She faces him and crinkles her nose, an expression that’s unnatural on her beautiful face. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She turns back to the rest of us. “It’s my deepest desire to ensurethat Bram ends the season with his best possible match. We have only twelve weeks, and during that time my son will be traveling between London and Oxford, as he’s still finishing up his exams. Because of that, he has made a list of traits he seeks in a wife, and he’s generously allowed me to advise him.” She gestures to her son. “Tell them, darling.”
Bram takes another sip of wine and pulls a paper from his breast pocket. “I hope for someone who is clever, dedicated, honest, and determined.”
He puts the paper back in his pocket, and his mother goes on.
“During your stay, you’ll take lessons with Viscountess Bolingbroke and lessons with me. I will evaluate you each in the traits my son has asked for and advise him on who will be the best bride—”
“Though the final choice is mine,” Bram interrupts.
The queen pats his arm. “Of course it is, my darling.”
I shift uncomfortably as I remember what Emmett said to me last night. We must make him love me so completely, he’ll marry me no matter what his mother says.
The clock strikes ten as we push back our chairs and rise to leave. We’re nearly to the door when the queen clears her throat, and we pause.
“Girls, wait a minute.”
Bram pauses by the door.
“Not you, dear, we’re discussing female things,” the queen says.
We’re left alone with the queen, who gestures for us to return to the table. “There’s no need for Bram to know the details of our lessons. Men are such sensitive creatures. Not like us.” The firelight reflects off her tiara, and I realize I was wrong. It’s not inlaid with pearls, but with human teeth.
“Yes, ma’am,” we all say.
Queen Mor takes her empty wineglass and pushes it toward Emmy, the closest girl to her right.
“A tear to ensure your silence.”
We glance at each other uneasily, but the others know as well as I do, we have no real choice in this, not if we still want to be considered as Bram’s bride.
“You want me to cry?” Emmy asks.
“Just one tear.”
Emmy hesitates, then plucks out an eyelash hard enough to make her eyes water. One fat tear slides down the edge of the glass.
Marion wrenches her eyes open until they get dry enough to cry, and next to her, Olive and Faith follow suit.
Greer is trying to do the same but can’t manage it. “Slap me,” she begs.
I hesitate.
She swears under her breath at me, then slaps herself hard enough across the face that just watching it is enough to make me cry too.
She passes me the glass and I let one tear flow into it.
The queen looks us over and smiles. “What good girls you are.”
As we rise to leave, the queen knocks the glass to the floor, shattering it. I don’t think she needed our tears for the magic at all, she just wanted to watch us squirm. Disgust climbs up my throat.
A footman carrying a silver tray pushes past me as I’m nearly out the door. I turn back and make direct eye contact with Queen Mor as the cloche is lifted.
We leave the queen alone to take her evening meal, and it’s only once the door shuts that I realize what it was: a bowl of milk and honey.
Chapter Thirteen
