Word spreads like wildfire, and by the time Saber finds me an hour later, my hips are thanking me for having unloaded nearly the entire batch of Glitter. Saber must have come by way of my rooms, because his messenger bag is round and taut, and I quickly fill him in on the rules I’ve established. “You’ll have to be firm—they’ve already displayed quite a propensity for trickery,” I mutter.
“Ah well,” he says. “I was waylaid by a Mademoiselle Simone and Lady Mireille on the way here. They both seemed like they were trying to get away with something, but I couldn’t justify telling them no.”
I laugh, even though it’s not funny at all. “Second pot for both of them, then, little swindlers.” I turn and give him a half-grin. “Looks like you’re going to have to stay close to me to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
“What a shame,” Saber replies, his voice low and husky.
I hate to derail that line of thinking, but I need to know. “What did he say?”
As expected, Saber’s expression goes flat. “This afternoon. He’ll meet you in the Orangerie. He says he can disguise himself as a gardener and you can talk briefly.”
“I can’t give him money out there.”
“He said to put the payment in last week’s Glitter box and he’ll have his man swap them out.”
“He wants three weeks’ worth of payment next week?” I grumble. Unless I can think of some way to plant the tracker on Reginald himself, it’ll be as much as another week before I can just slip it in with a payment.
“I thought maybe you could use the same boxes to transport the profits you have now to Lord Aaron’s private office,” Saber says. “Seems at least as good a hiding place as any.”
“Since Giovanni’s no longer available to me,” I say, though that is by my choice rather than his. Reginald knows I hid my profits with my dance master previously; I can’t justify dragging him back into this cesspool. Though after all that, poor Giovanni must have been shocked and appalled to see me show up in the news coverage of my high-profile wedding.
Lord Aaron appears in the doorway to the Hall of Mirrors—looking for me, judging by how he jerks his chin up and weaves his way through the crowd.
“Ah, speak of the devil,” I say with a wave.
“Have you seen Sir Spencer today?” he asks when he reaches us.
“Haven’t you?”
Lord Aaron shakes his head. “I caught him briefly yesterday and he said he couldn’t talk to me. Not yet. I—”
“Don’t worry,” I say, putting my hand on his arm and lowering my voice. “Everything went well. The King is planning a grand reveal. Tomorrow, he says.”
“What—”
I raise one hand to cut him off there. I can see that Lord Aaron will find no peace unless I tell him. “I tried to catch you at your rooms the other night, but you were already abed. I can give you the basics now,” I murmur. “Kindly remember that if they get out, it’s my head.”
Lord Aaron merely rolls his eyes; he needs no words to say I’ll add it to the pile.
“He’s offered Sir Spencer a divorce,” I breathe softly, close to his ear.
I’ve caught Lord Aaron off-guard and he struggles to regain composure. “Truly?”
“I suggested it. The King thought it was a marvelous idea—a way to strike back at the duke.” I chuckle low in my throat. “You should have seen him. He was ecstatic.”
“An ecstatic Justin Wyndham? Well, that shouldn’t make anyone nervous in the least,” Lord Aaron says cynically.
“Try not to worry,” I say. “He’s going to annul the prenup entirely, restoring Sir Spencer’s full inheritance.”
A crease of concentration splits Lord Aaron’s brow. “He must truly hate Tremain.”
I shrug, glancing over at Saber—who’s giving us a bit of breathing room by dealing with my grabby customers himself. “I never thought to empathize with His Loftiness, but…wouldn’t you?”
Lord Aaron doesn’t answer and I’m concerned that I’m not getting quite the reaction I’d anticipated.
“At least try not to worry too much,” I amend, turning toward the pressing crowd. “Everything will be out tomorrow.” Lord Aaron drifts silently near my elbow for a few minutes, but at some point I look up from a conversation and see only his velvet-clad back, disappearing down the hallway that leads to the Tremain apartments.
SAVE FOR THE handful of canisters I’ve held back for my lever ladies and my friends, the entire box of Glitter is gone before I can head toward my meeting with Reginald that afternoon. Between the “preorders” and the honeymoon that never actually happened, this is the first time a single—albeit large—box of Glitter will have to last people for an entire week.
And it’s already gone.
I’m both relieved and horrified.
Saber and I wander the perimeter of the Orangerie for about ten minutes before he raises his handkerchief to his mouth and coughs gently while pointing out Reginald. Having always seen Reginald in intimidating street wear, I wouldn’t have known him in dark gray coveralls and a sun hat, his shaggy hair pulled back and secured with an elastic band. He’s even found an old-fashioned pair of gold-rimmed glasses with an early-model Lens projector perched atop the frames. He looks rather adorably bumbling with a pair of clippers in his hand and grass stains on his knees.
How very bizarre.
Unfortunately, his costume affords few places I can plant the tiny tracker and not have it simply discarded with his clothing at the earliest opportunity. I’m going to have to think of something else, and quickly.
I edge close to the tree he’s haphazardly lopping small branches from and turn my profile. “Reginald.” I don’t bother masking my hostility. I have to act precisely the way he’d expect me to. Make him feel like he truly knows me and can predict what I’ll do.
