her out of the way certainly indicated the second option. “Who is openly agitating for war?”

“Oh, well, who else isn’t, apart from Florian and me?” Grunting his distaste, King Thomas took another swig of tea and then started counting off fellow leaders on his fingers. “The Italian states were all ready to start last month, with that new government in Spain backing them against the Habsburgs, until Florian finally made his great concession. Half the leaders of the German states are fighting now over who will be in charge whenever they finally unify. It got put off for a while after that doomed war against France, but now, it’s looking like one of the south Germans will take charge if they can ever unite over a common enemy, whoever that happens to be. Manfred of Saxony is probably the one most likely to go off—he’s a walking powder keg, just waiting to be lit! And then there’s the bloody tsar, who won’t even speak to me anymore, because he’ll take offence over anything. He is the most pigheaded, unreasonable fellow.”

“Mmm...” After years of seeing King Thomas’s most ill-judged exploits splashed across the front pages of British newspapers—including one particularly unfortunate ‘prank’ he had played on Tsar Piotr IV during the last Russian visit of state—Margaret chose to reserve judgement on that final point.

Fortunately, the king was too caught up in his own irritation to take note of her expression. “No, there’s no point trying to play detective when it comes to motivations, Lady Riven. As far as more than half of my colleagues are concerned, war would be a fabulous opportunity to rewrite the map of the continent all over again, this time in their favor.

“But as someone who’d prefer not to be trapped back home in the rain for the next who-knows-how-many-years...”