Bijou padded over to her, stopping before her feet. Her dark eyes peered up at her, innocent and bright, and Nin reached over to pet her smooth curls. The dog leaped up on the mattress, rolling on her back to give her better access. Nin obliged, stroking Bijou’s soft belly while focusing on the steady rhythm of her breathing. Yet, her mind swirled with doubts—was this a ploy to rebuke her, or had the queen discovered her true identity?
When Lucille returned with Cedric, his brow furrowed at the note in his hand.
“Keep your composure,” he said to her reassuringly. “And let’s put you in something light with fewer jewels—to show humility. You are penitent but unshaken.”
Nin nodded, accepting the advice with a long, steady breath.
Lucille fitted her into a pale blue dress that matched the blue in her eyes. Rows of ruched silk draped across the bodice and trailed down the skirt like a twisting ribbon. A string of pearls decorated her neck, and a shepherdess hat with matching blue silk and flowers adorned her updo. Nin steadied her fidgeting fingers, forcing herself to stand still as Lucille worked.
“The tea will be in the pavilion by the gardens. This is good,” Cedric said when she emerged fully dressed. “It is less formal than in the queen’s private salon. There is still hope for you.”
Although Nin knew he meant it encouragingly, her stomach clamped with nerves. But as soon as Cedric opened the bedroom doors, she straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and donned the mask as Princess Marianne.
Sunshine bathed the vast gardens, where winding paths created a maze of flowers and marble. Nin appreciated Cedric’s company, and when he discreetly whispereddirections—otherwise, she knew she would end up lost in the gardens for hours. The white stone pavilion boasted half-dome windows and tall panes, framed with delicate chiffon curtains to allow light in. Winged angels, carved along the edge of the gray-blue tiled roof, gazed down over the low stone fence that surrounded the pavilion.
“I cannot accompany you any further,” Cedric whispered. “But I believe in you. Do not let them bully you. Remember, you are the princess.”
Nin swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as a servant guided her inside.
Immediately, she was met with the scent of warm sugar and soft floral perfumes. A polished marble table set for six people sat at the center of the room. Porcelain teacups rested upon it, each hand-painted with tiny floral motifs and garlands looping around the rims, their gold edges catching the light.
The queen sat at the head of the table, her gown a soft, shimmery, angelic ivory. Her powdered hair towered above everyone else’s, sparkling as though dusted with stars. Four ladies of differing rank murmured and smiled among themselves, their dresses a wash of pastels, matching the blooming flowers.
One seat remained unoccupied beside the queen, and Nin approached it with poised steps.
Some of the ladies paused their conversations, studying her with painted smiles and calculating eyes. Nin sat down—too far forward—and the chair scraped against the marble floor with an unflattering screech. She tried to hide her flusteredexpression behind a small smile, folding her hands in her lap just as Cedric had taught her.
A servant poured tea into her cup. She glanced at the condiments—milk, sugar, honey, and an array of delicate jars—but she remembered Cedric warning her that the princess did not take sugar, only milk. Quietly, she followed the routine: a dab of milk stirred three times.
When she took a sip, the grassy, bitter notes overwhelmed her palate, and she withheld a grimace. She had consumed far worse things, but she eyed the sugar, wishing she could improve the drink’s taste.
Nin discreetly analyzed the ladies before her, remembering their names and ranking: Duchess Guinevere de Auvral, Comtesse Sabine de Laronne, Marquise Élodie de Fontaine, and Lady Amélie Courtenay. Cedric had warned her especially about the Duchess, the queen’s most trusted lady-in-waiting—known for her sharp eyes and sharper tongue.
The queen turned to Nin, and she prayed the woman wouldn’t be able to see right through her. Sitting this close, she feared every flaw might give her away.
“Your Highness, it is a great pleasure that you are well enough to join us again,” the queen addressed her, sipping her tea delicately.
Nin lowered her gaze. “Your Majesty is very gracious. I do feel much more recovered.”
Marquise Fontaine fluttered her fan and leaned forward with a delicate smile. “I told Duchess Auvral how blessed we are that the princess’s health is restored. Why, only last night, you appeared to bebrimmingwith strength.”
Soft, tinkling laughter rippled around the table. Nin’s grip on her cup tightened.
“It was quite a show of bravery,” Comtesse Laronne added.
“Indeed,” added Lady Courtenay, flashing her fan open. “Some battles are fiercest when one’s enemy is small, round, and green.”
Another wave of polite laughter swept through the group, and even the queen’s lips twitched slightly.
Nin set down her teacup with excessive care. She knew she should disregard the remarks—to accept them with grace and humility—but as Cedric reminded her:
“Do not let them bully you. Remember, you are the princess.”
“I suppose next time,” Nin said evenly, “I should be more prepared—with a sword rather than a fork.”
Several fans froze mid-flutter. The Duchess tilted her head, a smirk curving her mouth.
“Well,” said Duchess Auvral, her voice as slick as her glossy black curl resting against her collarbone. “I suppose the Maker rewards those who carry themselves with humility—and a dash of humor.”
