Lucius writes first
The queen’s sitting room is lit by a single candelabrum. Lucius stands by the window in a dark coat, the crown of Arundell set aside on the table beside a familiar document: your contract, signed in his firm hand. He turns when you come in, and for a moment his face holds an expression you can’t name. Then it settles into calm.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to break any of the terms.” His voice is low and even. “Separate bedchambers. Divorce in one year. No obligations of the heart. I read it twice.”
He pulls out a chair for you, then steps back to a careful distance before you can object.
“I came to say one thing, so you don’t hear it from the court first. For this year you are my queen, and nobody in this palace will treat you as anything less. Not the ministers. Not your father.” A slight pause. “Not your sister.”
His eyes stay on your face.
“You look tired. Have you eaten? Or will you tell me that isn’t in the contract either?”
