SABER FOLLOWS ME about, physically close but undeniably distant. Unsure how to bridge the gap, I tip glass after glass of champagne down my throat instead, pretending all the while that my best friend and greatest ally isn’t leaving me in a matter of hours.
“Dance with me,” I say when I find Lord Aaron momentarily without Duke Spencer at his side for once.
“You are beyond tipsy, Your Highness,” Lord Aaron scolds.
“Can you blame me?” I ask, though at least I don’t slur. I think.
“No,” he hedges, “but I’m not certain you can afford to be anything less than vigilant at the moment.”
Lord Aaron is an impeccable dance partner—and I watch the crowds around us, his leading so skillful I can let all thoughts of my feet go. “The split between her and me grows wider,” I say softly, raising one eyebrow so Lord Aaron knows I’m not being dreary.
“Except for that group there, in the middle,” he says, gesturing minutely with his chin, “who are still calculating the odds.”
“Loyal to no one. I’ve no need of that sort,” I say flippantly, though it does bother me that there are still so many uncertain who will win the battle. I should be able to claim these vacillators on position alone. I have the backing of the King! Lady Cyn has the backing of no one. “I don’t have time for her tonight,” I say, forcing a smile. “And certainly I don’t have the clear thinking for her.”
“No, no you don’t,” Lord Aaron says. Wryly, but at least he isn’t scolding me anymore.
“Well,” I say cheerily, facing Lord Aaron as the song comes to an end, “I think we should take this party somewhere a little more private. Spread the word, only to our people, that the Queen is moving the festivities to her quarters.” I give him a sly smile and add, “I’ll order twenty bottles of champagne and a full spread.”
His eyes twinkle, and I can almost imagine we’re back to our innocent old antics: Molli, Lady Mei, and our window-hacking patron, Lord Aaron, running wild about the palace, pleasing no one but ourselves, breaking curfew, sneaking cigarettes, playing pranks on the pensioners. How long ago that seems—someone else’s life.
I leave the dance floor and head through the Peace Drawing Room, back toward my bedchamber, through the Salon des Nobles and the Antechamber. On the way I inform a small handful of people loitering there that I am about to host a rather exuberant party, invitation only. As they’ve chosen to spend their time in my personal—if generally accessible to the public—rooms, I assume some degree of loyalty and invite them to attend if they desire. Perhaps not the most calculated decision, but I’ve had too much champagne for calculation.
Lord Aaron and Duke Spencer enter at the head of a crowd that spills loudly into my rooms, and after Lady Mei brings up the rear, I close the doors and lock them. Fence-sitters need not apply.
The food and wine flow freely—my royal salary is shockingly generous—and voices rise all over the salons, toasting Lord Aaron and Duke Spencer. Slurred shouts of “Bon voyage!” and suggestive hoots of laughter fill the space.
No one remembers that the ex-wife of one of these men hanged herself this week. No one wants to. How fast they forget the death of one of their own; how quick to move on to the next pleasant endeavor, the next opportunity to smile and simper and be seen in fine clothes and jewels.
Lord Aaron is right that I’ve had entirely too much to drink, and perhaps a step beyond that. What I need is some regular old water. I turn to ask Saber if he can get me some, but he’s nowhere to be found. Hazily I recall that he bade me good night with an indulgent smile…some time ago.
But I should be finished drinking. I drop onto a chair, put my half-full glass on my dressing table, and look over the crowd. Because they’re all “my” people, the sparkle of Glitter is ubiquitous; even as I watch, a few canisters change hands and more shimmer is applied.
I asked Lord Aaron once what it felt like to be high on Glitter and he called it “an aware euphoria.” Utterly blissful, without the sensory haze so often accompanying recreational highs. I can hear it in their loud voices, see it in the languorous way they lean on each other and in the slightly vacant cast to their eyes. An entire room buzzed on Glitter, and one would never even suspect if one didn’t already know the signs. I’m more visibly impaired by champagne than they are by their makeup; this drug is going to truly revolutionize the underworld. In light of what I’ve learned about Sonoma’s pharmaceutical dealings, I imagine the prescription version will be equally revolutionary. The possibilities are staggering—though I can’t forget what they got my father, in the end.
Someone takes me by the shoulders and shakes me gently—when did I fall asleep? I’m not the only one; every chaise, settee, and divan in my rooms is occupied by people who have drifted off, or people on their way to it—those who decided that finding their way back to the residential wing would simply be too onerous after such gaiety.
My eyes settle on Lord Aaron, who’s smiling sadly; he pats my shoulder and lets me go. “I wanted to let you sleep,” he whispers. “But I feared you’d never forgive me.”
“Indeed, I would not,” I say, dragging myself to my feet.
