Lord Aaron grumbles under his breath and rustles around in one of the picnic baskets, bringing out a bottle of champagne. “I’m not feeling particularly festive, but I am suddenly very thirsty.” We’re all silent as he pops the cork with no formality or fanfare. Rather than the delicate flutes, he pulls out the tumblers that were intended for water and, with uncharacteristic disregard for fashion, empties the bottle into the four of them.
We sip silently, the air around us charged with negative energy.
“But…,” Lady Mei ventures. “I mean, that all sounds quite dire, of course, but that’s not what we came out here to see, is it? I thought we were—” Fingers spread, palm in, she waves one hand in a circle in front of her face, and I realize she’s indicating the Glitter adorning her cheeks. “Looking into this.”
I laugh.
I can’t help it. My little cabal watches with surprise and concern as the mirthless, raucous noise, halfway between a giggle and a sob, fills the spacious cab, and I can’t seem to stop. It’s not funny—it’s terrible, but I can’t stop the awful sound coming out of me.
“Danica?” Lady Mei says, concerned. She hands me a handkerchief, and I push it against my mouth, muffling the noise.
“You said you and Aaron weren’t talking about the same thing,” Duke Spencer says. I should have expected that he’d be the one who noticed and remembered my words. “What had you so concerned?”
“The fields,” I manage.
“The fields?” Lord Aaron asks.
The hysteria finally melts away, and I take a few deep breaths. “The woman said they’re growing papaveris atropa. It’s the main ingredient in Sonoma’s new wonder drug…and Glitter.”
Lady Mei blinks.
Duke Spencer pales.
Lord Aaron curses and turns to look out the window.
“So Reginald is…working for Sonoma?” Lady Mei asks.
I shake my head. “Stealing from Sonoma. This isn’t Sonoma’s fault, for once. Putting a few pieces together, it sounds like Justin has a team gengineering a new prescription painkiller or something. Reginald is smuggling out plants for his Glitter empire, and if Justin finds out I’m involved, he’ll—” Another sharp-edged laugh escapes my lips. “Arresting me is the least of what he’ll do.”
“It’s quite a security breach,” says Duke Spencer. “But if we can determine who’s selling the plants to Reginald, surely that would give us the upper hand?”
“I’d prefer to know precisely when those bots are scheduled to roll out,” Lord Aaron grumbles.
“Either way, it sounds like we need more information.” Lady Mei smiles. “Knowledge is power. Why do you think I enjoy gossip so much?”
“You’re absolutely right,” I say. “But how are we going to get it?”
“GRCE À DIEU.” I sigh and discard my stiff posture the instant I’m through the door to the King’s office, Saber close behind me. The Wednesday masses seem even worse than usual with the King away, leaving only one monarch to ogle. I whirl and push the door closed, leaning my head against it. “If your arms aren’t around my waist in five seconds, I might literally go insane.”
But instead of the feel of Saber’s warm, strong arms, I hear someone clear their throat. Damnation. I don’t lift my forehead from the cool wood—not yet ready to face my husband’s slimy assistant. My eyes fall closed and I count to ten, slowly, reminding myself with each numeral that I’m far more highly ranked than even this elevated employee.
Finally, with my fingers itching to clench, I straighten and turn, my face passive.
Mateus has risen from his seat—an appropriate gesture, given my station—but he manages to work a hint of sarcasm into it anyway. “How may I be of service?”
“You can get out of my office while I get some respite from the crowds.”
“Your office?” he asks, blinking as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Deepest apologies, Highness, I was under the impression I was in—”
“The King’s office? It’s my office too, and you know it.” I slowly begin pulling off my gloves, one finger at a time. Not that I can blame Mateus for making liberal use of it in His Majesty’s absence; it really is an impressive space, with an enormous desk and silk wall hangings and gilded molding along the perimeter of the ceiling, framing a fresco featuring cherubs and embracing lovers. Despite its elegance, it reeks of masculinity and expense, which is precisely how I would describe the King.