“There you are, Your Majesty. I don’t much like being summoned.”
“I don’t much like being cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat.” I hear the smile in his tone and I curl my toes in my slippers to make myself stand still. “I simply interpreted the rules a little differently than you did.”
“I didn’t come here to argue.” Arguing with Reginald is like running around in circles, hunting for a finish line.
“Then why are we here?”
“What do I owe you?” I say flatly.
“Owe me?”
“Don’t be obtuse. For the Glitter.”
“Well, now. I’ve been doing a lot of your work, haven’t I? And haven’t asked for anything in return.”
“That’s not a number.”
“Saber here said you need more.”
“He most certainly did not. He knows that’s not at all what I want.”
“Ah, so Saber works for you now, does he?”
“I think we both know who he’d choose to work for, if he had any say in the matter.”
“But he doesn’t.” Reginald chuckles and the sound makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
I glance up at Saber and there’s a clear warning in his expression.
“Girl, if I asked Saber to break your legs for me, he’d do it. And you know why? Because he knows it’d be better for you if he did it than if he refused and I did it myself.” Reginald takes a big bite out of the tree with his clippers and the cracking sound makes me jump. “Do you know how often I’ve sent him to rough up a client? To break fingers, or legs, or necks? To put families out on the streets? Don’t depend on Saber too much without remembering what he is.”
I keep my gaze fixed on Saber through that entire awful speech, and he wilts before my eyes. It’s subtle, but I see it. A tiny droop in his shoulders, a tightening around his mouth, the shine dulling in his eyes. Reginald isn’t lying. Saber was right when he told me I had no idea what the meaning of no choice was.
“We’re not here to talk about Saber. We’re here to talk ab
out payment,” I say when I find my voice. My corset feels as though it’s strangling me even though it’s two centimeters looser than yesterday.
“Million a week.”
“Please,” I scoff. “I used to pay you a hundred thousand.”
“For raw. This is all prepped and hand-delivered besides.”
“You’re destroying my margin. With such low profits I might as well be selling actual makeup.”
“What do you care? You’ve already paid me for your new identity. By the time I have it ready for you, you’ll have more than enough to live comfortably and anonymously to the end of your days.”
“I’ll give you half a million. For one box, once a week.”
He shrugs, almost uninterested, which only makes me angrier. “This isn’t a negotiation. You’ll give me one million, packed in one of your pretty boxes, every week, and I’ll swap it out for the Glitter.”
I hate him. “Reginald—”
“You’ll see. You’ll have no trouble meeting the price. Surely a girl raised in a corporatocracy understands the concept of supply and demand.”
I clamp my mouth shut.
“I see we’re agreed. That means three million in that box next week or I’ll order Saber to take it out of your hide.”
Saber’s steady gaze keeps me frozen in place.
“Are we done here?”
“No, we’re not done here,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m already completely out of places to hide my money. If you don’t take at least the first million today, I can’t sell any Glitter this week. It’s as simple as that.”
“Fine, fine,” he says with a shake of his head. “Such a helpless Queen you are! I’ll send someone for it this evening. But don’t say I never did you any favors.”
At that moment the inevitable occurs. One of my faithful customers sees me and bustles over to buy a canister of drug-laced cosmetics. I try to fob him off quickly, but it takes several minutes to convince him that I truly am out—I’m neither lying nor withholding it as some sort of personal grudge.
By the time I turn back to Reginald, the Orangerie holds nothing but trees. One of them so mangled the actual gardeners might not be able to save it.
I can empathize.
* * *
—
IT’S NEARLY TWO in the morning before the court disperses and Saber and I get some time together, shut away alone in my bedchamber. The topic of my afternoon meeting with Reginald hangs like a specter in the room, but I don’t want to give the bastard another single moment of my day. Instead, I help Saber shrug out of his dress jacket and linen shirt, sit him down in front of me on the plush carpet, and begin rubbing his shoulders.
He groans in appreciation as I work on knots and sore spots, and I revel in the simple enjoyment of doing something for him. There’s so little I can truly give him. His clothing is all a disguise, and provided by the palace, and any gift I might try to purchase for him would be tainted by my Glitter profits.
But this I can give him: my time, my attention, the affection I so often have to withhold when the court can see us.
“Being Queen takes up more of my time than I expected,” I say. “It seems odd to say that I miss you when we’re in each other’s physical company so frequently, but I do.”
He reaches for my leg where it sits just beside his hip, and circles my ankle with his fingers. “I know.”
The silence settles around us, unbroken except for the little grunts from Saber as I find tender muscles. Even though it’s a comfortable silence, I’m driven to make the most of our time, so I search for a topic that isn’t touchy in some way. I don’t want any more friction tonight.
And I come up with…nothing.
I can’t stop the giggle that escapes my lips.
“What?” Saber asks, craning his neck to look at me.
“I thought this would be a great time for some nice, easy conversation—sans drama—so I was trying to come up with a topic. And there isn’t one. Everything’s sensitive for us.”
Saber grins, catching on. “Can’t talk about your childhood.”
“Or yours.”
“Both our families are off-limits.”
“And our jobs.”
