Her brows narrow. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
My stomach twists.
She smiles serenely. “We can discuss this in the morning.”
I feel like I’m sleepwalking as I follow her up the central staircase of the castle. Like in Kensington, there is a massive tree growing up through the center. The tops of its leaves brush the domed, stained glass ceiling. Moonlight filters through the great hall in a pastel mosaic of colors. The sun has gone down fast.
Lydia leads me to a room on the fourth floor, a quiet corridor that seems to house rooms for guests.
She stops at a periwinkle door and turns the cut crystal handle. We step inside and she trails a gentle hand along the silk bed linens.
“I hope you’ll find the room to your liking,” she says like the perfect hostess.
The room is nothing like Kensington Palace. There is no dark mahogany, polished brass, or thick carpeting with geometric patterns.
One wall is made up entirely of windows that look out on the countryside, with its changing autumn leaves. The bed is white marble, with four posts that reach up to the ceiling. The vanity is mirrored glass, even the drawers, which reflect speckles of starlight around the room.
“Don’t do that,” I say to my sister, suddenly exhausted. It’s been more than a day since I last slept.
“Do what?” she asks innocently.
“Act like you’re some prim and proper wife welcoming me to a weekend at your country estate.”
I expect Lydia to laugh but she hesitates. “This is my home. I am queen of the Otherworld.”
“Yes,” I laugh, “but, like, not really.”
Her brows furrow and I know, in that way sisters do, that we’re about to have a fight.
“I’ve ruled this kingdom for years while Bram plays with you in England,” she says harshly.
“Plays with me? He’s tortured me! Every thought I’ve had these past four months has been for you and Emmett and your safety.”
“Yes, exactly.Four months.You have no idea what it is to rule a kingdom.”
I stare my sister down, the heat of anger rising in my chest. “I’ve been holding England together with my bare, bloody hands! Every morning we wake to new bodies in the streets. The government is barely functioning. I’ve had to learn tax codes, agricultural practices, social services—” I list them off on my fingers. “All the while hosting infernal luncheons for titled ladies because that is what is expected of me.”
Lydia reaches up and brushes her eye, leaving a smear of glitter across her cheekbone. The sight of it should infuriate me more, but instead it punctures me completely.
“I’ve had to be his tariffs and tea party queen. You got to be his magic queen.” My voice cracks.
She puts her hands on her hips just like she used to when she chastised me for acting like a baby. “This is just like when we were children. You think it’s been easy for me ruling the Otherworld as a mortal? I’ve had to fight for every crumb of respect I have here.”
“It’s not fair!” I can’t help but yell. “I was the one who believed in magic.”
This place is foreign, but this feeling is not. I am well acquainted with the emotion of looking at Lydia and wanting to be her—and then hating her for it.
Envy settles in my stomach sourly.
“Did you come here to fight with me?” Lydia frowns.
“I came here to save you.”
I expect her to say something petulant likeI don’t need saving, but she pauses. It’s as if she really looks at me for the first time. Then she starts to laugh. “You’re the queen of England,” she says in disbelief.
“I—I am the queen of England,” I sputter, but then I start to laugh too and soon we’re both hunched over, wiping tears from our eyes. It’s all so absurd.
I cross the room and pull her into a hug. It’s awkward with our heavily beaded sleeves and Lydia’s sharp crown, but it’s a relief nonetheless. “I missed you,” I mutter into her unbound hair. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
