A footman brought Luvenia to the king's study. She dismissed him gracefully and went to the door alone.
The door was slightly ajar. Peering in, she could just see a figure hunched over the desk, head in hands.
She rapped lightly on the doorframe, then came in as soon as he invited her.
Gorogon had taken off his crown and set it on the desk. He seemed approachable, almost ordinary.
Try as she might, Luvenia could not picture her father without his crown. She half suspected that he slept with it on.
She started to curtsey, but Gorogon gestured for her to stop, instead rising to greet her. His eyes traveled the length of her body with a strange expression.
"You look just like Lady Ligeia."
Luvenia's heart skipped a beat. It took all her will to keep her voice steady.
"My father mentioned that you were acquainted with my mother, your majesty."
"Yes. She cared for me during the six months I spent as a guest in Alatir."
Of course. He had been a hostage. The practice was fairly common among kingdoms with neither alliance nor grievance between them.
"Pardon my ignorance, sire. I have no recollection of that time."
"It's all right. You were very young." He smiled wistfully. "I remember you had trouble saying my name. It was quite charming."
Evidently 'quite charming' was her enduring characteristic. There were worse qualities to have, she supposed.
"Have a seat, my dear."
She settled on a low sofa across from the hard-backed chair she expected Gorogon to choose. Instead, he sat beside her, just as her brothers had often done when she was young, before they had been lost to her.
"Oh, pardon me—I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
"What? –No, sire, I'm perfectly fine."
"Are you sure? You looked distraught just now."
"I was thinking of my brother," she said, not entirely lying.
"Beaucaire? I see. You must miss him."
She nodded. She had been missing him for many years, but that was a matter of Alatir's internal politics—one she was not meant to speak about. At least Beaucaire himself was not an entirely forbidden topic, and she still got to see him twice a year on their respective birthdays... though she very much doubted she would have the chance to do so again.
"You knew him as well?"
"We became great friends during my stay in your palace. Lephane and Ybele were too mature to be any fun, and Detta and Silon were too young to keep up—and, of course, Remure was here in Middewold while I was in Alatir, so it was just me and Beau most of the time." His eyes were distant. "Lady Ligeia was like a second mother to me, and since you were always with her I felt like you were my little sister. –Princess, are you all right?"
Luvenia was trying not to hyperventilate. Gorogon had just casually rattled off nearly every name on her fastidiously maintained list of persons not to talk about. Even so far from Alatir, she could feel her father's icy grip on her heart.
"Oh—oh, dear child, forgive my thoughtlessness. I had forgotten how often tragedy has befallen your family. You must have suffered dreadfully."
She absolutely could not bear to think along those lines any further. She knew she would lose control if they didn't change the subject.
"I'm fine," she lied with conviction. "Perhaps we should discuss the reason I was sent here, sire."
Gorogon opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. His brow furrowed.
"Yes. Caradon..." Pain flickered in his eyes. "He told me about it in his message."
Luvenia stared at him in bewilderment. "He did?"
"You didn't read it?"
"It was from an envoy to his sovereign. It would have been improper for me to look."
His smile was heavy with sadness. "Then he was right about you."
He reached into his vest and produced the letter. Luvenia's breath caught in her throat.
"Do you read Woldscript? I recall Beau knew it well enough to send secret messages in it."
"I'm a fluent reader, your majesty."
With an approving nod, he unfolded the letter and held it out to her. She took it carefully by its edges.
"My liege,
"I have been killed by our own countrymen.
"The princess has tried to help. Be kind to this poor brave child. She was sent to be your bride and cannot return to Alatir.
"Do what you must but do not spurn her. She will make a worthy companion.
"Forgive me for failing to return. We will meet again in another life.
"Yours til death,
"Caradon."
Gorogon brushed his fingers over the signature with a look on his face that made Luvenia want to cry.
"You must have impressed him very much over the past few days. He was always sparing with praise, even toward those he cared for."
"I only met him yesterday. I wasn't involved in the negotiations at all." She wasn't sure why she was so strongly compelled to refute Gorogon's impression of Caradon's words. Maybe because it felt too much like a deliberate deception to let him think so well of her. "We hardly spoke on the way—we rode in different carriages—I didn't really do anything to deserve–"
He took her hand. She stopped talking and bowed her head.
"Dear princess," murmured Gorogon, "I trust Caradon's judgment more than my own. If he used the last of his strength to tell me your worth, then I believe that you must be an extraordinary woman indeed."
Luvenia passed the letter to him quickly, just in case one of the tears welling up in her eyes escaped and further stained the page.
"Did he say anything to you before...?"
"He asked me to be patient with you, sire."
Gorogon let out a humorless laugh.
"That's just like him. He knew me all too well." His hand on hers trembled. "Anything else?"
"He was very kind to me."
She hesitated for a long moment. It seemed wrong to hide a man's last words from his liege lord, but those words...
"The last thing he said was 'My queen'."
"He said that to you?"
"He–" Panic grabbed her by the throat. "I don't know."
She knew. She knew it was meant for her. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his weakening hands. She just couldn't accept it. She didn't deserve it.
"That's all right, my dear. You've been through quite an ordeal."
His voice was strained. She could read sorrow in his face as clear as Woldscript.
"You must have been very close to him."
He looked at her in alarm. "What do you mean by that?"
She did not fully comprehend his fear, but she did want to comfort him. Still she hesitated, worried her attempts would seem manipulative—fearing it truly would be manipulative to open her heart to him in the hope that he would do the same.
She put her fears aside. In his place, she would want to be comforted. That was the best she could do.
"Your majesty," she whispered, "I chose to stand before you in a ragged, bloodstained dress. It would have been dishonest to pretend that nothing had happened to me. I needed you to know the truth, to see what I had suffered and to accept me—as you have done." She pressed his hand gently. "I know well the burden of upholding a flawless countenance, of being forbidden to grieve. If it pleases you, I would gladly ease your burden and bear with you the sorrow you have kept hidden."
Gorogon gazed at her with something like wonder in his eyes.
Luvenia leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt him shaking, and threaded her arms through the crook of his elbow in an unobtrusive embrace.
A quiet sob rippled through him. She closed her eyes and held onto him, letting his anguish seep into her.
"Thanks, Lu," he mumbled.
The words conjured up a memory she hadn't known was in her brain: a fair-haired boy curled up in an alcove, eyes red and still brimming; she finding a big book and using it as a stepstool to climb up beside him; he letting her hug him and pet his hair to make him feel better.
"Go-Go-Gone. That's what I used to call you."
"You remembered."
"Yes." She rubbed his arm softly. "You were sad then, too."
He kissed the top of her head. A funny little thrill went through her.
"You're as sweet as you always were. I think..." He took a deep breath. "I think I wouldn't mind being married to you."