He’s laughing openly now. “Please let’s not talk about our jobs.”
“We can’t discuss plans for the future.”
“Are you kidding? We probably shouldn’t even talk about our plans for tomorrow.” He wraps both arms around me and pulls me down to the floor, my head on his shoulder as we both snicker.
“Has there ever been a couple quite so badly matched as us?” I ask.
“Surely somewhere. Oh, I’ve got it, the little mermaid. They were pretty doomed from the start.”
“Romeo and Juliet?”
“Please,” Saber scoffs. “They just made bad life choices.”
“Lord Aaron and Sir Spencer,” I say, sobering.
“Getting closer, but even their situation is about to get better.”
I nod, knowing he’ll feel it, even if he can’t see it. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? The divorce?”
“I think…,” Saber says, and then pauses and begins again. “I think that considering the muddle they started in, it’s as good a choice as you could possibly have made.”
“Even though it breaks up the Tremain family?”
“They roped him in by trickery anyway, didn’t they?”
“They took advantage of his grief.”
“Close enough. In a way it…it frees Sir Spencer.”
I smile when Saber uses the word free. Even if he can’t apply it to himself yet, at least he’s thinking about it. I roll to my stomach and prop my chin on my hand with a sigh. “I represent everything you hate. Why in the world do you like me?”
“Love you,” he says sternly.
I can’t hide my smile at his words. “Love me,” I correct in a whisper.
He holds my eyes for a long time, and I’m not convinced he’s going to answer me. Or he’s going to slough off the question and say something humorous. But he surprises me. “You look at obstacles and you see an opponent. Something to be fought and defeated. It never occurs to you that you can’t overcome…anything, really.” He lifts his hand to my face, running his knuckles down my cheek. “I wish I were more like that.”
I duck my head as my face flushes, but Saber grins and pushes himself half up from the floor. “And I love this,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose. “And this.” His lips move to my cheek. “And this.” My breathing quickens when his lips brush the sensitive skin at the side of my neck. He touches the edge of my chemise, just barely sitting on my shoulder, and with a flick of his fingers, he pushes it off to slide a few centimeters down my arm.
Lifting a hand to his chin, I raise his head to mine and kiss him softly, my tongue caressing his bottom lip before pulling back to meet his eyes. “I love you too,” I whisper.
He kisses me hard and holds me tight against his chest as though I might disappear. He always does this—holds me like this is all temporary, like I’m going to fade away at any moment. But with so many changes lurking on the horizon, I understand his desperation. Feel it myself.
“Tomorrow everything will change,” I say.
Saber’s lips brush my bared shoulder. “Not everything.”
ONLY IN THE Palace of Versailles is a public breakfast scheduled for one in the afternoon, and still people complain about the early hour. For this momentous occasion I’m dressed in an elaborate silver gown with split velvet skirts, originally made for Justin’s grandmother. It’s a slimmer, flounce-laden design from the early 1600s, but I’m not carrying Glitter today, so I don’t need my secret pockets.
I’m ready early, of course, and soon have nothing to do but fret. My coms to Lord Aaron go unanswered—though Lady Mei is quick to respond with the excuse that no one is talking
. Should I have given her a hint? So far she’s done well—I haven’t heard even one convoluted version of any of the secrets I’m testing her with. Not even the pregnancy lie, which was the juiciest morsel I could come up with. If she makes it through today, I’m going to start trusting her.
I crave her company. The companionship of another lady, especially one who loves frivolity as Lady Mei does, keeps me from sinking into despair. Her light playfulness is something I’ve never possessed—especially lately. She revels in the games and intrigues that make me feel ill. I know it’s because the consequences aren’t nearly so dire for her, but that spark of light helps to keep me afloat.
Finally it seems like the appropriate time to head to the Hall of Mirrors, where the breakfast is being held. I squeeze Saber’s hand before I open the doors to my bedchamber and we have to play aloof acquaintances again.
The relief I feel when I see the King standing at the head of the room, conversing with the Duke and Duchess Sells, is peculiar. Uncomfortable, like an ill-fitted glove. I nod to Saber to follow me as I cut through a handful of courtiers and come to stand by Justin’s side.
“It’s amazing,” the King whispers to me out of the side of his mouth. “No one suspects a thing. Look over there.”
He gives a small nod, and I see Duke Tremain standing beside his wife and Lady Julianna, garbed in her typical bright colors, which I find garish and she clearly adores. Lady Julianna is one of the few younger ladies of the court whom I’ve never really had much social contact with, and I find myself realizing I know almost nothing about her except that she’s Sir Spencer’s wife. Is that sad? Or simply loyalty to Lord Aaron? I’m no longer sure.
The Tremains stand stiffly, well clear of the circle around His Highness, holding themselves aloof even among their supporters. Their postures proclaim that they’re mindful of their power and influence, but also acutely aware of their social downfall—and their lack of favor with the King. Lady Julianna is clinging to Sir Spencer’s arm; he looks uncomfortable, but no more so than usual.
“The players are all here; the show’s about to begin,” the King says, his voice quaking with excitement. I’ve never considered him particularly mature, but in this moment he’s downright boyish.