Текст книги "The once and future queen"

Автор книги: Paula Laferty

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Vera leaned toward Arthur. He mirrored the gesture, inclining in her direction on the arm of his chair.

“This is probably about me,” she murmured, moving her mouth as little as possible.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked.

“Erm … yes.”

The nobleman found his place and stood there expectantly.

“Welcome, Lord Wulfstan.” Arthur greeted him cordially, divulging nothing of Vera’s whispers. “This is a surprise. You’ve never attended court while in Camelot for trade before.”

“I’ve never had cause before now, Your Majesty,” Lord Wulfstan said. Now that he addressed the king, a show of reverence replaced his smirk, all pious concern with his conceit well-concealed.

Shit. A nobleman in the business of trade and barter would know how to manipulate a situation well. Vera should have told Arthur what happened before (as if she’d had a chance). She’d been foolish to believe her actions would stand on their merit and her word alone.

“Tell me what troubles you,” Arthur said.

Lord Wulfstan licked his lips, and vengeful glee flashed through his expression as he shot a glare at Vera. “I regret to inform Your Majesty that, on my departure from the royal stables concluding my last visit, I was treated with disrespect and disregard by your stable boy.”

His audacity had Vera gripping the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles were white, and the edges of the wood dug into her palms. She knew the fury would be written on her face. Vera clenched her teeth to keep from outright snarling as she listened.

“And most appalling of all,” the brazen, awful man continued, “was my encounter with Her Majesty the queen, and the vulgar language she used. It pains me to say it, having traded with her father in the Northland for many years. He would be appalled.”

Vera momentarily forgot her anger. For the years she’d spent searching for her birth parents in vain, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might be able to know them here. She’d have to come back to this because Lord Wulfstan charged onward.

“Her Majesty told me, and forgive my language as I quote her directly, that I had,” he paused dramatically, “horse shit on my face.”

The room and all in it were more still, and the silence deeper than any other time at court. Vera imagined she could feel Merlin’s eyes on her back.

Arthur looked at her without speaking. When Vera met his gaze, his eyebrow quirked upward. She gave the tiniest indication of a nod in confirmation.

A single laugh burst from behind her, convincingly covered with a cough. Had it not been Lancelot, whose laugh she knew so well, Vera would have been fooled.

Arthur’s face revealed nothing at all. The control he exhibited was masterful as he turned his attention back to Lord Wulfstan.

“And did you have horse shit on your face?” he asked evenly.

It was the last thing Vera had expected Arthur to say. She barely managed to contain her reaction to just her wide eyes. Lord Wulfstan, on the other hand, had gone from composed to having cheeks the color of a ripe tomato. He huffed loud breaths through his nose.

Finally, he replied with a curt “Yes,” hissed through his teeth.

Arthur turned to Vera. “What exactly happened?”

If she didn’t tell it all and tell it right now, there likely wouldn’t be another chance. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to find her voice. She told him all that she could remember. The foul insults Wulfstan hurled, the way he’d not listened when Grady tried to explain that he was with the queen, and how hard he’d struck the boy. She would not be intimidated by the man before her.

“I demanded his apology to the young man,” Vera said. “And … I have no qualms about how Lord Wulfstan told my part in the rest of the story. His portrayal of my language is accurate.”

The silence that followed was thick as Arthur studied Wulfstan. Someone shifted in a seat behind Vera, and Merlin’s voice chimed in. “I might offer, sir, that the queen has been recovering from—”

Arthur held up a hand to stop him, his unreadable stare focused on Wulfstan. Vera’s heart slammed against the inside of her chest. She didn’t know what to expect or even what outcome to hope for. Arthur let the hush linger for longer than was comfortable before lowering his hand.

“While I cannot say if I would have addressed the manner in the same language as Lady Guinevere, I share the queen’s sentiment.”

Vera sat up straighter, her eyes shooting to Arthur. Fuck yeah.

“No one,” Arthur paused for a breath, “is to lay a hand on a member of this castle’s staff nor to raise their tongue in undue cruelty. To do so against a stable boy is to do so against me.”

Lord Wulfstan tilted his chin down, appropriately cowed.

Arthur turned to Vera after another stretch of quiet. “Would you like to say anything else on the matter?”

She wasn’t sure if he was asking her to apologize. Vera searched for any ripple in the still waters of his face and found no hint of what he expected from her.

“Yes,” she said.

