Chapter 8 - Wherein A Plot Is Made

"Angelique." He did not bother with any formalities. It irked her that he would dare think they were well acquainted enough. She had never agreed to this arrangement, not once, and yet he had formed the notion that she was his.

Although, she had never outright declined either.

She had not cared to either decline or agree, at the time it had not been important. She had other plans for her life, then, before Cooper got to her. She had planned, once she gained the nerve, to join her brother and die.

For better or for worse, the meddlesome Harlock Cooper had changed her fate. He had stolen the wish of death from her heart. She did not love her dead lover and only time would tell if she was grateful to him, but as things stood, she had no choice but to follow the path he had placed in front of her.

She turned, regarding Baron Sar Drovling not with the eyes of a frightened girl, but in the way a man might see him, one who wished to gain what he could out of life. He was well into his fifties and although he still had most of his hair and teeth, he resembled a pig, a fat and weary pig.

But it wasn't the look of him that made her stomach turn with disgust. If looks really mattered, then he would not have been wed more times than even the King. Drovling had buried six wives. While in court his manner was nothing but courteous, it was pointless, profoundly pointless, to judge people by the show they put on. Where had six women gone from the life of this man? Drowned. Pneumonia. Childbirth. None of it was held against him, not even that one that had been strangled: a supposedly crazed servant had been found accountable and had been brought to justice.

An old and weary pig with a murderous temper. Cooper had shown her the truth about her groom-to-be, had shown her what life she would have with Drovling if she didn't manage the feat of suicide. Shamed, locked away, tortured by his ill-spirited sons, his jealous daughters, and by him.

Perhaps Cooper had been manipulating her, just like he did everyone. She had not for a moment overlooked his ability to lie beautifully. Perhaps Drovling was a caring and soft man; perhaps there was no conspiracy behind this marriage. Perhaps she would be his companion for the last years he had to live and then, after his death, she would be cared for, as the widowed baroness, and for the rest of her days live a comfortable and quiet life.

It made no difference, not now at least. "I find you at last," he said, triumphantly.

"So you have." Her voice was dry and harsh.

"You have been quite elusive, Angelique, and scandalous too."

"Quite. " She tilted her head, a slight shadow appearing between her brows. "Lord Drovling, are you being forward or has the King stripped me of my title?"

"How unlike you, Angelique," he said, taking a few steps toward her. "To speak so sharply. I see grief has taken a toll on your manners."

"And what possible excuse would you have for your manners, Lord Drovling?" she inquired coolly.

"You seem to wish to quarrel, Lady Pergam." He took another step forward, one step closer than what she was comfortable with. Her back was close to the window, and she had nowhere to go. "While I have searched you out to make amends."

She said nothing. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat off his forehead. Drovling was constantly streaming and despite his best efforts to be clean and showered, not even the most expensive perfumes or oils could mask his sour odour. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, not caring how that expression made her look.

"We have been promised to each other, Angelique. I am willing to overlook your affair with the magician. He's dead after all," he chuckled, "and there is no harm in a girl with some experience. We shall marry then, lady, as planned."

She felt ill, the blood draining from her face. At that moment she was eager and willing to believe everything Cooper had told her about this man. She let her dead lover's words flutter through her mind for a moment before she could gather enough courage to find her voice. "I cannot accept."

"You cannot?"

"Oh, I assure you, Baron, it is quite impossible for us to ever marry."

"Does the King know of this?'

Bile rose in her throat. Drooling's words confirmed that the King had been behind the whole thing, and even now, he was worried. Worried of what she knew, what she would say, worried that the truth would come out. "You can tell him," she retorted, "can't you? You seem to be so tight within his inner circle. It is impossible for us to marry."

"What are you trying to do, Angelique? The King wishes for us to marry."

"I will not be forced to marry you." She leaned against the window; the coldness of the glass that penetrated through her gown was reassuring. "Do you understand the meaning of impossible?"

"What the King wishes is never impossible."

"Soon the King will stop wishing it."

"Oh?" He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers, his voice low and threatening. Now she had no doubt about it, Cooper had been right. He pressed his palm to the glass of the window next to her head, trapping her. She could see the intention forming on his face; he was going to accuse her of treason. "And how do you plan for that to happen?"

"I plan nothing," she said, ducking underneath his arm. She was young and thin and faster than Sar Drovling. She quickly skirted around him "I take my leave of you," she announced over her shoulder before racing down the stairs.

