She rolled her eyes. “I swear, Hasan, it’s like when you put your mind to something, you get tunnel vision. I don’t know how you managed to block out everything else, but Poppy Sutherland’s wedding is all anyone is talking about. The wedding of the viceroy’s only daughter would have been a large enough affair, but this one is laced with so much scandal. Her origin story, but also the fact that she was missing for nearlythree weeksafter her engagement party. The tabloids have been minting money for a month.”
“I thought...” He’d thought what? That Poppy would protest? Richard had not gone to all that effort to get her back just to listen to what Poppy wanted. He had seen how she’d struggled against him, how he’d dragged her toward the car carelessly. Men treated donkeys with more care.
“She’s being forced,” Hasan said quietly. “I know there is nothing we can do for her now, but I vowed to be her ally. It feels wrong to allow it to continue.”
Harithi sighed. “You said it yourself. There is nothing we can do for her now, Hasan. We have to stay focused on Paranjay. Poppy will have to save herself.”
He snorted, and she gave him a sharp look. “Don’t underestimate her. She was a pawn in a game, but she bargained her way into being a player. She’s craftier than she looks.”
“I suppose,” he said, but he didn’t see how Poppy would be able to work her way out of her current dilemma without allies. “So how do we find out what Richard is really up to?”
“The maids inside Montrose Manor may know something,” she said. “They tidy office spaces, bring tea and refreshments whenever there are guests. I’d wager many of them know more than we’d think.”
“With all these new checkpoints, I won’t be able to cross Morning Bridge, let alone infiltrate Montrose Manor,” he scoffed. “They’d arrest me in a heartbeat.”
“No, you can’t.” Harithi smiled, teeth flashing. “But I can. Give me some time, and I’ll figure out how to get through those checkpoints. Sounds like a plan?”
“Barely.” Hasan grimaced. “But it’s as good as we’re going to get.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Divine Vessel
When Agatha Lark’s girls rang the doorbell, it echoed like a death knell. The dreaded morning had arrived, and Poppy still had no plan to escape. The assistants moved quickly, putting her into the stockings, underskirt, and hoop frame that would support the overskirt, working on her with the cool, impersonal air of styling a storefront mannequin. They yanked on the ties mercilessly, constricting the bodice with every pull, squeezing Poppy’s ribs and limiting her movements. As they bound her hair into an intricate braid, they tugged with the same force they’d used to lace the dress. Poppy winced, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
After the girls had finished braiding, they retrieved a basket of red roses and baby’s breath. They threaded the flowers into a crown on Poppy’s scalp, weaving them into the braid. They then departed, leaving Demetria with the final task, traditionally left to the bride’s mother: pinning the veil.
“You look lovely,” her mother sighed. She was already dressed in her mother-of-the-bride outfit, a green dress the shade of rice paddies. Gold embroidery ran over the silk, curling around emerald and diamond embellishments that glittered when she moved.
“Did you know that white is a mourning color among Virians?” Poppy asked, examining one cream sleeve.
Demetria pursed her lips as she stepped forward, reaching over Poppy to settle the veil on her hair. “Come now, Poppy, don’t be morbid. It’s your wedding day.”
“It’s notmyanything,” she snapped, wrenching her head away. “Idon’t want this.”
“If you knew any better, you would!” Two bright-pink spots of color bloomed through her mother’s powder. “Who do you think you’ll be, without your father’s authority behind you? Richard can give you a name, a title, a permanent position in society even after your father and I are gone.”
“What kind of society have you created, that your only daughter can be so easily discarded? That the only power she has is the name of her husband?”
Her mother flinched, but then her face softened. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle. “I understand how unfair it seems. When your father and I learned that I would never carry his heir, well, there was talk. Many people suggested that he should divorce me and take a new wife. Being spoken about like that, like I was disposable... it added stress in a period of loneliness and grieving for me. But I had to shoulder it. That’s simply how things are.”
Poppy sneered. “You mean to say that you and Father couldn’t have doneanything, all these years, to give the position of a viceroy’s wife a little more power? A little more security?”
Her mother’s tone became patronizing. “It takes more than just two people to create change, Poppy.”
“You weren’t just two people?—you are the highest-ranked nobles on the island!”
“Perhaps together, you and your husband can work to repair what you feel your father and I overlooked,” she suggested, her voice frosty.
She moved again to pin the veil, but Poppy pulled away a second time. “I will not be ignored,” she said. “I am the true heir to the viceroy’s office, not Richard.”
“This again?” Her mother rolled her eyes. “Poppy, when will you learn to be grateful for what you have?”
“What Ihaveis the right to rule,” Poppy insisted, “just as much as any other natural-born child you might have had.” Desperation rose in her chest. Each second brought her closer to the wedding. She only had one more card to play: the truth. It was a weak one, but she tried anyway: “All Richard wants is the office. As soon as we’re wed, he plans to be rid of me.”
Her mother hesitated, holding the veil uncertainly. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Poppy’s eyes burned. She blinked once, hard. “He told me as much.”
