He sighed, and grimaced a little. “In my own defense, I was trying to protect Valdemar from being in the precarious position of having no Heir. But I am afraid—truly and sincerely, Selenay, I was afraid, I was dreadfully afraid, and I still am. I never dreamed we would be in this position. Sendar should have been King for decades yet. You are a very young woman, and we have just fought a hideous war—”

“And Valdemar needs to look strong, not vulnerable, I know, Orthallen,” she replied with spirit, and with some heat. “But didn’t it occur to you that rushing me into a marriage is going to do the very opposite of making us look strong? Why would I suddenly wed the first candidate presented to me, if I wasn’t desperate? I might as well send out letters to every likely ally we have, saying that I’m up for sale to the highest bidder!” She frowned at him, and he looked pained.

“I know, I know,” Orthallen replied, flushing. “And if I had possessed any sensitivity or common sense where you are concerned, I would have come directly to you, rather than laying it all out in front of the Council—”

“So it was your idea.” Selenay gave him a hint of the anger she felt in her gaze. She’d been certain it was all along, as had some of the others, but now, at last, he had admitted it.

“To my shame.” He nodded. “Not that the men we presented are not fine—”

“My lord,” she said, interrupting him with exasperation as well as a feeling of real depression, “although I would give a very great deal to be like other young ladies and at least be able to dream of finding a great romantic love, I am not, and I know it.” She heard her own voice retaining its steady, reasonable tone, despite the lump in her throat, and felt a moment of pride at her own self-control. “I am Queen, and when I wed—which I must, for the people would not accept an Heir born out of wedlock—it is for Valdemar, not myself. But my father did find a lady who suited him well enough that he never remarried, and I at least hope to be able to find a friend, if not a lover. I will not find such a Consort by being rushed into an imprudent marriage. And I cannot find one if I have twelve dozen potential husbands shoved at me every time I turn about!”

Orthallen flushed again. “Sendar might not have been in love with your mother when they agreed to marry,” he said quietly, “but he came to love her, deeply, and she him. And they were great, good friends before they wed.”

She spread her hands wide, ignoring the fork in one of them. “So you see that I am right.”