Mateus doesn’t leave, merely glares as I make my way behind a small white desk—almost child-sized—that Justin had moved in here when I demanded unmonitored office space.
Saber catches my eye and raises his eyebrows minutely—his way of asking what I want to do now. I didn’t really have any particular aim in coming here except getting away from the crowds—and, perhaps more importantly, the courtiers clawing for Glitter. Even with the ratty assistant here, returned to his seat and scribbling away at his tablet, it’s the most convenient escape with limited access to others. I’ll stay for a few minutes. Perhaps I can com Lord Aaron and go hide in Duke Spencer’s new rooms instead. Better than nothing.
“Oh, for the love of—” Mateus bites off a curse, then blinks swiftly, clearly responding to some sort of urgent com on his Lens.
“Everything all right?” I say, my tone dripping with sugary sweetness.
“Tourists,” Mateus grumbles. “Hardly better than animals. I need—I must—” He sweeps up his tablet, makes for the door, then pauses. “Damnable Wednesdays.” He pats at his coat distractedly, and I don’t understand what he’s looking for until he tosses his tablet computer onto his own desk—larger than mine—and heads through the door with a growl.
Ah. No screens allowed in sight on Wednesdays, and Mateus had no pockets big enough to hide it.
The door clicks shut and every muscle in my body freezes.
Mateus’s tablet.
Information.
I’ve been racking my brains for some way to disrupt Reginald’s supply line. But my coconspirators, Lord Aaron especially, have maintained laser focus on our joint venture with Amalgamated.
But didn’t our trip to the farm prove one simple concept? All roads ultimately lead to Justin.
And whatever secrets the King is keeping, there’s probably something about them on that tablet.
“Saber, watch the door,” I say, my hands trembling as I throw myself at the desk and sweep up the leather-encased tablet computer—which, in his haste to depart, Mateus failed to lock down. As long as I keep it active, I should have as much access to Mateus’s files as he would. Cradling the device in one arm, I shake my own computer out of my reticule and realize I’m completely unprepared.
“I need a fiber-optic cable,” I whisper. “I can’t download over the network—there’ll be a record.” I look up at Saber with desperation, knowing such an opportunity will likely never come again. “Do you have a cable? In your bag?” I feel my eyes tear at the colossal waste this moment could be. “Please, please tell me you do.”
In two strides Saber is beside my desk, dumping his messenger bag out onto the glossy top. Canisters of Glitter clatter across the clean surface alongside a host of miscellany: a leather wallet, gum wrappers, a comb, a few bits of black ribbon, Saber’s own tablet.
And one Amalgamated-brand string of light-conducting silica sheathed in braided Kevlar and black polyethylene.
Blessing the gods of technical standardization, I snatch up the fiber cable and place Mateus’s tablet next to mine on his desk. My fingers tremble, but I manage to plug both ends into the computers and initiate a backup of Mateus’s personal files onto my own tablet’s local storage. No time to go sifting through them, especially without M.A.R.I.E.’s assistance—but later, when I have more time, Lord Aaron and I can write an independent program to parse the contents.
“It’ll take seven minutes,” I say when the progress bar pops up. ??
?Please stand by the door. Don’t let Mateus back in.”
“What do I do if he tries?”
I shake my head, my eyes glued to the screen. “I don’t know. I can’t think. Just…just don’t let him in.”
The minutes pass like hours, adrenaline surging through me, making my breath short and fast. As the time left to copy Mateus’s drive drops to thirty seconds, each moment feels like an eternity. My eyes dart back and forth between the computer and the door as the bar comes so close to being filled. It pauses and flashes twenty seconds several times without changing. I’m feeling sick to my stomach when it finally moves on to nineteen seconds. Eighteen. Seventeen.
A beep of a code being entered on a keypad sounds from the door and the bolt unlocks with a loud click.