Wulfstan’s smirk curled back into place. He certainly thought an apology was coming, which was a shame as Vera had genuinely been considering it until she caught sight of his smug face. Rage boiled anew within her.

“My lord,” she started, impressed with herself at how calm she sounded, “I should never have used such unladylike language, especially not in the presence of a gentleman.” She meant Grady but resisted the temptation to clarify that. “I am heartily sorry. It was not my place. I should never have informed you that you had manure on your face.” It took everything in her not to add, I should have let you leave it there and smell it the whole ride home, but Vera allowed the statement to hang in the air and speak for itself. She didn’t dare tear her focus from Wulfstan, keen to see if he was mollified or if he caught the thinly veiled insult.

Arthur stared quickly at the floor between his feet. Was that a smile he hid? He’d caught Vera’s meaning and started speaking before the nobleman could catch up. “There we have it. You have apologized to our stable boy, and your queen has offered her apologies.”

Wulfstan bowed his head. “I suppose that settles the matter for me,” he said, somewhat begrudgingly. He made to leave, flicking his wrist to signal his attending servants, but all motion stopped when Arthur spoke.

“Not for me, I’m afraid.” Goose flesh rose on Vera’s arms. Arthur sounded perfectly blasé, dangerously so. “Sir, have you yet apologized to your queen?”

Vera sat so still that she even held her breath. Did Arthur really say that? Lord Wulfstan spluttered meaninglessly, the color rising again to his cheeks. “I—pardon me?”

“To your queen,” Arthur repeated slowly. “The language you used in her presence was untoward at best. By your standard, you owe an apology. Surely you wouldn’t hold yourself to a lesser expectation of conduct than the lady. Did you apologize?”

“I did, sire,” he said hastily. “As soon as I realized she was present.”

Arthur looked to Vera for confirmation. She stared blankly back. She didn’t remember what he’d said in those seconds right after he struck Grady. She’d been too angry.

“He did not, Your Majesty,” Matilda cut in. “Pardon me, but he did not.” She then spoke directly to Lord Wulfstan. “My lord, you said you did not realize the queen was there. You did not apologize.”

Arthur turned back to Wulfstan. “Additionally,” he said, “you came to the seat of this throne with full knowledge of the expectations of how you are to treat our staff and, believing you were alone with our youngest member, knowingly defied those rules. When called out by your queen, you deigned to argue with her. The queen’s authority is equal to my own.” The venom was potent in Arthur’s every word.

“I—I am sorry, Your Majesty—” Arthur’s cold glare stopped Wulfstan mid-sentence.

“Do not apologize to me. Apologize to Guinevere.” His tone remained even, but his voice was noticeably more of a growl, and there could be no doubt that Arthur was livid.

Wulfstan physically stepped back and clamped his mouth shut as he swallowed heavily. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I was wrong to disrespect you. I—I am sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” Vera said.

Arthur gave a curt nod. “Very well. Let us be done with it and move forward.”

Wulfstan’s eyes cast toward the floor. He bowed stiffly, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the chamber, his servants fumbling and hurrying to follow his less-than-ceremonious departure.

Vera didn’t give herself time to think about it before she reached out to gingerly touch Arthur’s arm—only long enough to draw his attention. Still, he flinched and stared down at her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have controlled my temper, I—”

“I’m not angry,” Arthur said tersely before he looked away.

Then what the hell is wrong with you? She almost asked it out loud. Say it, she told herself. Go on. But the words never came. How could he defend her and go right back to this?

“This is horse shit,” she muttered under her breath. The only reason Vera could see in it was that Arthur defended the throne and its authority, the kingdom’s delicate balance, and not her. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, feeling rather like a petulant nuisance and wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why her presence in this world even mattered.

But court wasn’t over yet. There was already another person entering the throne room, and it took Vera a moment in the wake of Wulfstan’s departure to realize that something was amiss. A uniformed soldier bearing the king’s coat of arms emblazoned in red upon his chest ran the room’s length. Lancelot and Percival stood, their hands instinctively moving to their swords.

“Your Majesty,” the soldier said. He did not wait to finish bowing before he continued. “There’s flooding. Word has spread quickly. We need aid.”

“Where?” Arthur said.

“Exeter.”

Now it was Merlin who stood and moved next to Arthur. Doubt wrinkled the mage’s brow. He’d just been in Exeter, hadn’t he?

“What’s happened?” he said.

“I—I’m not sure what’s gone wrong, but—”

“The magic?” Merlin asked sharply.

