“She was friends with Miss Snow once, was she not?” Torben asks.
“Yes, but…but she won’t know anything about the princess’ whereabouts, I assure you.”
“We’d like to speak with her directly, Mrs. Harding,” I say, ignoring the way my stomach turns at the prospect.
Sandy shifts anxiously in her seat. “My daughter is not accepting visitors right now.”
“I’ll remind you we aren’t casual callers,” Torben says, tone cold. “Once again, I insist you cooperate. Our matter is timely.”
A panicked look twists her face, but she says nothing.
Torben leans forward in his seat. “Mrs. Harding, are you hiding something from us?”
She averts her gaze, worrying her lip between her teeth.
“Mrs. Harding,” Torben repeats, voice brimming with warning.
“All right,” she bites out. “I’ll take you to speak with Danielle. But…” She releases a trembling sigh. “I beg of you to respect my family’s privacy. I know I have no right to extract a binding promise from agents of the Alpha Council, but please take nothing but what pertains to your case with you when you leave. My family…we will not tolerate rumors.” She attempts to hold Torben’s gaze but only manages to pale beneath his hard stare.
I try not to read too much into the terror in her eyes, try not to give it more meaning than it currently deserves. But try as I might, I can’t help but wonder if we’re moments away from unraveling everything.
I swallow down my tangle of emotions—fear mixed with dread and eager anticipation—and don what I hope is a reassuring grin. “I assure you, Mrs. Harding, we will act with tact and discretion. Once we leave here, we will share only what is essential to our case.”
Sandy’s lip quivers, but she nods. With stiff movements, she leaves her chair and motions for us to follow. She leads us out of the parlor and up a flight of stairs. I recognize these stairs, these halls. Not much has changed about the manor since I was last a guest here. That isn’t at all comforting considering this is where I first regained consciousness after my accident. My magic rages at the edges of my consciousness, begging to return to its rightful place. Sweat beads at my brow with the effort it takes not to give in.
Sandy brings us to a wing of the manor far from the main part of the house. We stop before a door where a human maid stands in attendance.
“Danielle has visitors,” Sandy says to the woman.
The maid gives us wide-eyed looks. “Oh, I don’t think Miss Harding is—”
“They insist,” Sandy says, her tone bristling with indignation. Not at her maid’s impertinence…but ours.
“Very well,” the maid says and bobs a curtsy. With trembling hands, she opens the door. Sandy rushes inside. Torben and I exchange a glance before following behind her.
We enter what appears to be a bedroom, one so sparse and drab it stands in stark contrast with the rest of the elegant manor. Here there are no gilded paintings, no polished marble floors. Instead, the wallpaper is peeling, the few furnishings are old and out of style, and the rugs are frayed and muted. Along the back wall are several large windows, but the curtains have been drawn shut save for one at the far end of the room. There sits a lone figure in a wicker chair, head bowed over a book in her lap, facing away from us.
“Danielle,” Sandy says, “these detectives have come to ask you a few questions about Princess Astrid.”
The figure doesn’t move.
Sandy takes a few steps closer. “Danielle, did you hear—”
The girl bolts out of her chair and whirls to face us. My breath catches in my throat as I lay eyes on the woman who was once nearly the death of me. “Yes, I heard, Mother,” she says with a sneer, then slams her book onto the seat of her chair. “Someone’s here to talk to me about that lying harlot, Astrid Snow.”
32
ASTRID
Danielle Harding looks nothing like the beautiful socialite I used to know. Her face is gaunt, her frame thin. Instead of the stunning gowns in bold patterns she once favored, she’s outfitted in a simple gray dress. Her brown hair trails down her back in a thin braid, free from combs, bows, or dainty hats. I’m not sure what I expected to see when I encountered her, but it wasn’t this.
My knees begin to tremble, and my magic surges against the thin walls of my control. I nearly give in, but something brushes against my fingers, distracting me. With a start, I glance down to find Torben’s hand sliding into mine. He gives my palm a squeeze before letting go. That momentary pressure manages to steady me.
Keeping my composure as collected as I can, I tuck my hand into my pocket and run my fingers over my velvet ribbon, focusing on the soft texture through my lace gloves.
Danielle’s gaze slides from her mother to me and Torben. I hold my breath, begging my magic to stay away as her eyes sweep over me. When no sign of recognition shows on her face, I let out a shaky exhale.
I can do this. It worked on Sandy. It will work on Danielle.
