“Didn’t think it necessary,” Faith answered for both of them.
She scares me too. She has all the same knowledge about Bram that I do, but with an angelic face and actual experience with boys. I bet Emmett didn’t have to teach her how to flirt.
Now we’re all crossing the wide green lawn over to the main palace residence in tense silence, heading to tea in the queen’s private drawing room.
A dozen of those strange, silent footmen are waiting for us in aparlor tucked away in the queen’s private apartments.
Viscountess Bolingbroke places her hands on her hips. “I hope you’re ready for another of Her Majesty’s lessons. I heard you all had such fun at the last one.” I knew this was coming, but it still sends a chill down my spine.
“A good wife possesses many talents,” Bolingbroke says. “She must be a perfect hostess, a dedicated bookkeeper, the very heart and soul of her household. She must provide her husband with comfort and understanding.”
“Is that what Queen Mor does for her husbands?” Marion asks. She’s standing behind Faith, but her voice carries across the whole room, which settles into tense silence.
Viscountess Bolingbroke cocks her head, her face as stony as ever. “She is not a wife. She is a queen.”
Dread beads in cold sweat at the nape of my neck.
The viscountess stands and gestures to the footmen lined up along the wall.
They open a set of double doors at the end of the room, revealing another sitting room, this one even larger.
Emmy, perhaps emboldened by her status as the current leader, takes a step into the adjacent room. Greer, unable to turn left, has to make a full circle to follow us in.
Three large windows look out onto the park, where visitors and members of court stroll idly in the spring sunshine.
The sitting room is ordinary, save for its size. The wallpaper in hues of sage green and lavender matches the elaborately patterned carpet. There are a few distinct sitting areas, collections of chairs and sofas, a pianoforte, a whist table, a basket of embroidery supplies, and a roaring fire.
Silently, like she’s floating on air, the queen strides into the room and settles on a silk fainting couch. As if to discourage us from acknowledging her presence, she flicks open a peacock feather fan.
“What now?” Greer asks.
A footman clears his throat, and we turn to him. “Per Her Majesty’s design, you will find six different stations.” He gestures around the room to the golden pendant flags placed throughout. “You will complete the work of a station for ten minutes, then a bell will ring, and you will rotate. This will go on until there is only one young lady left, and she will be declared the winner and the recipient of the queen’s favor.”
It’s an endurance exercise, like the May Queen competition.
“Ready?” the footman asks, and because we have no other choice, we say yes.
I sit first on the sofa by the basket of sewing supplies, figuring it’s a simple enough place to start. I’ve been sewing since before I could read.
Arranged in a row are six embroidery hoops, each tied with a silk ribbon that’s been embroidered with our names. I pick up the one that saysIvy.
Someone has already sketched the design in tracing pencil. I hold it up to the light to make out the letters.Brash and unrefined. A less pretty version of her mad, ruined sister.
My eyes well with tears as fury pulses through me.
At random, I choose another embroidery hoop, Greer’s. Traced on the fabric I findDestined to age as poorly as her mother, with half her social graces.
Emmy’s next.Untalented, unreliable, a blight on her family name.
“What is this?” I ask in horror.
“Any bride of Bram’s will have to have thick skin. Don’t let the needle prick you, dear.” The viscountess strolls casually into the other room, and I know this conversation is over. I swallow my anger and thread my needle.
Greer sits down at the pianoforte by the window.
Olive takes her place at a larger table covered with slips of paper.
Faith, Emmy, and Greer walk into an adjacent room.
