I take the empty goblet from her hand and pass it to Marion who replaces it with a full one.
“How is your husband, is he well?” I ask. Pax is one of Bram’s most trusted advisers. With blond hair and a sneering expression, he’s one of my least favorites.
“He is well, Your Majesty,” she replies, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.
I offer a warm smile. “Please, no need for all that formality. Ihope you can think of us”—I pause and gesture to the other girls—“all of us, as friends.”
This gets a small smile out of her. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Marion steps beside me and expertly shifts the conversation to a recent visit to the modiste. The other girls chime in with easy chatter about building out their winter wardrobes for the coming colder months. This far west of London, the mornings are already icy, with winds whipping in from the nearby sea, though it won’t be properly bitter for another month or two.
Aurelia seems to relax with the girls’ talk of new gloves and fur-lined cloaks, and I relish it. This is all part of the plan. Tonight’s revel is only the latest step in a plot that we’ve been carrying out for months.
It wasn’t easy to find the weakest link in Bram’s court. His advisers are unfailingly loyal to him, and their wives seem equally loyal to their husbands. I didn’t trust I could say anything without risking it getting back to Bram.
But Aurelia was different. The first revel I attended I saw the other wives snickering at her from behind their insect-wing fans. Then one purposefully tripped over the tip of her pointed shoe and smeared cake all over Aurelia’s dress. It was meant to look like an accident, but I could tell it wasn’t.
It was then that our plotting began. First, Faith and Marion called on her, offering tips on how to clean buttercream out of silk. Emmy took her riding. I sent over a new shawl, claiming it matched nothing in my wardrobe.
Tonight is the culmination of all our work to get skittish Aurelia to lower her guard around us. We’re circling now. Ready to go in for the kill.
I lean in and adjust Aurelia’s slightly askew diamond necklace casually. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how was your journey here?”
“Oh, very pleasant, Your Majesty.” She takes a sip from her goblet. “They’ve magicked the houses along the Royal Crescent to be connected, so I didn’t even have to go outside.”
“I didn’t mean your journey to the revel, dear.” I smile. “I meant your journey to England from the Otherworld.”
She pauses, like a rabbit caught in a snare, and I’m terrified I’ve pushed her too far too soon, but then she takes a larger sip and lights up. “The journey to England was lovely! King Bram—”
All of a sudden, two of Bram’s guards appear, pulling Aurelia off her feet.
She screams in pure terror and kicks her mismatched shoes.
“Put her down at once!” I command. “That’s an order from your queen.”
But the guards don’t even look at me.
Aurelia sobs as they drag her from the ballroom. “Don’t tell the king, please. I don’t want him to be angry with me. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.”
“Put her down,” I insist, but it’s like I’m invisible to them.
Aurelia’s screams turn incoherent, no longer begging, but giving way to pure terror.
The guards pay her no mind. They pull her away and the door to some other house or passageway slams shut. I rattle the handle, but it’s locked.
I yank again and again until my eyes well with tears of frustration. Emmy lays a hand on my shoulder. “Ivy, stop. You’re making a scene.”
I step away and wipe my eyes.
I now know two things. One: I have failed in the only real plan I had to learn about the Otherworld, the first step to getting Emmett and Lydia back. Two: Bram and his guards are watching me more closely than I ever could have imagined.
At that moment the music stops. The party goes still.
And Bram strides in.
Chapter Two
Bram catches my arm as he bisects the crowd and pulls me into his side tight enough to hurt.