“Yes. The water continues to flow, but now it’s flooding, and we’ve no way to stop it.”

“I put barriers in place,” Merlin said to Arthur. “They must not have held.”

“And word is out?” Arthur asked the soldier.

He swallowed heavily. “It is. Even here in town, everyone’s saying that the harvest can’t be saved.”

“Is that true?” Arthur said.

The soldier hesitated.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Marcus.”

“Marcus, your job is not to deliver good news to me,” Arthur said. “I need the truth, and I need it immediately.”

“Yes, sire,” Marcus said with more confidence. “It’s not all lost, but we must act now. We need men to salvage what’s left, and we need magic to fix the problem. We need it fast—as soon as possible.”

“Understood,” Arthur said.

“Your Majesty, I can leave immediately and take a unit of men with me,” Lancelot offered.

“No,” Arthur said. “I want you and Percival to remain in Camelot. Percival, find Sir Bors. Tell him to gather his unit and make to leave. Marcus will bring their orders to the armory. Come directly back here. We have more to discuss.”

“Yes, sire,” Percival jumped into action, dashing from the room without delay. Arthur looked to Merlin without a word. He nodded gravely.

“I’ll leave straight away.” Merlin glanced at Vera as he spoke. The light of hope dimmed in his eyes, a candle flickering in the wind seconds before its suffocated.

Arthur next addressed the two stunned citizen representatives, a man around Vera’s age and an older woman with her silver hair wrapped in a bun and perched atop her head like a bird’s nest. “Thank you for your service today. You’ve been privy to especially delicate information. I trust your discretion as you return to your homes.”

“I’d say the chances of discretion are slim,” Lancelot said as soon as the door closed behind the two townsfolk. He picked up his chair in one hand and gestured to Matilda’s. “May I?”

She stood, and he moved both into a semi-circle next to Vera and Arthur’s seats. She was surprised when Lancelot took the chair next to hers, leaving Matilda the one by Arthur rather than the other way around. They could all see one another now.

“We’re waiting for Percival?” Lancelot asked Arthur. He nodded distractedly and rubbed at his chin.

Lancelot was deep in thought, too. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “What was it you said?” he asked abruptly. His eyes were twinkling as he set them on Vera. “Horse shit on your face …” he said, relishing the shape of the words. “You truly said that to Wulfstan?”

Vera glanced around at each of them. “Yes.”

Lancelot grinned. He held his hand up expectantly for a high five. Matilda and Arthur watched in bewilderment as they slapped palms, Lancelot enthusiastically and Vera reluctantly.

“But I didn’t know who he was,” she said.

“Well, I’ll tell you. He is a self-important prat and a colossal ass with too much money and far too much economic influence. So, there is actually no one in this realm who could get away with what you did except for you—and maybe Arthur, but he’d never,” he added dismissively. “I didn’t think I could love you more, but here we are.” He rocked back in his seat as if he had not just told Vera that he loved her and done so in front of her husband and chambermaid. Arthur had heard all this, but he remained focused on the closed door on the other end of the hall.

“Matilda,” Lancelot continued, “I’ll be jealous for the rest of my days that you got to hear that happen in person.”

Matilda suppressed a grin and pushed a curl back from her forehead. “I don’t personally know the man, but it was not unsatisfying.”

The door to the room swung open, and Percival hurried in. Lancelot fetched a chair for him, and he dropped into it, barely winded though he must have run the whole way to the armory and back.

“The troops are making ready,” he said. “They’ll depart this afternoon.”

“Good.” Arthur looked at all of them in turn. “We need to do what we can here. This is our first crisis since my rule began. Fear is potent, and panic spreads like a plague. Everyone in our realm remembers how it felt to go hungry during the wars. They must feel certain their children will not starve over the winter. Matilda, can we tap into our food stores to bridge the gap? A show of abundance between now and the harvest’s arrival could help ease fears.”

Matilda cast a furtive glance at Vera. The question should have been asked of her, but she wouldn’t have known how to answer anyway. “Yes, Your Majesty. The queen can make that order today.”

“Good. We need our soldiers on board, and we need ambassadors to make trips to the other towns impacted as we send supplies. The damage will be worst here, though. Our town’s troops need to know what to say. And the two of you,” he said to Lancelot and Percival, “should stay visible to reassure our people. I’ll do the same.”

“What about a public address?” Percival asked.

