Rangar’s face eased with relief. His big hands felt along the queen’s head and shoulders, gently touching her delicate body as though afraid of hurting her.
“It worked,” he said.
Bryn nodded, still feeling discombobulated as Queen Amelia’s head moved instead of her own. “I was floating up near the ceiling . . . I saw you and Illiana, but everything was a fog . . .”
“Shh. All is well. The hex worked.”
Rangar’s voice sounded confident, but Bryn could still see a vague outline of his aura, and it was still tinged with fear that she might be stuck inside the old queen’s body forever.
“What now?” she said, wincing at her foreign voice.
“Morning comes soon. A servant will come to get you ready for the parlay. As much as I want to stay with you, I can’t be seen in Queen Amelia’s bedroom. And I need to get your real body back to our bedroom.”
She nodded. “Go.”
He hesitated. “Elysander will be there the whole time to look after your real body. I’ll see you at the grand parlay.”
They heard a creak in the hall that could be a servant or guard. Bryn pressed a hand against Rangar’s chest, urging him to go, but he hung back one second longer. Tipping the old queen’s chin up, he placed a soft kiss on the queen’s wrinkled lips.
“Rangar, I’m . . . old,” she gasped.
“In whatever body, in whatever age, you’re still the woman who has my heart.”
And then the creak came again, and Rangar gave her one last long look, his aura radiating out his love, and then crept out of the room. A lady’s maid came in not five minutes later, yawning as she started to stack wood in the fireplace.
“Awake all ready, my queen?” the maid said in surprise, noticing her. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No,” Bryn said, aware that she needed to act like Queen Amelia. “No, it’s quite all right. I couldn’t sleep.”
The lady’s maid gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll have breakfast sent up. You need your strength today.”
Bryn gave a nod as she leaned back against the pillows, watching the maid stack the logs. Inside, her heart was thumping hard. Had she studied Queen Amelia enough to be able to mimic her mannerisms? Would King Marthin realize there was something wrong with his wife? What if someone else had the aura hex and could see that Amelia’s light looked different?
But she forced a regal smile as more servants brought her a tray of tea and scones with clotted cream, and spoke as little as possible.
* * *
By the timethe servants had fed and dressed her, Bryn was starting to feel more at home in Queen Amelia’s body. Maybe not as comfortable as she felt in Barendur Hold, of course, but more like visiting one of the inns along the forest road: it wasn’t what she was used to, and there were new rooms and stairs to learn. Still, it was tolerable for a day—even a bit morbidly interesting.
Only a day, Bryn reminded herself.By tonight, I’ll be back in my own body.
She looked in the mirror after the lady’s maid finished coiling her hair into a knot at her nape and blinked at her unfamiliar new body. She wore a silk gown in such a light shade of lavender that it was nearly silver, and they’d draped her in strings of saltwater pearls. Bryn felt a sigh from somewhere outside herself; it took her a moment to realize it was Queen Amelia’s weakened spirit, tucked aside but watching in the mirror, too.
“I’m sorry,” Bryn murmured aloud, hoping the elderly queen could hear her. “It won’t be for long.”
“My lady?” the lady’s maid said. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing,” Bryn said quickly, adjusting the pearls around Amelia’s neck. “Is there word on our guests?”
“They’re already gathered in the library.” A voice from the door made her turn.
King Marthin stood in the doorframe, wearing trousers of the same pale lavender silk and a white shirt beneath a darker silver vest. Bryn’s stomach clenched at the sight of him—this was Amelia’s husband. If anyone could tell something wasn’t right about his wife, it would be him.
“Excellent,” Bryn said. “Let us not keep them waiting longer.”
Her lady’s maid accompanied her to the door, but Marthin waved her away. “I’ll escort Amelia, Strella.”
Bryn would have much preferred to have the lady’s maid’s presence as a buffer, but it seemed clear from Marthin’s clipped tone that he wouldn’t settle on anything else. She gave the lady’s maid a nod.
