“It’s out of the question,” Gemma said, fussing with her cloak. (Servants caught her trying to sneak out after changing and hauled her back into the palace.)
“It is not,” Prince Toril said. “My Father meant to marry you, and he very nearly did. It is within your rights to be the ruler of Verglas. I will step aside for you.”
Gemma pushed her reclaimed snow-blue hair-band up her forehead. “My Lord—My Lords,” she said, adjusting her stance so she addressed Prince Toril and the various lords and statesmen rallied around him. “It is an inappropriate idea,” she said, catching sight of Stil at the very back of the throne room. “I never actually married King Torgen, nor did I want to. I am not royal, and I am not learned. I am a seamstress, not a monarch.”
“But you—,” Prince Toril started.
“I have on good authority that Prince Toril is capable as a leader, and I hold him in the highest esteem,” Gemma said. “As heir to the throne, it is Prince Toril who should rule Verglas.”
Prince Toril’s expression was pinched. “My father wronged you, Miss Kielland. I wish to correct it.”
“I do not need a kingdom to make up for a few uncomfortable weeks,” Gemma wryly said. “It would only make it worse.”
“I could marry you,” Prince Toril said.
“What?” Stil said in the back of the room, which promptly dropped several degrees.
Annoyed by the prince’s thickheaded actions, Gemma flattened her eyebrows, disgruntled. He’s trying, I suppose, in his own, bumbling way. Linnea better teach him better, or he is going to be swindled by every country surrounding us.
“My Lord,” Gemma firmly said. “Nothing about that arrangement would please either of us.”
“Is there anything I can give you?” Prince Toril argued. “If not a crown, perhaps gold? We have quite a bit now…since…you…spun it,” Prince Toril said, crestfallen as he made the connection.
Gemma’s lips quirked in an amused curve. “Gold is a silly thing, My Lord. It is easily spent or lost and can bring forth the darkness in people. It is a person’s actions that have real value. If you wish to make amends for your father’s reign, I ask that you would reinstate the market in the Ostfold village square and allow the ambassadors to return to their foreign posts.”
Prince Toril looked relieved. “I shall do that,” he agreed.
Gemma almost felt bad about the request—the prince probably didn’t know or realize Lady Linnea was the daughter of the ambassador to Loire—but she owed it to Linnea to open the door for her.
“Thank you, My Lord. If that is all?” Gemma said, curtsying.
“It is. Thank you, Miss Kielland.”
Gemma curtseyed again before she fled.
Still followed her out of the throne room and was quiet as Gemma soaked in the sanctuary of the poorly-lit hallway.
“What will you do next?” Stil asked.
“I don’t know,” Gemma said, struggling to stay upright in a world swiftly changing. The idea of returning to Lovland manor was not pleasing after her exit from it, though she knew Lady Linnea and Lady Lovland would welcome her back.
She would not return to her parents’ mill, even though her mother had helped her earlier, it wouldn’t be wise. Her heart was softened enough to mend her relationship with her mother, but living with her would undo all her newfound good will. Perhaps she could stay with Grandmother Guri?
“If you like, you could stay with Angelique and me in my camp, for tonight at least,” Stil said, edging up behind Gemma.
Gemma smiled at the craftmage. “That would be nice,” she admitted, before frowning. “Angelique? She’s here?”
“Yes. I managed to call her back. She is why we were able to arrive in time,” Stil admitted, extending his hand.
“Pegasus?” Gemma said, hesitating before she took Stil’s hand and allowed him to lead her.
“Yes. I owe her for more than that, though. She summoned up the snow storm—I could never have done it without her. I wanted to get the Snow Queen’s magic riled, and the fastest way I know of is to add to the ice and snow in this country.”
“Were the starfires a signal to her?”
“Yes. I had her stationed at the base of Fresler’s Helm. Communicating with her would not be easy with all I needed to do.”
“Who started the starfires at the palace and city gate?”
“They said their names were Rudd and B?rres,” Stil said as they strolled down the corridors of the palace.
Servants wove around them, carrying letters, documents, books, or food. Gemma had a feeling they weren’t supposed to let random citizens wander the halls, but after the public spectacle Stil put on with King Torgen, it was unlikely anyone in Ostfold didn’t recognize Gemma—even without the hideous dress.
“Ah, yes,” Gemma said, a fond smile flickering on her face. “My dungeon guards.”
“It seems your sense of sacrifice has earned you a few friends,” Stil said, leading the way outside.
When the brisk wind hit her, Gemma shivered and let go of Stil’s hand to pull her cloak closer.