“I think that would be wise. And the queen—” Lancelot began, but he stopped short as Arthur glowered at him. God, how he must hate her. “We need her, Arthur. If you want a show of solidarity to boost morale, she can’t be absent when the whole city knows she’s here.”

“What do you think?” Arthur asked Matilda. She glanced at Vera, her lips set in a thin line before answering.

“I’m fairly certain you know what I think, Your Majesty. It would be beneficial for the queen and me to be present at supply pick-ups, as it has been for her to resume her duties and be at meetings with castle staff. Lancelot is right. It’s good for morale. I would guess it’s done damage that we weren’t doing it sooner.”

“What do you think?” Percival asked Vera.

She didn’t know much about Percival, but with his earnest eyes set on her, awaiting her answer while the others had talked around her, Vera liked him already. She noticed just how young he was simply by the contrast of sitting next to Lancelot. It was clear that Percival was strong, but he had more the body of a teenager than that of a man. His shoulders were narrower than Lancelot’s and his facial features softer, not as sharp as either Lancelot’s or Arthur’s. He couldn’t have been any older than her, and if he’d fought in the wars as Vera suspected from the scar across his face, that meant he’d been at battle in his teenage years.

“I’ll do whatever you need,” Vera said.

Arthur sighed. He likely had the same hesitation that Vera did; the concrete knowledge that it was a farce, and that she couldn’t possibly fill the queen’s shoes.

Taking swift action had been wise. The atmosphere of Camelot changed overnight, with panic threatening to boil over at any given moment. Arthur’s public address went well, and the soldiers did their part with impressive dedication. Lancelot and Matilda had been right about their instinct that Vera should also be involved in the campaign. The three were greeted like heroes by most as they had the pleasant task of accompanying the food relief deliveries into town. Matilda and Lancelot smiled, passed out supplies, offered reassurances, and played games with children. Having decided she’d already caused far too much trouble with Lord Wulfstan, Vera did her best to be visible while engaging as little as possible.

Hopeful gratitude marked the first few days. But it did not last.

Despite Arthur’s reassurance, coupled with his and Vera’s constant presence throughout the city, there were struggles at every turn. Ruthless merchants thought to profit off insecurity and gouged their prices. They had to be tracked down by the troops and set right. Some with the resources to do so stockpiled more food than they needed for fear that there soon wouldn’t be enough, which temporarily created a legitimate shortage and left the poorest in the city without a way to buy food. Arthur put ration limits on how much each household could buy. While it ensured no one went hungry, it did nothing to improve the people’s spirits.

A cold front slinked into town in the early morning on the sixth day. And with frost lingering on the tips of every tree came a chilling amongst the people, too. Vera didn’t expect anyone to continue throwing parades of gratitude as their anxieties ballooned. The frequency of tense encounters with citizens felt reasonable, but she kept catching Matilda and Lancelot sharing worried glances when they thought she wasn’t paying attention.

They’d been at their morale-boosting work for nearly two weeks when what Merlin was able to save of the harvest began to arrive. Prices started righting themselves, and while it wasn’t the economy of abundance the kingdom had grown accustomed to, fears of shortage abated. But like the colder weather, which seemed to have gotten comfortable and planned to stay awhile, the chill remained in the people, too.

Lancelot had adopted a casual way of keeping his hand on the pommel of his sword at all times. He accompanied Vera and Matilda on every excursion into town now, and though he’d join in on their conversation, his eyes continually scanned their surroundings.

They were picking up firewood for the week when Lancelot distractedly grabbed at empty air before finding Vera’s hand to help her down from the seat of the horse-drawn cart. They’d stopped at the end of a long line, the equivalent of half a block from the woodcutter. No sooner had Matilda clambered down from her seat than four more groups tucked into line behind them.

Lancelot glanced at the newcomers, his lips pressed hard together. It was no bigger a crowd than the one at the pit on Vera’s first day, but size wasn’t the problem. The happy sounds of laughter and excited shouts to friends across the square had been frequent before. They’d have felt foreign and inappropriate now. People stood together in clumps, talking in low voices and casting uneasy glances at anyone outside their groups. It was alarmingly different. Lancelot was like a dog with his ears pinned back—and clearly displeased that he couldn’t watch everywhere at once.

Voices raised from near the front of the line, accompanied by a rippling murmur of discomfort.

“We need guards posted here.” Lancelot looked around in exasperation as if one might appear. They’d never needed to have soldiers posted through town before. This was all fresh territory. More voices joined in what had boiled over into an argument near the front.