Duke Spencer gives me a stoic farewell, thanking me prettily for the send-off party, then goes on ahead to give Lord Aaron and me some privacy. I thought I was ready, but when Lord Aaron enfolds me in his big, warm arms, my chest aches and my eyes grow hot.
“You’re going to follow soon,” he says, addressing my dismay. “You have a bit more work to do, and then it’ll be you up there, catching your own helicopter to freedom.” His hand covers the back of my head, pressing me tight against his shoulder. “A little while longer,” he whispers.
“I’m not sure I can bear it, Aaron.” The tears spill then, and I hate that I can’t be brave for him.
“You can,” Lord Aaron says. “But you have to remember, you’re the Queen, and everything that comes with it. Be the Queen. No one can defeat you.”
It’s so odd to hear advice from him that runs so completely opposite to what Saber would tell me. I clench my fingers on his arms. “I’ve never been Queen without you. I’m not sure I know how.”
“I saw you with Monsieur Tremain. You were incredible. You were born for this role, Dani. If only you could see in yourself what I see in you.”
I feel sick about the unfeeling way I acted to a father whose daughter wasn’t even cold in death. To hear Lord Aaron praise me for it only makes me feel lower. “It feels heady at the time, but it’s dragging me under. The lying, the deceit. How do I play the game without becoming just another player?”
“Don’t lose yourself,” Lord Aaron says, clasping my cheeks in both hands. “Despite everything you’ve been forced to do, I know you’re still in there. Don’t let go of your goodness. Don’t lose sight of your goals.”
My chin shakes and I can hardly choke the words out. “I’m afraid I’m already lost. What will I do if you’re not here to find me?”
He holds me tight against his chest, and I tell myself—one more moment. And yet one more. At last Lord Aaron pushes me away and steadies me before giving me a determined nod. With one last wave and sad smile over his shoulder, he’s gone.
Half my inner circle, gone.
I’m still here. Despite my scheming and my sins, despite every desperate decision, I’m still here.
And I’ve never felt more alone.
* * *
—
THANKS TO THE theft of the King’s itinerary from Mateus’s tablet, I know just when his helicopter is expected on the following night. I stand in the shadow of the small overhang at the top of the steps that lead to the helipad on the roof, watching the bright lights approach. What I wouldn’t pay to have Lord Aaron returning in this helicopter—for my husband to be the man who’s never coming back.
The King, crisply attired, ducks casually under the still-rotating blades of the bot-flown helicopter to
jog toward me.
“Hello, wife?” he asks, more of a question than a greeting.
“Welcome home, my lord.” He casually offers an arm as though he fully expected me to be waiting for him.
“What are you doing?” he asks in a whisper as he escorts me down the stairs and back into the palace.
“A wife can’t await the arrival of her husband?”
“A wife can. Not you,” he grumbles, and I can see that he’s travel-weary. And grumpy.
“I thought to warn you,” I say sweetly.
“Now, aren’t those the words every husband wants to hear as he arrives back from a week of grueling business travel?”
“You have some ruffled feathers to soothe.”
“The Tremains, I presume. I received word.”
“Lady Cyn’s.”
He pauses on the landing and turns to me, and his eyes reflect genuine anger. “What did you do?”
I let out a bark of laughter. “You dare to imply that I’m the guilty party here? Rich.”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“Lady Cyn walked in on me while I was writing some business emails in our private office.”
So many emotions flash across his face I can’t even begin to keep up—and I don’t trust my husband when he’s feeling contemplative. “You were in my private office?”
I widen my eyes. “I’m quite certain the surprising part of this story shouldn’t be that I was in that office.”
He groans. “I gave her access ages ago; I forgot.”
But I know him better than that. “You never forget anything.”
He turns and clomps down the stairs, barely looking over his shoulder to address me. “You’re the one telling me I’m perfect now? That’s a pleasant change.”
“You haven’t answered why she has access to my private office—and don’t argue that wording. As long as we’re sharing, it’s my space, too.”
“It was months ago. She wanted to tryst on my desk. I gave her access and never revoked it.”
“Justin,” I say, my voice dripping feigned disappointment. “Why didn’t you tell me?” That brings him up short. At his confused expression I add, “I’ve touched that desk; that’s disgusting.”
He just rolls his eyes and resumes his descent.
“It’s more than that, though, and you know it. She’s in my face all the time, flaunting your favor, trying to undermine my social influence. It’s been worse while you were away. At the ball last week, she…” I trail off without actually saying anything about the fake emails she was reading to her ladies. I’ll let him imagine what happened. With luck, he’ll come up with something better than reality.
“This is somehow more important than the Tremains’ daughter hanging herself?”
“Well, no, but I assumed you wouldn’t care a whit about that. Thought you might even be pleased.”
“How cold do you think I am?”
