The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

nearly shouted in triumph. The marriage ceremony was complete. Her child legitimate and likely to sit on the throne wearing the Coraurlia as soon as Darville died. The coven had achieved their primary aim: one of their own would be heir to the throne of rich and powerful Coronnan.
    Power! She did this for power. Political power. Magical power. All she had to do was endure until the baby was born strong and healthy.
    The coven would place her at the center of every ritual because of the power and the fulfillment of their dearest and most ancient goal.
    “Toast to the royal couple, Your Grace,” Lord Laislac suggested. He snapped his fingers to summon his steward.
    The servant stepped forward carrying a tray of jewel-encrusted cups and a matching decanter of wine.
    “Ohhh,” Lady Laislac moaned. She wept loudly into her handkerchief.
    “Must we heap hypocrisy upon scandal?” Darville snarled.
    Lord Andrall and his lady both gasped. Lady Lynetta clung to her husband’s arm, chin quivering.
    The bridegroom, Mardall, looked happily around at the marvelous wall paintings and tapestries in the royal chapel.
    Ariiell was getting tired of his lighthearted mood already. Nothing seemed to upset him for more than a moment.
    “Take the wine away,” Darville commanded. “This ceremony may be necessary, but I do not have to like it. There will be no celebration. And there will be no announcements or discussion at court until I decide.”
    “Your Grace, please . . .” Laislac protested.
    “We will see how long you can keep this secret,” Ariiell told herself silently.
    King Darville cocked his head and frowned at her from his position beside the priest. His aunt, Lady Lynnetta, had a similar gesture. With their identical golden-blond hair and golden-brown eyes, they could have been mother and son.
    The king’s frown deepened.
    Had he heard her whisper? She doubted it. He and his line were notoriously mundane, with no trace of magic in their blood at all. He couldn’t have learned any listening tricks from Jaylor. They had spent most of their dissolute youth together. But tricks were useless without a magical talent to fuel them.
    And Darville’s queen, who might or might not have magical power, depending upon which rumor you believed, had not graced the ceremony with her presence. A deliberate snub that Ariiell intended to revenge as soon as she became regent for her baby.
    Ariiell smiled at the king, with an expression she hoped beguiled him with innocence. Tradition required him to preside over and bless the marriage since the idiot Mardall was his closest blood relative. Darville needed to appear in accord with the marriage that might produce his heir.
    Rossemikka’s absence kept Ariiell’s hopes and aspirations in a shadowy realm. The marriage was legal, but the royal couple strongly disapproved. She’d have a hard time gaining acceptance at court until she killed Darville.
    Never mind. The king would not long survive the birth of the baby.
    “You all have leave to depart for Laislac Province,” King Darville said. “You still have four or five hours of daylight.”
    “Leave!” Ariiell choked. “Surely, I cannot travel now.” She thrust back her shoulders emphasizing the full extent of her bulging belly.
    “By your parent’s reckoning you can’t be more than four months gone. The best healers in the country tell me you may travel safely,” he insisted, daring her to admit the child had resulted from a long-term affair rather than a single incident.
    Such an admission would put the blame and disgrace on her shoulders and remove Mardall from all responsibility. She couldn’t allow that. She had to appear the victim here to gain the sympathy of the court and the Council of Provinces.
    “But . . . but . . .” She couldn’t think of a single argument against the king’s stern order.
    “Surely you wish your cousin to be born at court, Your Grace,” Lord Andrall argued. “Surely you want the Council of Provinces to acknowledge the legitimacy of the birth. Our country will gain a great deal of stability with this birth and acknowledgment.”
    King Darville looked aghast at Lord Andrall, his most loyal supporter and uncle by marriage. Mardall’s father nodded sadly.
    The king’s jaw firmed and his golden-brown eyes narrowed. Wolf eyes. Ariiell suddenly saw herself reflected in those eyes as a small rabbit, easy prey. She shrank away from him, making certain the book of poisons hidden within the