“Go help,” Vera said. “Babysitting me is certainly the lesser of your duties. That’s actually your job.”

He sighed, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll be right back.” He and Matilda shared that worried look over Vera’s head before he disappeared into the crowd.

“What?” Vera snapped. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Do you honestly not know?” Matilda asked.

“I know everyone’s a bit on edge, but—” She stopped at Matilda’s look of pity. “What?”

“Lancelot and I started noticing it about a week into all this. People aren’t just on edge, they’re treating you poorly.”

“That’s not true. They’re—” But she stopped. This morning in the market, a woman’s laugh had stopped abruptly when her eyes fell on Vera. Her face had hardened as she hastily grabbed her husband by the arm and left in a huff. Vera had been deliberately ignoring it, but all the glares these past weeks had been directed at her. “But … why?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Matilda said, but she must have noticed how Vera tensed. She laid a hand on her arm. “We’ve told Arthur, and he’s asked Percival to put his ear to the ground. We’ll get it all sorted out. People behave strangely under stress.”

“Don’t make me talk to them.” Vera tucked in against the cart, yearning for the invisibility that once felt like a curse.

Almost simultaneously, the atmosphere shifted. It didn’t take but a few moments for grumbles to morph into electric murmurs and for all eyes to point in the same direction. Vera knew what she’d find before she turned to see.

Arthur was there. He alone had that impact on a crowd. He and Vera had never gone on these endeavors together, though he’d been out amongst the people constantly. Their eyes caught for a second. He gave a stiff nod to Vera, and she returned a fleeting smile, her heart stuttering.

She pressed into her nook behind the seat, her back lodged against the cart, avoiding eye contact with anyone. But she was constantly aware of Arthur. The other times she’d seen him in town, he stayed on the opposite side of the square from her. This time, he weaved in. Closer and closer until Vera could take a few steps, reach to her right, and touch him.

She could hear him even through the crowd’s noise, sometimes only the tone of his voice, not quite loud enough to form words. As his volume raised in laughter or to call to someone farther off, she’d make out a few words. She was entranced in listening, soothed by his presence—and unnerved that he had that impact on her.

He shifted as Lancelot called out to him, pulling him out of Vera’s view. She peeled herself from her hiding place and moved forward as if her adjustment were to tend the horse.

Arthur’s eyes found her immediately, as if he’d known her every move as she’d tracked his. This time, his brow was furrowed as his attention was drawn back to whatever Lancelot was saying.

Then Lancelot pointed at Vera, and the couple they’d been speaking with turned around with bright faces—and it wasn’t just a couple. There was a cherub-faced toddler with mussed curls like he’d been freshly woken from a nap as he nuzzled into his father’s trousers, and the mother cradled a bundle of white cloths in her arms, which proved itself to be a baby as it thrust a tiny fist into the air.

They were coming toward her now. Shit. There’d be no avoiding this. The man, who must have been the one to bestow his son with curls (though his were not so unruly), closed the distance with a few strides and bowed. “Your Majesty, my name is Roger, and this is my wife, Helene.”

Helene ducked her head and drew her dress out with one hand in as best a curtsy as she could manage with the baby in her arms. Lancelot smiled with a glint in his eye from behind Helene while Arthur stood tense at his side.

What the hell was this about?

“It’s … it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Vera didn’t know if she should ask the couple a question, but Roger solved that for her.

“We know you aren’t taking queries, but … we hoped you would bless our new daughter,” Roger said.

“Oh.” If this had been one of Guinevere’s duties before, it could be added to the countless other things Vera didn’t know about.

Arthur cast Lancelot an uncharacteristically unguarded glare before he sighed and stepped close to Vera, between her and all the others. He leaned next to her ear and spoke quietly, raising goosebumps on her neck. “This is quite customary, and you’re fully capable if you’d like to say yes,” he said. “But I can do it if you’d rather.”

Vera hadn’t ever been this close to him and had his eyes locked on hers for this long. There was no cold mask in place. This was a matter of ruling well, and no loathing or bitterness could stand in Arthur’s way of loving his people. She wanted to show him that she could do something that might be helpful.

“I can try,” she said. Arthur nodded as he stepped away, and Vera turned back to the couple. “Just, erm, a standard sort of blessing, then? For a, er, healthy life and the like?”

Roger smiled. Helene nodded.

