“Surely, he’d make an exception for you.”
“Surely, he would,” I say sweetly.
Imogen watches me with narrowed eyes while Clara looks anxiously from her sister to me. “Shall we fetch the princess’ dinner?” Clara asks in a small voice.
“You go, Clara,” Imogen says without looking at her. “Might I have Her Highness’ permission to speak privately?”
My muscles tense. I have no desire to be alone with Imogen, especially when she’s in such a mood as she’s in now, but I have a feeling whatever she has to say will come out regardless. I know how persistent she can be. The sooner I shut down whatever she’s concocting, the better. My voice comes out calm and collected in what I’ve deemed myprincesstone. “Very well. Clara, you may fetch my dinner. Thank you.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” With a curtsy, Clara leaves.
I stand as tall as I can while Imogen takes a few slow steps toward me. “What did you want to speak to me privately about?”
She stops several feet away, a smug grin on her lips. Then she reaches into the pocket of her skirt and pulls out something small and glittering. A gold chain. At the end of the chain is a locket, one that houses my parents’ portraits. One Imogen has seen me wear every day that I’ve known her.
“Where did you get this, Your Highness?”
The way she saysYour Highnessis like an iron-laced taunt.
She knows.
Sheknows.
No. She hasn’t said that yet.
Breezes. What would Maisie do?
I do my best to steady my breathing and hide the terror rising inside me, molding it into feigned indignation instead. “My treasure!” I shout and try to swipe the necklace from her.
Imogen dances out of reach, her smirk disappearing. “It isn’t yours,” she says. “Where did you find it?”
I release an exaggerated gasp. “I’ll ask you the same thing, Miss Coleman. Where did you find my treasure? And how dare you steal it from me!”
Uncertainty flashes over Imogen’s face. “I…I didn’t steal it, for it doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to my stepsister, Ember Montgomery.” She regains some of her composure. “Why do you have it? Do you know where my stepsister is?”
“Since when do you have a stepsister? You’ve not spoken of her.” It’s true. In all the time Imogen and Clara have been in my service, I’ve only heard them mention me the one time when I was out on the balcony, and I’m determined to maintain the ruse that I hadn’t heard them then.
“That doesn’t matter,” Imogen says. “My stepsister is missing and you have her locket. I want to know why and where she is.”
I curl my fingers to keep my hands from trembling. My head spins, making me feel as if I could lose my footing at any moment. But I can’t give in. I can’t let her see how shaken I am. I need to be strong. I need to be a princess right now.
Franco suddenly comes to mind, and I recall how terrifying he was when he confronted the young brigands, how he spoke so confidently to the man with the gun. I may not know how to conjure a glamour nor have magic shadows that strike fear into the hearts of my enemies, but it isn’t just magic Franco uses to disarm people.
Lifting my chin, I work my features into a mask of cold arrogance. My words come out high and haughty. “You’re in no place to make demands of me, human. You serveme. And you continue to serve me by my grace alone. If I were you, I’d watch my tone.”
Imogen pales, her shoulders rising toward her neck. I can almost see the confidence draining from her. “Your Highness,” she says, a slight quaver to her voice, “I simply wondered where you found my stepsister’s locket. We’re looking for her—”
I step forward and snatch the necklace from her fingers, then breeze past her to my dressing table. There I open one of the many hat boxes Maisie left full of seashells and other miscellaneous items. I drop the locket into the box with the tarnished silverware. With my back facing her, I say, “I found the locket the same way I find all my treasures. And like the others, the locket is now mine.”
Imogen comes up behind me. “It belongs to my stepsister, Your Highness. I should have it.”
I whirl to face her. “If you truly have a stepsister and she’s truly lost her locket, then she can come claim it from me.”
Her face turns crimson, her jaw shifting side to side. Then she goes still, and her eyes begin to narrow. “You know,” she says slowly, “your eyes are the exact same color as my stepsister’s.”
“You know,” I echo, taking a step closer. I have to crane my neck to meet her eyes. “You have the exact countenance of someone who’s about to lose her position at court.”
Her chest heaves, her defiant gaze locked on mine. I refuse to so much as blink as I keep my focus trained on maintaining my posture. Finally, her eyes shutter and uncertainty fills her expression. She takes a step back and bows her head. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I’ve been distraught over my missing stepsister, that’s all. I thought you could help me locate her.”
