Fool's Errand by Maureen Fergus Page B

mine!—that matters, Your Highness, and I hope that—”
    â€œExcuse me,” interrupted Persephone, pushing past Lady Aurelia with such determination that the flaxenhaired noblewoman very nearly ended up on her bony little backside.
    â€œWe will go riding again very soon, yes?” she trilled hopefully as Persephone hurried off down the corridor.
    Persephone didn’t bother to answer. Just ahead of her were the enormous gilt doors that opened into the echoing emptiness of the king’s vast outer chamber. Shoving her way through them, she was about to call out to the guards on the far side of the chamber when a figure stepped out of the shadows behind her, startling her so badly that she’d drawn her dagger, hunkered down into a fighting stance and spun to face the threat before she realized what she was doing.
    With a cry, one of the guards on the far side of the chamber bounded forward with his poleaxe poised to strike. The figure before Persephone impatiently waved him back, then stepped a little farther out of the shadows.
    â€œYou look much improved this morning, Highness,” said Mordecai, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the blade he’d used to murder the pockmarked servant.
    Slipping the dagger back into the scabbard at her thigh, Persephone rose up from her crouch and said, “What do you want?”
    â€œI want many things,” replied Mordecai huskily, his gaze slipping to her bosom as it was wont to do. “But what I want at this particular moment is to offer a suggestion.”
    Persephone did not ask what suggestion, but neither did she turn her back on him or walk away.
    Mordecai smiled. “Last night I told the king that it was I who marked you and him as twins at the behest of your beloved mother, I who anguished after you were tragically kidnapped, I who joyfully recognized you for who you really were—and my overeager soldiers who killed the poor servant who’d also borne witness to the events in the birthing chamber all those years ago,” he explained. “I want to suggest that you say nothing that would cause the king to question this version of events.”
    Persephone nearly laughed aloud at his audacity. “And why do you suggest this?” she asked. “Is it because you fear that if the king were to learn the truth he would have you imprisoned—or worse?”
    â€œI fear nothing,” said Mordecai calmly. “I merely suggest that if the king was to hear your version of events, he might react in a way that would make it difficult for you and the cockroach to uphold your part of our little bargain. And that would make it impossible for me to uphold mine—an unfortunate thing given that you and those whose lives you would have me spare are yet within my grasp.”
    Curling her hands into fists, Persephone took an involuntary step toward him. “My companions—”
    â€œWould be dead before you’d finished speaking the troublemaking words,” confirmed Mordecai with a pointed glance at the poleaxe-wielding guards.
    Persephone stepped back. “But the king—”
    â€œIs one of those whose life you would have me spare,” reminded Mordecai impatiently. “And if you think that I would allow you to see him without knowing for a certainty that you could not do or say anything to harm me, I encourage you to think again. Within the royal chambers, death waits beyond every wall, never more than a few paces away from His oblivious Majesty. Speak out of turn, Princess, and watch your dear brother promptly cut to pieces before your eyes.”
    Thinking to threaten him back, Persephone said, “The nobles—”
    â€œAre loyal to no one but themselves,” said Mordecai with a wave of his hand. “They bear me no love, but neither do they truly love the king, and his death—along with yours—would see the throne left vacant, waiting to be warmed by the pampered arse