Her eyes shift, and it makes me believe that’s true.
“He wants me, Your Majesty. I promise you that,” I say, cleaning my brushes to put them up. I’m done pretending this is a normal session. “He has spent his life surrounded by people who want something from him, and I’m the first person who doesn’t. I’m not with him for the crown, not the title, not the lifestyle. I didn’t know who he was when we first met.”
“This sounds rehearsed.”
“It’s my truth.”
The afternoon light has slightly shifted, and I think the queen might realize she’s underestimated me.
“Let me be very clear about something,” she says, standing. All the false sympathy in her voice is gone. “You are not to see him again. That’s a direct order. Soon you’ll begin the official portrait of Prince Louis and Princess Tatiana. Their courtship will move forward. The ball is at the end of next week, and the country will know who his bride will be then. You will do the job you were hired to do. You will capture their connection. Their chemistry. Their future as the leaders of Montclaire.”
I keep my voice flat. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Your position here is a privilege, not a right, Miss Cross.” Shedoesn’t raise her voice, but the temperature in the room feels like it’s dropped ten degrees. “You’re the first female portrait artist this palace has commissioned—ever. That makes you visible. The last thing we need is a scandal—do you understand? That will not help Louis; it will only hurt his reputation. However, if my hand is forced, I will replace you. There are dozens of artists who would take your place without causing half the complications you’ve created. Artists who understand their role and don’t confuse professional access with personal entitlement.”
“I’m not the one confusing the two,” I tell her.
“There was a time when I was exactly like you. A beautiful young woman who got swept up in something bigger than she could handle.” Her voice softens, but it’s not kind. It’s condescending. “I’m offering you an exit, Addison. Finish this commission, then go back to New York with your reputation intact. I will make sure you get whatever you want with your art. But you’ll need to make up an excuse and leave on your own.”
She studies me, begging me with her eyes, nearly bribing me.
“No, thank you.” I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I won’t enable your behavior. You’ll have to remove me from my position.” I hold her gaze. “And until then, you’re stuck with me, Your Majesty. Simply put, I’m not going anywhere.”
The queen’s jaw stays locked. I’m not the easy target she thought I was.
“We’re finished for today,” she finally says. “Pack your things.”
I clean my brushes, taking my time with each one. I refuse to rush, knowing she’s watching my every move. I wipe the excess paint from my palette and seal my tubes, stuffing everything into my bag. When I’m finished, I turn to face her and dip into a curtsy.
“Your Majesty. Thank you for your time.”
“Miss Cross.” She nods, and her expression gives nothing away. “Next week, when you start your next project of Louis and Tatiana, you will be professional. You will be gracious. You will do your job.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” I straighten from the curtsy. “I will not let you down.”
I don’t wait for her response. I turn and walk out of the room with my head held high, my footsteps steady against the marble floors. The hallway stretches ahead of me, and it feels like it triples in length.
The queen thinks she knows how this story ends. She believes I’ll slink back to New York with my heart in pieces because she asked me to, and that her speech about forbidden women and fetishes planted enough doubt to make me question everything. I’ve seen the women Louis dated, and I’ve read the articles about the handfuls of heartache he’d caused. Maybe Louis wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was his parents all along.
I let out a deep sigh. Louis’s mother isn’t the only one making moves in this palace. Tea with the king is in a few days. If he’s the romantic one, then we’ll have plenty to talk about.
23
LOUIS
The guard outside my door almost startles me. As soon as I move past him, he follows me. I turn to face him.
“I’d like to take a walk. Alone, please,” I tell him, keeping my voice pleasant even though I want to put my fist through the wall.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. The queen has requested you remain in your quarters for the evening.”
“Requested? Like it’s a suggestion?”
“Yes, sir.”
