The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) by Jeff Wheeler Page A

that went all the way down her back, but part was braided and coiffed behind her head. The crown she wore could hardly be called a crown. It was a circlet of gold with ornamented leaves dangling from the band, one just touching her forehead. She had on a pale blue gown studded with small pearls on the front and a surcoat of even paler fabric. Her eyes were blue, even more so than the gown, and they welled with worry. She wasn’t seated on the throne, but pacing near it, her fingers fidgeting with a ring on her right hand. There was a light flush on her cheeks, as if she felt extremely unsettled.
    She reminded him a little of Princess Elyse when he had first met her as a little boy. Although she was an undeniable beauty, there did not appear to be any haughtiness to her. When she noticed them enter, the fidgeting with her ring ended and she stood in a regal pose, gazing at him with an expression that was difficult to describe. Not anger, but almost as if she were nervous to see him in an excited way. As if she had been wanting to see him.
    Oh dear , he thought with dread. This is going to be awful for her.
    The lord marshal approached halfway into the audience hall and then dropped to both knees, bowing his head reverentially. All of the servants mimicked him and dropped down to both knees. That was an unusual custom.
    Owen, on the other hand, did not kneel. He was a duke, his station equal to hers. He did incline his head to her.
    “You are most welcome to Ploemeur, Lord Kiskaddon,” the duchess said. She inclined her head to him. “Our allies are always welcome. Let me be the first to thank you for rendering aid when we were being invaded.”
    Owen felt the irony of her comment like a stab to the gut. At the time, he had helped her avoid a forced marriage with Chatriyon, the King of Occitania. Now the King of Ceredigion had sent him here to press his own proposal.
    “No thanks are needed, my lady,” he answered with a shrug of no concern. “You may want to keep your thanks for a better time. I have come on the king’s errand, and he is not known to be a patient man.”
    Lady Sinia gestured to Lord Roux and the others to rise, which they did in a uniform manner.
    “Lord Kiskaddon would not reveal the nature of his urgent summons to our lands,” Roux said, giving the duchess a sharp look. “It may be best to dismiss the servants ere he—”
    “That won’t be necessary at all,” Owen countermanded, deliberately goading the lord marshal. “I don’t intend to stay very long.” Owen began to saunter in the throne room, eyeing the tall columns and decorative vases. He walked up to one and picked it up as if it were his own, noticing the triple crescent symbol was there as well. He set it back down and glanced at Lord Roux, who was turning red with anger and resentment. Etayne had positioned herself among the servants, close enough that she could watch the proceedings and intervene in case things became hostile.
    “Why have you come?” Lady Sinia asked politely.
    Owen could only imagine how he looked in her eyes. She looked so beautiful, polished, and regal. And here he stood in his dirty boots and sweat-stained tunic. With a scraggly half beard and smudged eyes, his odor clashing with the vase of fresh flowers.
    “Well, my lady, it’s really a simple matter,” Owen said offhandedly. “King Severn wishes to enhance the relationship between Ceredigion and Brythonica.” He paused again to admire a curtain, deliberately adding to the suspense. He nodded approvingly, then turned and faced her. He hated himself. He hated what Severn was making him do. What he was trying to make him become.
    Get this over with , he chided himself.
    Owen let out a breath and then marched up to the duchess. Roux’s hand went for his sword pommel, as if he feared Owen might attack her. The servants gaped at his rudeness and effrontery. Etayne reached for a dagger.
    He dropped to one knee in front of Lady Sinia and took her dainty