Epilogue
“So what exactly is a Queen’s Champion?” Teia asked.
Penli made a face as he fussed with his clothes. He stared hard at his reflection, muttered a few invectives, and pulled off his sash to retie it for the fiftieth time. “Hmm?” he asked as he caught the exasperated look Teia was giving him.
“What is a Queen’s Champion! Nobody has ever explained it, though I’ve asked before.”
“Sorry, apple dumpling. It’s nothing much.” Penli smoothed his tunic and then picked up the sash again—only to have it taken away by Sendaar, who deftly set to work wrapping and knotting it. “Queen’s Champion is a special posting, somewhere between bloodgiver and commander and steward. They are her voice and sword, especially in times of war. They’re neither civilian nor military, beholden to no one but the queen. In olden days, they fought on her behalf in personal duels and other such things, and represented her on the field of battle when it was too dangerous for the queen herself to fight.”
Sendaar smiled softly, finished off the sash, and gave him a kiss before stepping back to admire his work. “So, essentially, it’s the perfect position for you.”
“Don’t you start,” Penli said with a sigh. “I want nothing to do with this. Anyway, these days the position is mostly honorific and boils down to accompanying her everywhere and participating in some of the mock duels and performances in festivals and the like.”
Teia snickered from where he was sprawled on the bed. “Even more perfect for you.”
“Ugh, everyone is conspiring against me,” Penli said with a groan. “You’re my husband—you should be taking my side.” Despite his anxiety about the coming ceremony, damn Shanna, a smile overtook his face at the word “husband.” If someone had told him a year ago, or even just a few months ago, that he would meet a couple of men and marry them barely a month later, Penli would have walked out of the room laughing.
But given the care and consideration he’d put into deciding to be a professional killer for the throne, and so many other parts of his life, maybe being a little more impulsive was good for him.
“I should be doing what is best for you, whether you like it or not,” Teia replied, moving to the edge of the bed and rising to his knees as Penli drew near. He twined his arms around Penli’s neck and drew him into a kiss that made Penli forget all about his pending ceremony.
Sendaar pressed up against his back, arms sliding around his waist. “Don’t get started, or we’ll be late, and I don’t think it’s good form for the new Champion of Remnien to be late for his own ceremony.”
“I’d really rather not go at all,” Penli grumbled as he reluctantly pulled out of the kiss. “Haven’t I been the center of attention enough around here?”
Snickering as Penli dragged him around to join Teia on the bed, Sendaar replied, “You? Draw the court’s attention? Never.”
“Brat.” Penli gave a playful shove, and Sendaar toppled easily, dragging Teia with him. Mmm, wasn’t that a pretty image.
Clearly intending to torture him, they twined together and started kissing, hot and sweet and distracting.
“Didn’t you say something about not getting distracted or we’d be late?”
“You’d be late,” Teia replied with a grin. “Our presence isn’t required.”
Penli folded his arms across his chest. “And how would it look if my spouse and lover weren’t present at such an important affair?”
“Like we only married you to escape a fate worse than death, obviously,” Teia replied—and shrieked as Penli lunged forward and grabbed him up, tossing him over one shoulder like he weighed no more than a sack of feathers. “Put me down!”
“I don’t think so, brat,” Penli said, swatting his ass lightly as he carried Teia across the room to the door. He turned to look at Sendaar. “Coming, sugar pastry?”
Sendaar grinned. “I’m not sure; saying no looks like an awful lot of fun.”
Penli lifted his eyes to the ceiling, but his mouth twitched into a grin. He finally let Teia slide to the ground and watched as he straightened his clothes and hair. “Come along, before a certain queen comes and murders us all. We’ll escape the banquet as soon as possible and celebrate in our own way.”
That earned him a matched set of hungry kisses and some inappropriate fondling. He pushed them back with an effort, fussed with his own clothes, and finally made himself leave the room. Teia walked alongside him, twining their fingers together, squeezing his hand affectionately. Sendaar walked slightly ahead of them, so that he’d be unencumbered should he have to draw his weapons or otherwise act.
Thankfully, he did so from habit rather than necessity. Since the end of the challenge, Tishasanti had made a point of avoiding them—until a few days ago, when he and his new betrothed, a foreign noble with a shipping empire, had made a show of themselves at an ambassadorial ball.
Penli hoped the new betrothed knew what she was in for, but he was officially retired from rescuing people from Tishasanti.
He reached up to touch the scar on his right cheek. He’d managed to survive years of combat and covert missions without a single mark on his face, and damned Tishasanti had ruined it within seconds of their duel.
But it was fine, because Tishasanti’s nose would never be the same, and no matter what he did in the future, he would probably never stop replaying that “I yield” in his head. Penli could live with that.
“Stop fussing with it,” Teia said, clicking his tongue. “Haven’t we reassured you that it looks quite dashing?”
Penli smirked. “If I say no, will I get more reassurance?”
Teia rolled his eyes, and in front of them Sendaar snickered.
Before either could further reply, however, they reached the throne room. Penli’s dread and nerves returned as Teia and Sendaar slipped away to take their seats inside. A few minutes later, the herald called out Penli’s name, and he walked the length of the throne room to kneel in front of the low dais.
Shanna stood, resplendent in a deep-red gown with a tiara of diamonds and rubies nestled in her curls. At her side she held a handsome broadsword, a gift bestowed by Ahmla a couple of months ago.
“Lord William Kerry Penlington, Third Earl of Graymark, you have been nominated for Queen’s Champion. Does anyone here object to this appointment?”
Penli half-expected Tishasanti to object, just out of spite, but thankfully nobody said a word.
Shanna’s mouth curved in a hint of smile as she lifted the sword. Penli bowed his head. “Lord Penlington, I name you Queen’s Champion, currently in waiting, to take up your mantle in full upon my coronation. Rise, Ser Penlington, Queen’s Champion of Remnien.”
The room burst into applause and cheers as Penli rose and embraced Shanna, kissing her cheeks, and letting her kiss his, before he stepped away and bowed to the room. Teia and Sendaar cheered the loudest, and all the way at the back, clearly eager to leave, Tishasanti looked as though he’d bitten into something sour.
As the king and queen broke up the gathering and led everyone to the banquet hall for the celebratory feast, Shanna linked arms with him, leaving their respective lovers to follow around and behind. “As my champion, you should know that we are finalizing some matters—some overt, many covert.”
Penli looked at her sharply. “Time to go home?”
“Yes. I have backing from Morentia and a couple of their allies who want to forge relations with Remnien, and Lady Astira has brokered a deal between us and her betrothed, a powerful duke in Cormiana, to provide military assistance as well. Come spring, we go to war.”
Penli nodded, and then they were sweeping into the banquet hall, and thoughts of war were set aside for a few more hours as they enjoyed a last bit of revelry.