The Queen's Blade (Book 1)

Chapter 8

The door opening woke Blade the next morning, and he became instantly alert, in the usual manner of assassins. He relaxed when the manservant came in carrying a pile of bright, luxurious clothes. The man hung the garments on a smokewood rack, brushing and straightening them with obvious pride. Blade sat up and eyed the deep crimson silk shirt and tailored, brushed black velvet tunic with silver patterns embroidered on the shoulders and sleeves. Next to these was a pair of matching trousers and a silver-studded belt. A short cloak completed the outfit, and the servant placed a pair of narrow, polished black boots on the floor under the rack.

Blade raked back his rumpled hair. “Does the Queen expect me to wear that foppish outfit?”

“Yes sir.”

The assassin slid from the bed, clad only in a pair of baggy grey flannel shorts that almost reached his knees. The servant’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile, and Blade went to splash his face in the bowl of water provided.

“Well, I won’t,” Blade declared. “Definitely not that garish shirt, and that tunic. Bring me something less gaudy.”

“The Queen insists, sir. You must wear it for the ceremony today. A great feast has been ordered, with entertainment and dancing.”

“And am I to be the freak on show? Take those things away and bring me my clothes.”

“I can’t, sir. The Queen would be angry.”

“I don’t care. I won’t wear that outfit.”

“Very good, sir, I’ll inform the Queen.” The man bowed and headed for the door.

“Wait! Why should the Queen concern herself with such trivial matters? Bring me my clothes!”

The servant paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry sir, but these are her orders. Today she concerns herself greatly with your ceremony.”

Blade snorted and opened his mouth to berate the man further, but he was gone. A search of the wardrobe found it empty, and he cursed the servant as he sat on the bed and frowned at the clothes. Evidently the man had absconded with Blade’s apparel while he had bathed the previous evening.

The door opened, and he turned to vent his displeasure upon the returning servant, then grabbed the sheet to wrap around himself as Minna-Satu sailed in, followed by Chiana and several handmaidens. Blade stared at her before lowering his eyes to the hem of her gown.

“My Queen, this is unseemly.”

“Indeed?” Her brows rose, and he was surprised she did not comment on his failure to bend a knee. “This is my palace, and I go where I will in it. Come, I have seen naked men before. I may be a maiden, but I am not an innocent.”

“But -”

“I am informed that you refuse to wear the clothes provided, which I selected myself for your ceremony.”

Blade glanced at the outfit. “I…. They are too bright. I am unused to such ornamental garments.”

“Then it is time you changed your ways. You are to retire; you need not skulk in the shadows now.”

“I have never -”

“I wish us to be friends, Blade. I hope to count you as one of my closest and most trusted advisors and confidants after your elevation.”

“I had not planned -”

“I do not bestow these rewards lightly, or upon the undeserving.”

“I -”

“Furthermore, I do expect to be at least patronised in this matter, for I shall not present a man to my court who is not decently attired.”

The assassin raised his eyes, knowing that if he tried to argue she would just interrupt again. The challenge in her eyes was clear. She would brook no opposition, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. For the first time, she impressed him. Her regal bearing and demand of obedience, so at odds with her slender form, brought a twinge of respect.