Swiftly, Saber turns the manual bolt from the inside, locking it again, his foot braced against the jamb. Another beep, then several in rapid succession, as Saber keeps throwing the bolt back into place.
Ten, nine, eight. A thud as someone kicks at the bottom of the door.
Three, two, one. I take the barest moment to confirm that the transfer is complete before yanking the cord out of both computers and stuffing mine into my reticule. Insofar as my gown allows it, I leap away from Mateus’s desk, and the door flies open.
“Lady Cyn!” I say, surprise sadly transparent in my tone.
She’s frozen, one hand on the knob, something clenched in the other, the door open and a handful of courtiers craning their necks to peer through the disturbingly wide-open doorway.
It takes every ounce of control to conceal the fact that I nearly jumped out of my skin, and even now dozens of questions are whirring through my head. Beginning, of course, with why the hell Lady Cyn is standing in the King’s private—emphasis on private—office. “You startled me. Please do close the door.”
Lady Cyn either isn’t as good at concealment as I am, or simply doesn’t find me worth the effort. Her eyes are wide and burning with anger and something that looks suspiciously like jealousy. Is she truly so deluded about her actual worth to the King? Or perhaps it’s me the King is fooling? But no—I don’t think so. His comment weeks ago about Lady Cyn reminding him of a yapping dog was made at a stress-filled and vulnerable moment, and I think he meant it.
I think.
But it’s hard to be firm in that belief when my husband’s mistress is standing in a room I thought marginally more…secure. Still, after another moment or two, she finds no benefit to herself in revealing the unfortunate scenario, so she turns and pushes the door shut.
“Did you need something, Cynthea?” I ask, as though meeting in the King’s office while he’s not within a thousand miles of the palace were entirely normal and expected. “Is that why you were looking for me?”
“Why would I be looking for you?” she snaps, her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer I know she would never dare let anyone else in the court see.
“I’m certain I don’t know,” I say calmly, my hands folded gracefully in front of me, clinging to the strings of my reticule, where my tablet feels like it weighs twenty kilos. “But considering this is my shared office space with my husband, and he’s out of the country for the next several days, I can’t imagine what else you might have hoped to find here.”
Her face is white except for the spots of red high on her cheeks. “You’re sharing an office with him?” she asks softly, and for the first time, I realize she looks very tired. It must be difficult being in her position. Not that I’m feeling any sympathy for her whatsoever. She’s never had any for me.
“Of course we share,” I say with a gentle, happy-sounding laugh, realizing exactly how I need to play this. “Justin’s parents did too. Why in the world would we not share?”
She clearly wants to lash back with the honest answer that we hate each other, but my words—my very presence here—has introduced just enough doubt that she can’t. As she stands there, searching for something to say, I scrutinize her face, looking for any sign of shimmer, but there is none. I’ve still no real idea what withdrawal will be like for those using less than the megadoses Reginald doled out to hook my father. Am I learning something, even now? Is her inability to hold her tongue—or her temper—Glitter withdrawal, or just her usual winning personality?
Regardless, this battle of wills is one I’ve got to win. I hold my tongue, my eyebrows raised slightly, as though I’m listening most anxiously for her to speak, and I wait.
And I wait.
“Are you done in here?” she finally bursts out.
“Oh, certainly. But I’m not leaving you alone in my private office.”
“It’s not only yours.”
“It is while my husband is away.”
She hesitates, then seems to remember that I’m not someone to whom she should be showing any weakness.
“It’s not important; I just wanted to leave him a little note.” She smiles coyly, holding up a small, folded piece of parchment. “I’ll give it to him in person instead.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” I say smoothly. I’m as cold as ice as she about-faces and leaves the office, closing the door behind her a little too hard.
I almost crumple in relief, and Saber rushes to place his hands around my waist.
“That was too close,” I whisper against his shoulder.
“At least it wasn’t Mateus,” Saber murmurs back.
“I can’t believe he gave her access—he’s such a bastard.”
