The Dragon Warlord's Silent Bride

DIANA’S POV

The empty chair beside Diana drew more attention than she did.

That was almost impressive.

Raigoro’s place stood at the head of the great hall beneath Blackharrow’s dragon banner. Diana sat to its right while territorial officials, military families, guild representatives, minor nobles, household leaders, and several people she recognized from the memorial gallery filled the room.

Everyone knew why the Grand Duke was absent, but enough people kept glancing at his chair that Diana began to suspect disapproval might summon him.

Alma stood behind Diana with her slate case.

The twelve-key daily ring hung at Diana’s belt, where Mistress Hale had insisted it remain during formal household functions.

Daric occupied the other side of the hall near the officers responsible for security. He had already checked every entrance twice.

Diana had counted.

The gathering began with the returning military companies.

Old standards were carried into the hall one by one. Some were clean. Others were patched, burned, or torn.

The family of every soldier who had died during the previous season was named alongside the unit that returned without them.

No one hurried through the dead.

Captain Toren’s name came near the end.

His widow stepped forward carrying the command sash Diana had seen listed in the household records. Mara Toren was the woman from the arrival courtyard.

She had silver threaded through her dark hair and wore mourning black without ornament. Beside her stood a young man that Diana did not need the program to identify him as his son.

The command sash was displayed beneath Toren’s name for the memorial acknowledgment.

People lowered their heads.

Diana did too.

When the military acknowledgment ended, the formal presentations began.

The memorial had required nothing from Diana except respect. The presentations required considerably more.

Blackharrow’s custom was simple enough.

A household or regional representative approached, bowed, gave a name and district, then offered the formal welcome due to the new Grand Duchess.

”Welcome to Blackharrow, Your Grace.”

Some said it as though they meant it. Others obeyed protocol with visible effort. An eastern mine steward bowed so precisely his dislike might have been measured with a ruler.

No one openly insulted her.

Blackharrow had rules. Apparently resentment was expected to obey them.

Then Mara Toren approached.

Captain Toren had commanded the Third Watchtower. His widow was being asked to welcome the daughter of the king who had left him there without promised soldiers or supplies.

Mara stopped before Diana and gave the bow required by custom.

She did not offer the welcome.

The household herald waited long enough for a chair to shift somewhere behind Diana before clearing his throat.

”Mistress Toren.”

Mara remained where she was. She knew what the custom required and had chosen not to say it.

The household steward started forward.

Diana lifted one hand.

He stopped.

She took the slate from Alma.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WELCOME ME would sound generous when Diana had earned no generosity.

I UNDERSTAND would presume she understood a widow she had barely met.

Mara had lost her husband. Diana had no right to decide what that loss should mean to her.

She wrote the only thing she could say honestly:

THANK YOU FOR COMING.

Mara read it.

She bowed once more and stepped away.

Conversation resumed slowly.

The next person approached, and the ritual continued.

Diana survived another eleven welcomes before a man wearing a veteran’s silver clasp abandoned ceremony entirely.

He was introduced as Hallen Brey, older brother of one of the Third Watch dead.

He bowed.

”Your Grace.”

Diana waited.

He did not offer the welcome either.

Instead he asked, ”Did you know?”

The herald looked alarmed.

Diana knew immediately what he meant.

Hallen continued before anyone stopped him.

”Third Watch sent requests for medicine while Valence prepared your banquet.”

Several people turned toward Diana.

Diana had seen one Northern request months before the banquet, before the palace took it from her. She had never learned how many others existed.

Whatever Selena had known, Diana could answer only for herself.

She wrote:

I DID NOT KNOW.

Hallen read it.

A voice from farther back said, ”That is convenient.”

No one laughed.

A woman in military gray sat beside a man with a scar crossing one cheek. Neither made any attempt to take the words back.

They hurt mostly because they were reasonable.

Princess Selena Valence had benefited from Odran’s court while Northern requests disappeared into his offices. Now the same princess sat in Blackharrow claiming ignorance.

Convenient was exactly how it looked.

Diana placed the slate on her lap.

Hallen remained in front of her.

”Would it have mattered if you had known?”

The first question had required Diana to answer for a life everyone believed belonged to Selena. This one she could answer for herself.

She took the chalk again.

YES.

Hallen read it.

”Easy answer.”

Diana nodded.

Yes.

It was.

She did not add a promise or explain how little power she had possessed in Valence. They believed Selena had lived comfortably while Northern soldiers died. Diana would not use her own suffering to demand forgiveness for Selena.

Hallen bowed and left.

The presentations continued. Some guests became more careful with her afterward. A few were less openly hostile. Others treated her exactly as they had before.

One answer on a slate had no business repairing fifty graves.

Dinner began after the final introductions.

Blackharrow musicians played first. Later, the Southern ensemble performed the dances they had crossed the mountains to play.

No imported roses died for the occasion.

Frostberry and dark evergreen decorated the long tables instead. The mourning standards remained hanging between the household banners.

Mara Toren spoke with another widow near the eastern wall without once turning toward Diana.

That was probably healthier.

Alma leaned close.

”You survived.”

Diana took the slate.

THE EVENING IS NOT OVER.

”That sounds pessimistic.”

Diana glanced around the crowded hall.

Pessimism seemed premature. The evening was simply not over.

A servant passed with a tray of mulled wine. Above him, one of the suspended warming braziers shifted.

The braziers hung from iron chains anchored high in the stone arches. Most remained steady despite the movement below, but this one hung lower on one side.

A small shower of stone dust fell from the anchor above it.

Below, a child chased a wooden horse between two tables.

Diana stood.