The Broken Crown

Chapter 28

Jeffroy

From what Jeffroy had heard these past few days, the Queen Dowager, his Queen Lucretia, still had some hold on her boy. He had rejected the propositions made by Jonathan and his friends within the Council – who they were was becoming harder and harder to see.

That was the biggest accomplishment in Jeffroy’s eyes at least. Jonathan was sly and persuasive, and it would be easy to lose the King to his side if you let them out of side. Lucretia, though, had a different opinion. She had been thrilled when Raphael exited his father-in-law’s work chambers and told his mother that he had decided not to take a loan. Now we needn’t fear the Lamarcks rising even further in power, she had told him excitedly.

Henri, lord of Tibera, had not seemed very pleased about the entire situation that night at the feast, and he had kept looking at his daughter with precaution. Lucretia all but gloried in his knowledge that his house had been weakened; her son had not accepted another loan, and his daughter, the Queen, had miscarried her first child and had yet to conceive another.

There was a weakness to the way Adrianne carried herself as well. Her smiles did not come as easy and she clung to her husband through long courts and retired early in the night, no doubts worried that he would be disloyal. She almost seemed ill at times.

But it still made Lucretia anxious to see the Lamarcks there. They had been at court for two days now, and had made their intentions of staying for a while clear. It was not usual, and of course Lucretia had called for him.

When the door opened, she found her sitting on a chair, reading a letter. He could tell by the ripped wax that it was from First Landing. The Valiors again, he thought. Then she looked up from her letter and he tried to keep his chest from swelling with pride when her face seemed to relax.

“Your Grace,” he said, once her servants had left the room.

“Jeffroy,” she greeted as she stood from her chair and crossed the floor to her fireplace, which had been ignited due to the unreasonably cold winds that had been blowing this past week. With a flick of her wrist, the letter she had been reading was falling into the alcove and the red-and-orange flames licked at it until it was nothing but black ashes.

When she said nothing, he stepped further into the room. “You called for me.”

“Yes.” She collected her skirts and went back to sit on her chair. It seemed a throne with her dark silks billowing around her. “Jeffroy, I would like that you become my private Servant.”

He furrowed in confusion. “Your…?”

“It’s an ancient tradition,” she explained, “most common amongst Queen Dowagers or older high ladies, to have a private Servant to take care of their spiritual needs.”

“I’d be honoured,” he rushed to say.

“Yes, not that your day would change much,” she continued, almost as if she had not heard him. “You would take quarters within the castle like the Head Servant and you would have fewer duties, but you would still be expected to meditate and contribute in sermons.”

“Of course.”

“But you would be expected to follow me around, to write down letters and notes for me and swear fealty to me and no one but me.”

She was right; not much would change. “I am already loyal to you and no one but you.”

“I would expect you to be. Not many would be pleased that a man with your history and your… appetite should serve in a holy place as the Temple you serve in. Therefore, you should be grateful that your Queen Dowager takes such great care and time to conceal it.”