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I only ask that you test that fresh air here, in the Study, where it is unlikely to blow the kingdom into dust, the crusty old man barked at her. Then bowed. But it is my honor to serve the first Queen Regnant in generations, Your Majesty. He’d offered a smile that had clearly shocked his underlings. I only wish my wife was still alive to see it. She would have been a huge fan.

She took that as the resounding vote of confidence that it was.

It was clear to her that most of her ministers, on the contrary, expected her to be rather more of a figurehead than she was turning out to be. And it was true, she certainly liked the optics—but that was because she wasn’t a very old man who didn’t know how visual the modern world was.

She had begged Madam Durand to stay in Liandero through the holidays so that they could plot out the perfect wardrobe for a brand-new, modern, wholly unexpected Queen. They spent hours every day in their brainstorming sessions.

And she was fully aware that a significant number of her ministers thought that her focus on such things was proof that her head was empty, that she was a silly girl who liked to party in pretty clothes with a great many posed pictures, and most importantly, she was not up to the task she’d inherited.

Cesca knew better. A perfect speech was a work of art, but an image was a split second and had to send a message. And of the two, it was an image that reached the farthest and had the most lasting impact. A speech might be quoted, and those who listened to it might be moved by what was said, but the impact of individual images to set a tone, tell a story, and claim a specific narrative could never be underestimated.

She had not bothered to tell this to the members of her cabinet who clearly thought that her insistence on carving out time to spend with her dressmaker was evidence that she was not up to the job. She assumed that her doing the job would make that clear. In time.

But she wasn’t thinking about the job later that morning, stuck in an extremely tense cabinet meeting.

Lord Frick and the rest of the men she considered her brother’s traditional Old Guard were in various stages of apoplexy because they had made a suggestion that Cesca had dismissed out of hand. With a literal wave of her hand, in fact.

“I don’t think you understand, Your Majesty,” Lord Frick was fussing at her. “It is the opinion of not only myself—” and she understood from the look he threw at her that his august opinion should have been enough “—but of most of the members of this cabinet that bringing in new business to the kingdom can only benefit the people.”

Cesca, who had quite obviously dismissed the suggestion the first time and had therefore considered the subject closed, studied him for a moment. “The business under discussion falls under the umbrella of vanity projects for Roderigo Delacroix,” she said. Patiently. Though her tone was perhaps not all that patient, really. “In case you don’t know who that is, Roderigo Delacroix is a vindictive, petty little man who happens to also be a billionaire. People scuttle about, whispering about him as if he is powerful and mighty in some way when in reality, he has more money than sense. That’s all. And they’re not the same thing.”

There were mutterings from the old men. Cesca had discovered that if she kept smiling, they all found that disconcerting, as they clearly preferred female smiles to be more conciliatory. She looked over to see that Saviero—who liked to stand in these meetings rather than sit, for what she assumed were similar reasons—looked intent.

The way he always did.

“If you will forgive me, Your Majesty,” Lord Frick said in his stuffy way, “it is exactly these personal comments about a world-renowned businessman who could do great things in this country that make me wonder—respectfully, of course—if you would be better served concentrating on what appears to be the great project of your wardrobe, and leaving such mercenary concerns to those of us who have a lifetime of experience in these areas.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cesca saw Saviero straighten from the wall, a thunderous sort of astonishment on his face.

But she only smiled wider. “Lord Frick,” she said, and he didn’t know her well enough, she realized, to understand that when she sounded that sweet, she was at her most deadly, “do you know Roderigo Delacroix? Personally, I mean?”

“I’m familiar with his work,” the old man said. Haughtily.

Cesca leaned forward and rested her arms on the table between them. “I’ve been to his home. Several of his homes, in fact. I know his fifth wife quite well, as we went to university together. So when I tell you that I know Roderigo Delacroix, what he is capable of and what sort of catastrophe he leaves behind him when he’s finished with whatever project catches his fancy for a moment, you can believe that I know what I’m speaking about. This kingdom will not be that man’s playground. Not under my watch.”

“I really don’t think, Your Majesty, that you are approaching the situation with the gravity it deserves,” Lord Frick argued. “Again, I’m not sure that stories about your personal life and your friends from your Parisian party days are good enough reason to deprive the kingdom of a vast opportunity.”

“That almost sounds as if you doubt my judgment,” Cesca said, mildly.

“And that cannot be possible,” Saviero chimed in, his voice as deadly as it was perfectly calm. “Because if you doubt Her Majesty’s judgment, then she must doubt yours in turn, Lord Frick. And you would therefore have no further value to add to this cabinet.”

Cesca felt herself get warm all over. That was what Saviero did to her.

He did it with his body. With his demanding ways in private that she found more and more delightful by the day. She had never allowed such things before. She’d never seen herself as the kind of woman who would be at all interested in a bossy man—and she wasn’t, really.

Not when she had clothes on, anyway.

But it turned out that this particular combination of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and was more than happy to order her around in the bedroom to get it mixed with the absolute and total support Saviero showed her in public…

It hit her then, like a gong to the side of the head. It rang through her, and made every single part of her shake at the sound.

Cesca was so shocked that she almost lost control of the expression on her face. She caught herself just in time and dropped her gaze down to the polished surface of the table before her. She felt her heart inside her chest, pounding harder and harder.

She felt dizzy. Or maybe it was giddy. She felt like she was coming out of her own skin.

And she tried to argue herself out of it, but it didn’t work.

It didn’t help that Saviero and Lord Frick were exchanging words, both of them scathingly polite, because it was just one more demonstration that this man would defend her to the death.