She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t actually curse her. I’m not a witch. I don’t know how to curse people.”
“It doesn’t matter. What you said scared her. It’s important that she is kept comfortable to keep the baby safe.”
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing the fact that the queen was a liar, that she wasn’t with child and had never been. She’d learned her lesson, though. Her brother was obviously never going to listen. She’d have to wait until later to sayI told you so. Perhaps in the meantime she could try to sort out why a queen would feel the need to lie about such a silly thing in the first place. She knew queens were expected to bear sons, but she couldn’t quite grasp the significance or the pressure involved. Maybe her brother was right. Maybe she was too young to speak on such complicated matters.
But still…
“I don’t want to apologize.”
Her brother’s expression softened again as he took her hand in his. “I know, but you’re a princess. The older you get the more you’ll come to understand that being royal often means doing a whole host of things you’d rather not do. Please, Cora.”
The name made her breath hitch. Only their mother had ever called her Cora, and usually only when they were alone. It was a nickname taken from her middle name—Corasande—a name that represented her mother’s homeland in the Southern Isles. If she was being honest, she preferred Cora to Aveline. Aveline sounded like a stuffy old queen like Linette while Cora was fit for someone wild and free. Like whom she’d prefer to be.
She knew Dimetreus was manipulating her by using that name, but she found it effective nonetheless. “Fine,” she ground out, “I’ll apologize. But only for pretending to curse her. Everything else I said was true.”
Her brother’s expression hardened, but he released a resigned sigh. “It’s a start. Now, get going.”
“I have to do it now?”
His only answer was a pointed look.
Shoulders slumped, she dragged her feet down the hall in the direction of the queen’s chambers. Linette had separate quarters from the king. Cora was rehearsing a stiff apology when her feet stopped moving of their own accord. A dark and hollow feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. She took another few steps but the sense of wrongness increased, prickling the hair on her arms?—
“Your Highness.”
She startled at the voice and found the queen’s youngest maid brushing by, arms laden with a serving tray bearing tea and cookies. The girl was about Cora’s age. “Where are you taking that?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
The maid paused and blushed, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. “Queen Linette, Your Highness.”
Cora walked up to her and extended her hands toward the tray. “I’ll take it.”
“But…but it’s what I’m supposed to do.” The maid stepped back, expression struck with something between terror and indignation. “A princess cannot carry a tray.”
Cora cut the girl a glare, but she only blinked back at her. With a grumbling sigh, Cora unclasped a bracelet—one of many cumbersome, shiny baubles she was forced to wear—from around her wrist and held it out to the girl. “Payment.”
“I…I can’t take that.”
“You can and you will. That’s an order. Now take it and go. I need toapologize to the queen.” She said the last part with a hefty dose of mockery.
The maid seemed too stunned to do anything but obey, her hands trembling as she passed the tray to Cora and accepted the bracelet in return. A flash of greed lit the girl’s eyes once her fingers curled fully around the item. Then, with a vibrant smile, she curtsied and darted down the opposite end of the hall.
With a proper offer of apology in hand, Cora continued to the queen’s rooms. Only then did she recall the eerie feeling that had first halted her progress. It crept into her bones once more, echoed through her blood. Shadows darkened the glow of lamplight lining the corridor. Sound became hollow as the halls emptied, dimmed, and closed in tight around her.
Cora remembered she was dreaming. With that realization came a reminder of everything she knew was coming. She struggled against her dream-self, tried to force her feet to stop. But the small version of her continued on, step after step, even as her terror grew.
Her next step brought her to the door.
The bedroom.
The blood.
Duke Morkai whirled to face her. With a devious grin, he lifted the queen’s blood from the sheets. It rose to meet his palm in thin red ribbons that he played like the strings of a lute.
Cora dropped the tray.
Her scream jolted her awake.
She blinked into dim light,found something soft against her cheek. The next thing she noticed was a rocking motion. She lifted her head, saw a shaft of pale sunlight peeking between a velvet curtain and a small window. Was it already sunrise? Another turn of her head revealed a door, leather-covered walls, and a seat beneath her draped with furs. She was in a coach. That explained the constant rocking. Perhaps that had been what had woken her. Not her scream but the jostling of the carriage.