Did Guinevere have religious training that she didn’t know about? Helene wore a veil. Was that a religious choice? Vera licked her parched lips. “Shall I use Christian or pagan prayers?” She didn’t know many of either.

“It doesn’t matter to us,” Helene answered. “We’ll be honored by whatever blessings you offer.”

Vera swallowed. “May I?” she said, with a gesture toward the little bundle.

Helene’s rosy cheeks dimpled with her smile as she passed the bundle to Vera. The baby, barely older than a newborn, wore a white christening gown. The tiny perfect fingers of one hand waved through the air occasionally, and the other fist balled up under her button of a chin. Her face, with its delicate nose, lips, and closed eyes, was relaxed as she slept.

As if she’d sensed the transfer into a stranger’s arms, the baby started fussing, fitful cries piercing the newfound quiet of the square. Vera bobbed her in rhythm with a soothing “shh-shh-shh” until she calmed back into her deeper sleep.

“What’s her name?” Vera asked quietly.

“Guinevere,” Roger said. “We’ve named her after you.”

Vera’s breath caught. “Thank you,” she mumbled, surprised to be fighting back emotion. After all, the baby was named for the real Guinevere. Not Vera.

“Our town was nearest the final battle. We love our king,” Roger said with a glance at Arthur, “and we have not forgotten it was our queen who saved us.”

Imposter. Liar. Vera couldn’t stop berating herself. But the baby was beautiful and the family sweet—and people were watching.

“God of all,” Vera began with her eyes on the baby, unsure how loudly she should speak. “We ask your blessing on this wondrous child. May she live a long life of health, safety, prosperity—and love and joy all her days.”

The parents thanked Vera, but her attention shifted to the little boy. He’d been hiding behind his mother’s skirt but had inched much closer to Vera, standing on tiptoes to try to get a peek at his sister.

Vera crouched down so he could see. “What do you think about your new sister?”

The boy pouted, his eyes threatening to flood with tears.

“He is frustrated that he can’t pronounce her name,” Helene explained.

An idea tumbled into the front of her thoughts. Helene had turned back to her husband and Lancelot. Arthur was with them, too, his attention focused on whatever it was they were saying. Nobody was paying attention to Vera. Good.

“Can you say ‘Vera?’” she whispered to the child.

“Ve-ra,” he said, breaking it apart into two words.

She nodded encouragingly. “That’s what my parents used to call me. Do you think you’d like that to be your special name for your sister?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes!” he said. “Vera.” He murmured it three times and clumsily kissed his sister’s head, stumbling over a stick he’d wedged into the pocket of his trousers.

“What’s that you have there?” Vera asked.

He pulled it free and brandished it, all shyness forgotten. “My sword!” he proclaimed. “Watch!” His chubby arm waved the stick about. Lancelot caught sight and jumped in to play with the boy. Vera laughed as she stood to pull the baby free from the game’s danger zone, just as she was knocked in the back of her shoulder and stumbled forward.

It was a man who’d bumped her. He carried on with an askance glance back at Vera.

“Pardon me,” she said instinctively, though she’d not done anything wrong.

The man stopped in his tracks and turned back with a taut and nearly purpling, incensed face. Vera recoiled a step as he lurched toward her and hissed, “I won’t pardon a bastard babe.”

He started to stalk away as Vera’s mind slowly made sense of his words. Maybe he knew these sweet young parents, and they hadn’t been married in a way he approved of. Whatever the case, Vera’s cheeks went hot as a quick anger erupted from her. She could have let it go, could have let the man leave with his petulant judgment in tow, but he kicked dirt at the little boy as he passed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vera snapped.

He stopped and wheeled about to face her. She thought the way his eyes narrowed was a hesitation. People around had started noticing the scuffle, stopping what they were doing and watching. The man’s hand lingered in his pocket as he stared at the ground. If it was guilt and embarrassment, then good. He deserved it for insulting Helene and Roger. It emboldened Vera.

“Not words you care to stand behind?” she quipped.

“It’s a child of a whore,” the man said, and Vera’s jaw fell. But he didn’t sound as certain or convicted with the attention on him.

Vera’s blood boiled. How dare he? She’d tear into him for coming after Helene, but he kept going.

“You haven’t fooled anyone.” The way his loathing stare seared into Vera frightened her. “Convenient you were gone a whole year. Time enough to grow and bear your shameful bastard. You’re no queen. You’ll bring our ruin!”