Free A Grave Inheritance by Kari Edgren Page B

Together, we may be able to tame the lion this evening.”
    The door opened again, giving me a limited view of what looked like a study. Candles had been lit and their soft, yellow light mixed with the last rays of the setting sun. From what I could see, books lined the expansive walls from floor to ceiling, and those not fitting on the shelves were stacked haphazardly in one corner. Directly across from us, I glimpsed a man sitting behind an expansive desk, scratching a quill across a sheet of parchment.
    “His majesty the king will see you now, my lady,” the guard said to Cate while ignoring me altogether.
    Cate swept into the room first, her silk gown swaying slightly from the movement. I followed, stopping at her side about ten paces from the desk. We curtseyed together, so deeply my knees nearly brushed the floor before we returned to full height.
    The man behind the desk remained silent, content to just stare at me. Bulging blue eyes rivaled the proud nose as the most prominent feature on his face. He wore a gray powdered wig, combed back in the middle, the ponytail secured in a black silk bag at his shoulders. His coat was magenta velvet, which he wore over a brocaded goldenrod waistcoat.
    He kept his eyes firmly locked on mine, and not until I started to sweat did I notice a fire crackling in the fireplace to my far right. I had begun to wonder if we were to pass the entire evening engaged in a staring contest when he pushed himself up and slowly walked over to where we stood. He stopped at my side opposite Cate, his feet planted wide as he studied my profile. I stood still, my muscles tense, unsure what to expect.
    “So, here eez zee interloper,” he said, abruptly breaking the silence.
    I continued to stare straight ahead, a little surprised by his thick German accent. It was common knowledge that King George II had been born and raised in Hanover, not coming to England until he was over thirty years of age when his father ascended to the throne in 1714. Still, even with this knowledge, I had expected the King of England to sound more like an Englishman.
    “A beggar from zee Colonies, who has tricked my nephew into sinking he loves her.”
    My face burned with anger. I may have coerced Henry into a sham marriage, but his love was his own doing.
    And I was no beggar.
    Since the king hadn’t yet asked a question or granted permission to speak, I fumed in silence, offering no defense to his insults.
    “Or maybe,” he said, “my enemies have put you up to zis trouble. Zee betrothal between zee princess and Lord Fitzalan makes zem nervous. Some of my enemies vould like to see Lord Fitzalan connected to zee Irish instead of to me. Vat do you say to zee charges, Miss Kilbrid? Can you deny zem?”
    Taking a deep breath, I kept my eyes straight ahead. “With all due respect, your majesty, the charges lack merit.” I spoke with relative calm despite my anger. “Henry and I planned to marry before I knew his true identity. At the time, I thought I had fallen in love with an indentured servant, not a noble lord.”
    I could practically feel his eyes boring a hole in my cheek. His breath quickened, filling my nose with the scent of sour wine. “You can never make him happy. You vill ruin his life. Your father vas a traitor, and you are zee same.”
    My temper flared and I turned to face the king before there was time to reconsider. “No, he wasn’t! William of Orange stole our land and had my father falsely accused to cover his crime.” The words spilled out before I could stop them, and I hurriedly added a humble, “your majesty,” in an attempt to soften my outburst.
    The king eyes widened, bulging even more than before. From his thunderous look, I had obviously crossed a line and would soon be paying the consequences. On my other side, I sensed movement, followed by the sound of rustling silk.
    “Please forgive her, your majesty,” Cate said. “She is a young girl, ruled more by passion than common