“The plans are coming along,” the first one says.
“I agree,” says the second man, shutting the door behind him. “I will tell the king—”
Upon seeing us, both men quickly stop talking. “I hardly think the northern wing is fit for foreigners,” the first man says to Leandra, with a pointed glance at me.
“Of course.” Leandra, flushing, grabs my arm and hurries me away. When we have turned the corner I ask, “Those men are your father’s advisors, aren’t they? What were they discussing?” But she just shakes her head and replies that we mustn’t keep her mother waiting.
She moves ahead, but I can’t help look back and wonder what was in that room that Ezebo’s advisors—and the squire—don’t want me to see.
We turn down a few more corridors. Voices carry from the room Leandra marks as Queen Genevieve’s chambers.
“I don’t know why Ezebo thought he needed to fetch a wife for my grandson from the most barbaric kingdom in the world,” comes an unpleasant female voice.
“Eudora, hush. She will arrive any minute,” answers another voice, which I recognize as belonging to Queen Genevieve. She says something else but I don’t hear what. Eudora, Ezebo’s mother, the dowager queen, has pleaded a headache the last two days, so I have yet to meet her. But I heard quite a bit about her from Arianne, who referred to her as the Great Viper.
We arrive at the door and Leandra hesitates before walking in, looking at me with a horrified expression. I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. I want to hear this. And I want to catch them off guard.
“She cannot help being an Andewyn anymore than we can help being Strassburgs,” Genevieve says.
“You are not a Strassburg by birth, Genevieve,” Eudora snaps.
“Of course,” Genevieve says. “But if we are to truly accept her into the family, we must see past her origins.”
“Humph. Never trust a Galandrian. They will dazzle you with their wealth and then stab you in the back when you’re not looking. As far as I am concerned they are all a bunch of—”
“Good afternoon,” I say as I step inside. Next to me, Leandra’s shoulders slump and Ruby skips ahead of us to give her mother a hug.
Genevieve gives me an apologetic look as she reaches down to Ruby. But Eudora, the dowager queen, looks at me with unkind and appraising blue eyes that see out of a small wrinkled face.
An awkward silence descends as we all look at each other. The only sound in the room comes from the crackling of the fire. The walls of the room are covered in red tapestries. Behind Genevieve and Eudora is a dining table made of dark cherry wood.
Eudora shoos away Ruby, who tries to hug her. “Your dress is stained,” she snaps, and Ruby’s face falls. “Genevieve, how many times do I have to tell you to take a firmer hand with your daughter?” Eudora looks me up and down, staring everywhere but in my eyes. “She has small hips,” she remarks to Genevieve, as though I’m not in the room. “It is a good thing we were able to secure so much from the Galandrian treasury. With hips like those, I doubt my grandson will be able to get any sons from her.”
Eudora’s leering stare feels dirtier than any I’ve ever received from men at the Draughts. Great Viper, indeed. For once, Arianne’s assessment seems to have been right on target.
“Have the barbarians in Galandria taught you nothing?” she snaps, her eyes taking in my dress distastefully. “You don’t wear your finest gown to afternoon tea.”
“This is hardly my finest gown.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s only then that I notice Genevieve and Eudora, as well as Leandra and Ruby, are wearing dresses in muted shades.
Eudora’s cheeks seem to swell. “How dare you—”
“Eudora, I don’t think she meant anything by it—” Genevieve begins.
“Nonsense, Genevieve. I know when I am being insulted, and I won’t have it. Not in my own home. And certainly not by a barbarian.”
I open my mouth, but quickly bite back the tart reply rising to my lips. And though I’m clenching my hands so hard my nails bite into my palms, I force myself to say, “I’m sorry,” in a demure, soft voice. “I wasn’t quite sure what the Kyre-nican expectations were for afternoon tea.”
“Apology accepted,” Genevieve cuts in before Eudora can speak. “Shall we sit down?” she says with forced pleasantness, and everyone makes their way to the table.
I had thought “tea” meant sitting down for, well, a cup of tea and maybe a few slices of bread. That is what passed for tea at the Ogdens. But apparently royalty has a different standard. Platters of fruit, cheeses, olives, and bread are spread out on the table before us. Several forks and knives frame either side of the plate in front of me. Really, why do the wealthy require so many utensils just to eat a single meal?
Probably because they never have to wash their own dishes.
Genevieve and everyone else seem to be staring at me expectantly. I’m not sure what to do, so I say, “What smells so good?”
“Ah,” Genevieve says approvingly, “that is the scarlet tea. It is a Kyrenican specialty. I believe I may have fallen in love with it before I did with the king.” She smiles at me, ignoring a sharp look from Eudora, and signals to a maid hovering in the corner. “Please pour the princess a cup of scarlet tea.”
The maid complies. When I raise the cup to my lips, I smell cinnamon and peppery spices. As I sip, I feel myself growing warm all over. “This is the best tea I’ve ever had in my life,” I say honestly.
As we make small talk and dine, I find that eating while wearing the mask is tricky, just as it was last night. When Genevieve or Eudora asks me a question, I try to think of what Wilha would say and give soft, demure answers. This seems to go well until Genevieve asks me what subject I most enjoyed studying with my tutors.
“History is my favorite,” I answer truthfully, because I have no idea what Wilha’s answer would be.
“Is it?” Eudora says. “You are aware that my late husband was the grandson of King Bronson the Liberator? Oh, but I forget,” she adds with a wicked smile after I nod, “Galand-rians have another name for him, do they not? Tell me, what is it?”
Her eyebrows rise as though daring me. Maybe I should take Arianne’s advice, which suddenly comes back to me in full force. Be pleasant at all times. Smile, even in the face of unkindness, for you are to be above it all. Feign ignorance if you must.
But I can’t do that, no matter how much Arianne’s words nag at me. I won’t declare myself ignorant of my own history, not when there were so many days I had to beg Mistress Ogden to let me attend school.
“Bronson the Butcher,” I proclaim. “So named because of all the Galandrians he slaughtered.”
“Hold your tongue, girl,” Eudora snaps, seemingly shocked that I dared to speak the truth. “In this country, Bronson Strassburg is considered a war hero, not to mention our founding king.”
“Interesting,” I say coolly. “Because in my country he’s considered a murderer.”
Shortly after this the tea ends, and I am escorted back to my room by an unsmiling Leandra.
She is careful, I notice, to avoid the northern wing.
CHAPTER 37
WILHA
Since I received the job yesterday in the dress shop, I have been comforted by the sound of rustling silk and the rhythmic, methodical puncture of needle through fabric. It is the first thing that has seemed familiar since our procession reached Korynth, and slowly, some of the knots in my stomach have begun to untie.
Yet not all of them. As I have stitched in the dress shop, not attempting to return to the castle, I have wondered at the goings on inside the castle. While I hide, what has become of Elara?