***

There was always a guard posted at Joaquin's door. It was always a man Joaquin trusted, one of his personal guards who had eyes and ears only for his needs. She nodded to the one that stood there today, the youngest one in his guard, a handsome man with an eager expression named Shamus. He returned the nod. "He's in the sitting room," he told her.

"Alone?" Angelique asked, unable to conceal her distress.

Shamus smiled reassuringly. "Yes. As always, he'll be happy to see you."

She thanked him and entered through the main door to Joaquin's chambers, knocking on the one that led to his private audience room before letting herself in.

Joaquin was sitting by the hearth, reading. He looked up at her as she walked in, the usual smile cutting through his face. "Angelique," he said, putting his book aside and rising. "Finally, you come to see me."

She closed the door, briefly turning her back to him. The dry sob came out before she could stifle it. "Angelique," he said again, this time softer and with no smile. Joaquin was a gentle man, gentle in build and manners. He moved gently, he spoke gently, the most refined noble in the Kingdom. Strange how different he was from his father the King. He crossed the room, looking at her with concern.

"You and Cooper," he said, shaking his head, "I had no idea."

She shook her head; another sob, this time a teary one, rose through her. He misunderstood, of course he would; it was not from the grief of loss that she wept. "Please, Joaquin," she managed, "help me."

The crown prince pursed his lips, reached out and gently took her elbow and steered her over to sit on one of the sofas. "Say nothing, Angelique, before you are calm." He gave her his handkerchief and a goblet of wine. It was a while before she could find her voice to speak. He waited patiently; he was one of the most patient men in the Kingdom. Before she had gotten involved with Cooper she had always believed that the ruthless men, those who acted first and asked questions later, like the King, were the truly dangerous ones.

But Cooper had taught her to be wary also of the patient ones. Finally, when she had cried enough, she released a lungful of air, the remains of sobs making her breath tremble. "Oh Joaquin, what shall I do?"

"So you are in trouble." He would never ask her for details she did not offer from her own free will.

She shook her head, not in disagreement, just out of the sheer complexity of her own situation. She could not find the beginning or end of her troubles. "It's worse than even you can imagine."

He sat on the arm of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling as if it held some sort of fascination to him. "I can try a few theories if you like, Angelique," he said, before looking down. "Or you could just tell me." He smiled, "Whichever you prefer."

His manner made the corner of her mouth twitch upwards for a moment in an almost smile. She sighed and rubbed her forehead, "Your father has..."

"Ah, the King!" He said rising to his feet. Like Cooper, there was always a dejected, sarcastic bitterness in his voice when he said those words. "Yes, what is it His Majesty has cooked up for us this time? Has he ordered Dear Groveling to wed you despite court gossip?"

"He has."

Joaquin slapped his forehead. She forgot that he would take the news this way; he would blame himself for her fate. "It's not your fault," she said firmly.

Joaquin turned away from her. "If there is fault to be found with anyone, it is with me."

She got up, and looked intently at the back of his neck. "Please, Joaquin, don't say such things. It was the King's actions and decisions and therefore it is the King's fault."

He sighed, "I wish I could agree with you," he said, bowing his head in defeat. "Except one day I'll be the King, and a King can't take the blame for all the decisions he makes, even if he takes all the responsibility."

Cooper would have had much to say about that, he always got rather passionate with his outlandish opinions. "Can you protect me from the King, then?" she asked.

He turned and looked at her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Yes, lady, you know I can."

Her eyes met his. His expression was wistful. "You don't mean..." her voice trailed away, and she turned her face away.

"My offer still stands."

She bit her lip and shaking off his hands, took a few steps away. "I can't," she stated flatly. "You're insane to think it," she accused.

"It will work," he insisted. "It can be done."

"But..." she took another step back.

"We will both be saved."

"Or beheaded."

He laughed, "You know, it was never my idea. Erich thought it all up, I was against it, until..."

For a moment she scowled at him before, remembering it was Joaquin, her eyes softened. He had to bring up her brother; he knew she would be helpless at the sound of Erich's name. Gentle as Joaquin knew to be, he was well accustomed to her sharpness. She could tell by the glint in his eye that he knew he had himself a deal, he knew that now, unlike then, she couldn't refuse to have anything to do with it. They stared at one another in silence for a long moment.

So it was inevitable; they would be driven to action.