She shakes it, her grip firm and steady. “We have a deal.”
I grab my jacket from the chair by the door. “I believe you promised me dinner.”
“I did.” She manages a small smile. “Shall we give your mother something to celebrate?”
Delphine gives me a dirty look when I leave my room. The guard follows behind me, but so does Delphine and her guard.
“What are you doing, Louis? She’s a snake! You can’t trust her.”
“I don’t,” I say without hesitation. “Leave us, Delphi. Please.”
I turn to my sister as Tatiana continues toward the dinner.
“She’s tricking you.”
“Maybe I’m tricking her.”
“Oh? Oh. Okay.” Then she smacks me upside my head. “Don’t trust her.”
“I won’t. I have to go. Meet me soon.”
She walks away, shaking her head, and I catch up to Tatiana. I’m aware of eyes on us from every window. Staff pause in their work to watch us pass. A photographer appears from nowhere, and I know the pictures will be on my mother’s desk within the hour.
The table is set with white linens and crystal glasses, candles casting warm light across the roses that surround us. I pull out Tatiana’s chair before she can, and I take the seat across from her.
“To unlikely alliances,” she says below her breath, raising her glass.
“To getting what we want.”
“Exactly,” she says.
We clink glasses, and I drink it all in one gulp. My mother selected my favorite Pinot for this charade.
I lean in close. “We have a lot to discuss.”
“Yes, we do.”
Tomorrow, these photographs will be posted in the royal news. And I have no way to warn Addison beforehand.
I have to see her soon.
24
ADDISON
The king’s private library smells like old books and pipe tobacco, even though I’m fairly certain no one has smoked in this room for decades. It’s a nostalgic smell, familiar in a way that reminds me of Papa’s study back home. I find myself relaxing as a butler guides me to a pair of armchairs positioned near a window overlooking the eastern gardens.
“His Majesty will be with you shortly,” the guy says, and then I’m left alone.
I use the time to study the room, looking for details that tell me a story about Louis’s father. The bookshelves are packed with volumes of books that have actually been read. The spines are cracked and the pages are worn soft, just like the recipe books in Louis’s kitchen.
Family photos cover one wall. They’re not like the formal portraits that hang in the public rooms, but candid shots of children on beaches and picnics in meadows. There’s one of what looks like a very young Louis, covered in mud and grinning like he just discovered magic actually existed. I’ve seen that look on his face before—genuine happiness. His front teeth are missing, and his hair is sticking up in twelve different directions.
I’m still looking at that photo when the door opens behind me.
“That was the summer he decided to build a moat around the garden shed,” the king says, and I turn to find him smiling at the memory. “He was seven. Very determined. Very muddy. His motherwas furious about the state of his clothes, but I couldn’t bring myself to scold him. He’d worked so hard.”
“It’s a wonderful photo.” I turn and curtsy to him. “Your Highness.”
