Gossip never fazed me when I was just the duchess’s daughter. I was never my true self under Mother’s influence. But now, I was my own mistress. I wanted to be seen as a worthy crown princess—far more than a pretty ornament or a vessel for heirs. Far more than Queen Cordelia was ever allowed to be.
It was because of this that I had moved into the palace and asked to be Bennett’s shadow for the past month.
I didn't know what I expected, but it seemed that all Bennett did was work. If it wasn’t reading reports, it was social calls with courtiers. Then council meetings with the king, and now welcoming foreign ambassadors into the palace. Meals and sleep were merely short intermissions—something I found vastly uncomfortable due to my life of leisure at Greenwood Abbey.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and picked up Bennett’s notes. The first lines of his dense handwriting flickered in the candlelight.
Ambassador Raven of Hortvia—mentioned trade routes to Olderea and the rising prices of witch-made textiles. Check in with Hortvia textiles to compare pricing.
Good heavens. How had he even noticed that passing comment within Raven’s two minute greeting?
Ambassador Judith of Florensia—wore furs despite weather. Perhaps a statement on the value of Florensian furs.
Furs on a hot day? Surely the statement was more fashion-related.
I fought back a yawn, squinting at the third line. My eyes blurred. I rubbed them, not expecting to see wetness on my hand.
My thoughts were filling in for Misty’s. We would’ve joked about this together.
I glanced around at the empty bed and the threshold of the overly large balcony. No feline form in sight. No friend to confide in. No pet to curl around my head during sleep. Heavens, I missed her. And Pippin. And their darling kittens.
I was jolted from my pitiful state with the sound of a splatter. One of my tears mottled the corner of Bennett’s notes, causing the ink to bloom. I hurriedly wiped it away, but the damage was done. The seventh line was now irrevocably smeared.
“Ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, wiping my eyes furiously. I put the notes away and sunk into bed, too tired to continue.
If only Sister Scarlett could see me now. She’d be thrilled she finally wrote an article with some truth.
3
The next morning I woke an hour earlier than usual.
I knew Bennett got up around the same time, and I hoped to catch him thirty minutes before breakfast to suggest a stroll in the gardens. I wouldn’t have a quiet moment with him otherwise, since the breakfast table would be infested with ambassadors and Ulysses apparently had a full schedule of activities for the day.
As I tended to my toilette, I winced at the sight of myself in the vanity mirror. There were dark circles beneath my eyes and pink patches of skin on my forehead and nose—sunburns from stepping outside for too long yesterday. I recalled how Bennett drew away from my kiss. I hurriedly dabbed powder over my face.Somevanity must be excused.
After retrieving Bennett’s notes from my bedside table, I headed out and met him just as he was walking into the throne room.
“Good morning,” I said, pulling on a smile. I hoped it looked more cheery than forced. Normally I would’ve greeted him with an embrace, but I held myself back.
“Good morning, Cissa,” Bennett said. His hair was perfectly swept back, his lapels were straight, and his cravat was a soft lilac satin knotted in the latest fashion. I didn’t know how he managed to look well-rested despite the hours he kept. Perhapsbecause the sun agreed with his skin more than mine, giving it a tanned, golden appearance.
As I was ogling him, an ambassador walked past. He had white streaks in his black hair and should have been recognizable, but no name came to mind.
“Good morning, Lord Payne,” Bennett said pleasantly. It was as if all his awkwardness from last winter had dissolved. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