“He doesn’t think you care.”
“I don’t care. Not about them—not as long as she stays out of my way. But this is my office, too, and—” I snap my mouth closed. I sound like a jealous wife.
Saber’s face may as well be a mask, for all the emotion it reveals. His hands continue to lend the support my corset doesn’t.
“I can’t stand to be here any longer,” I say, pulling away from him and opening the door. I stalk out into the Arrière Cabinet and find one of our security guards—the human kind that the Society brings in only on Wednesdays; the ones who obey without concern for digital access protocols. Five minutes later, one such guard is posted at the door to the King’s office with orders to allow no one inside except me, Mateus, and Saber, and Saber and I are headed to Lord Aaron’s office with the contents of Mateus’s profile downloaded onto my tablet.
Sometimes it’s good to be Queen.
LORD AARON’S OFFICE feels surprisingly small with five of us crowded in it—though instead of gathering behind the desk with the rest of us, Saber leans against the wall, studying me rather than the technology.
“It’s a lot of info,” I say, handing my tablet to Lord Aaron. “I didn’t have time to be choosy about what got copied. I expect much of it is encrypted, and most of it is probably useless, but if we whip up a multivariate crawler to filter through it all, there—there’s got to be something we can use.”
My hands are shaking from nerves and excitement as Lord Aaron digs through desk drawers, extracting cables and an offline storage drive. The sooner I’ve wiped my cloud-connected tablet clean, the less I have to worry about what some other hacker could find if they were looking in the right place at the right time.
“You’re brilliant,” Lady Mei says as I initiate the transfer. “It’s moments like this that make me wish I’d paid a little more attention in my tech classes.”
I shrug off the compliment, but it’s nice to be working with tech again. I was near the top of my career coding classes when my mother bumped me onto the princess track. Plus, I can’t help but smile at Lady Mei’s amusement at my devilry. Since bringing her into my inner circle, I’m discovering that beneath her playful mischief-making runs a streak of genuine deviousness. Is that the Glitter working on her personality? Or did I simply not notice because I didn’t have my own yet?
“I’m just lucky Saber had a cable,” I say. “I’d have downloaded it over the network if
I had to, but it would have left the most frightful trace. There’s no way Mateus wouldn’t have noticed.”
“And thus, the King,” Lord Aaron says.
“Sometimes I think they share a brain.”
“If they don’t already, I’m sure Amalgamated is working on it,” he mutters.
I shut my mouth over a laugh when I realize Lord Aaron isn’t joking. He’s been wallowing in melancholy since we went to the Glitter farm and found the bots. I’m not certain I believe things are as dire as he says, but admittedly, my priorities are very much elsewhere.
“A lot of this isn’t encrypted at all,” Duke Spencer says, pointing. “Look, this one here is a calendar database—it opens right up.”
“Here’s something,” I say, scanning the most recent entries as Lord Aaron’s tech continues to siphon data from my tablet. “M.A.R.I.E. only tells me that the King is abroad. Mateus’s calendar says where he’ll be.”
“Tokyo, at the moment,” Lord Aaron says. “Berlin yesterday, São Paulo day after tomorrow, Los Angeles, finishing up in London.” He whistles between his teeth. “He’s really making the rounds. But why keep the locations a secret? If he were doing some sort of publicity stunt, he’d use…publicity. This is something else.”
“He’s got little files attached to each location,” Lady Mei says, pointing at a small icon in the lower right corner of each calendar square. “I do that with my calendar all the time—scans of invitations so I don’t forget the themes and hosts and such.”
“Who wishes they paid more attention in their tech classes?” I drawl.
“It has its uses,” she says with a shrug, though I can tell she’s pleased. “But why so many? There are three or four files attached to each entry.”
“Probably travel documents,” Lord Aaron says, opening one. “That’s the sort of thing a secretary would be expected to—oh!”
It’s a one-hundred-and-fifty-eight-page, single-spaced document.