Maybe a witchcanbe a princess.
20
Mareleau had known from the start that her time at Ridine Castle would be time poorly spent, but she’d underestimated just how pointless it would be. She sat on an old-fashioned divan—furbished in a mauve brocade that had already been out of date last year—in her appointed room, doing the needlework she was supposed to be teaching Princess Aveline. Mareleau had been at the castle since yesterday, yet not once had the princess paid a visit. And Mareleau certainly wasn’t going to call uponher. Aveline had proven herself quite capable of reciting proper protocol for royal behavior, which meant she damn well knew she owed Mareleau the first visit. Perhaps an apology too. Come to think of it, she never did receive the congratulations she’d been due, and she’d fully spelled it out for Aveline.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed her embroidery needle through the linen with more force than necessary, pricking her finger on the other side. Dropping her embroidery hoop to her lap, she brought the stinging finger to her mouth. She glanced at her two ladies, Breah and Ann, to see if they noted her distress, but they were too embroiled in gossip at the other side of the tea table, their own embroidery hoops barely touched in their laps. Not that she wanted their attention. She hated when they doted on her too much. Thankfully, Breah was too practical to get flustered by small things and Ann was too vapid to care more than she should. If anyone would fret over the queen’s pricked finger it would be the simpering Sera, and she was officially serving the princess now. She supposed Lurel would have made quite the fuss too, but she…
Mareleau’s heart sank. She still couldn’t reconcile that her cousin was no longer living. Time and again, she found herself forgetting, found herself expecting her cousin to pop around the corner and chide Mareleau over some perceived wrongdoing. As annoyed as Mareleau had been with the girl most of the time, she now realized that much of that annoyance had been tangled with a thread of affection. It struck Mareleau as cruel that she’d never get to say goodbye. And since she hadn’t had the foresight to have her ladies pack mourning attire, the closest she could get to showing outward respect for her loss was the navy gown she wore today.
She removed the injured finger from between her lips and found that it had already stopped bleeding. Setting aside her hoop, she left the divan and wandered to the window, winding three strands of hair between her fingers as she went. The view outside revealed the dense forest beyond the castle wall, crowned in a misty morning fog. It wasn’t the most spectacular view, but it was tolerable enough to make her wish she could curl up on the ledge and press her forehead to the window glass, much like she often did in her favorite alcove at Verlot. Even if the sill was large enough to sit on—which it wasn’t—she couldn’t show such unqueenly behavior in front of her ladies.
She glanced back at them, still chattering away. Breah’s blonde head bobbed as she laughed at something the crimson-haired Ann had said. Mareleau envied Ann’s red hair and Breah’s slender, willowy form. More than that, she envied the ease with which they laughed. Mareleau hadn’t laughed with such unbridled restraint since she was much younger. Perhaps not since before she and Larylis had first been forced apart three years ago.
Her heart pulsed with longing for her husband, sending a wave of sorrow so strong, it nearly tore a sob from her throat. She gripped the edge of the windowsill hard enough to distract her, to steady her while she breathed away the urge to cry.
She would not let a tear fall.
Not a single one.
When her sudden grief had passed, she found anger in its wake. Whirling from the window, she faced her ladies. “This is incredibly unfair.”
Breah and Ann halted their chatter and turned wide eyes toward the queen. Ann shifted anxiously in her seat, then began winding her embroidery floss around her finger. Meanwhile, Breah set aside her needlework and rose from her chair. “What can we do for you, Majesty?” she asked.
“You can tell me why the seven devils we’re here,” Mareleau said, marching past Breah to Ann and lifting the girl’s embroidery hoop from her lap, “doinghideousneedlework while the princess does gods know what.”
Ann frowned at Mareleau’s insult. “It’s a bird.”
Mareleau frowned just as deeply at what she’d been certain was a misshapen mountain. She dropped the hoop back onto her lady’s lap and sank down onto the edge of the bed. It was bedecked in the same outdated mauve brocade as the divan. “Why am I in a room rumored to have belonged to a dead queen? One who died in thisveryroom, no less?”
Breah nodded. “It’s in rather poor taste, Majesty. But it might just be a rumor.”
Ann swiveled in her seat to face them. “I heard it repeated by at least four?—”
Breah silenced the girl with a glare.
“You’re right,” Ann rushed to say, “it’s probably just a rumor.”
“I had a plan,” Mareleau mumbled. “I was supposed to at leastpretendto be useful here.”
Despite Mareleau’s dread over having to spend two weeks at Ridine, she’d managed to give herself some sense of purpose. During her travels, she’d organized lists of all the wisdom she’d share with Aveline, all the etiquette, manners, and feminine arts she could pass on. She wasn’t normally a fan of anything consideredfeminine arts, nor was she one to go to such great lengths to help others, but her mission at Ridine was a scheme of sorts, and scheming was something Mareleau excelled at. If she was forced to be a spy, she’d be a damned good one.
“It’s only been a day, Majesty,” Breah said. “Aveline will come to call soon enough, and you’ll be able to chastise her for her poor behavior.”
Ann rushed to stand beside Breah. “Have you asked your uncles where she is?”
Mareleau scoffed. Shehadasked her uncles, and when she’d inquired how the seven devils she was supposed to get close to the princess when the girl wouldn’t even observe respectful protocol, they’d told her there had been a development. According to Kevan and Ulrich, the princess was in charge of refurbishing some library that Mareleau was forbidden to step foot in. When she’d asked for more of an explanation, they’d refused.
Never before had it been clearer; her purpose at Ridine was less about being her father’s spy and more about being punished.
A knock sounded at the door, and Mareleau’s heart leaped, half with hope, half with dread. While she was eager to busy herself with something—even if thatsomethingwas a princess whom she didn’t exactly get along swimmingly with—the thought of conversing with Aveline set her teeth on edge. She’d humiliated her yesterday, going on about how Mareleau wasn’therqueen, and she didn’t belong tothiskingdom. Mareleau was almost of a mind to take everything back and feel gratitude for her state of boredom, but when Breah opened the door to reveal an unfamiliar face that did not belong to Aveline, Mareleau felt her anger return.
How dare the princess still not visit!Shewas a queen.
Breah closed the door without inviting the caller in and brought an envelope to her. “You have a letter, Majesty.”
Mareleau tore it from the girl’s grasp and rushed to the window. All prior thoughts fled her mind as she flicked open the seal without even looking at it, hoping to see a familiar script?—
She pursed her lips. Why she wasn’t used to disappointment by now was a mystery. She should have known better than to expect a letter from Larylis. Not because he hadn’t been writing, but because she’d already received one from him that morning. She rarely went a day without one, and they’d become the singular bright spot in her current state of existence. If she could reread them all day, she’d never suffer from boredom. However, along with joy, her husband’s letters brought sorrow too, simply because they were apart. Her emotions had already grown volatile as of late; everything seemed to bring her to the edge of either tears or rage. Should she spend all day reading her beloved’s words, she might forget how to keep her composure at all.