I don’t answer, only raise an eyebrow.
He growls and turns away. “All I hear coming out of your mouth is adolescent drama,” he says, as though he weren’t an adolescent himself. “What is it you want me to do, Danica?”
“I want you to stand by me as your wife, Justin,” I shoot back.
“Hard to do that when I’m away on business.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you precisely what I want. I want her gone.”
He spreads his hands helplessly. “Can’t throw ladies in jail for being bitches, my love, else your mother would never have been a problem for either of us.”
I don’t cringe at the insult; it’s one I’d have happily given on my own. I glare, knowing the malice is glittering in my eyes. “I gave you Tremain. Handed you his punishment on a damned silver platter. A more poetic bit of justice than you ever would have thought up.” I thump my finger right in the middle of his chest. “You owe me.”
Contrary to my expectations, a smile crosses the King’s face and he sweeps a curl off my forehead and behind my ear. “There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my wife.”
I turn and resist wiping away the feel of his touch. “I insist you revoke her access to that office. At the very least.”
“When last we spoke of it, you seemed somewhat less than interested in sharing space with me.”
“I suppose you could give me my own private, unmonitored office and end this conversation entirely.”
“Where would the fun be in that?”
“Fun?” I shout. I’ve lost too much the last few days to suffer his condescension. “This is your idea of fun, Justin?”
His smile doesn’t so much as dim. “Has it occurred to you, Dani, that sometimes I do things for the sole purpose of making you angry? I rather like you when you’re angry.”
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches, and in my head I hear Lord Aaron’s voice. You’re the Queen. Be the Queen. It takes several deep breaths before I trust myself to speak without worrying that my voice will shake. “You take care of her,” I finally say, “or I will.”
I DON’T HAVE it in me to do more than go through the motions of my lever. Of course, that means this is the morning that Reginald decides to refill my Glitter box.
“He came while I was out there?” I ask as I remove a hat, elbow-length gloves, two brooches, three rings, a bracelet, and a set of diamond buckles from my shoes and still have enough bling to make me shimmer under the low lights.
Saber nods, his jaw tight.
I sigh. I’m so weary. “I’ll change into better shoes while you fill your messenger bag,” I say quietly. “Then let’s fill my pannier cages and see if we can’t get all the product dispensed today. Forget about it for another week.”
As if either of us could really forget about it. But perhaps it will let us ignore the awful secret that we constantly carry around.
For the next hour there’s a continual stream of courtiers retrieving their canisters of Glitter. Most of them take it from me with their eyes lowered, and I wonder if they’ve finally gotten wise—wonder if that’s why they’re coming to me cowed and ashamed. But ashamed of being addicted? If there was ever a group of people more utterly inured to shame, I’ve yet to meet them.
Still, they mumble and toe the carpet like children caught hacking treats from the commissary.
Lady Nuala is the first to meet my eyes, even though she already has her canister of Glitter as payment for being on my lever staff. But she comes up and grasps my gloved hands in hers and squeezes gently. “You have my support, you know,” she says, leaning close as though to whisper in my ear. She’s sufficiently shorter than me that her words mostly go into my shoulder.
“There’s absolutely no question of your loyalty,” I say softly, giving her a genuine smile. She smiles back, but it’s an expression full of worry. I watch her go and, keeping my face carefully neutral, glance around at the residents gathered in the hall.
They won’t meet my eyes. They turn away—even some who have nothing to do with my Glitter trade.
Odd.
“I wonder why no one will look at me,” I whisper to Saber once we get a break from the streaming crowds. “I know Lord Aaron and Duke Spencer left, but surely no one suspects anything out of the ordinary after so short a time.”
Saber hesitates, then says, “I haven’t seen your husband yet this morning. Possibly connected?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”
“You do it all the time.”
“It’s worse when you do it.”
He grins. “Sometimes I need to remind myself. Especially when we’re together in public.” A little rasp in his voice makes warmth spread down my abdomen to settle low in my stomach, and I let myself smile, just a little.
A red light blinks rapidly in my peripheral. Emergency com—from Lady Mei?
DO NOT DO ANYTHING. DO NOT GO SEE HIM.
MEET ME ON THE FR
ONT LAWN.
I don’t let the confusion and dismay show on my face, but I hate being the only one out of the know. It reminds me of those early days after my debut, when Lady Cyn’s wide circle of friends would gather about and whisper behind their fans every time I danced with the King, and I had no idea what I was doing wrong—that I was doing anything particularly noteworthy at all. It’s an awful feeling. Worse than whatever the secret ends up being.
“We need to go meet Lady Mei,” I whisper to Saber. “She knows something.” Then, drawing on every lesson Giovanni ever taught me, I raise my chin, cast a coy smile at the residents and tourists alike looking on, and glide out of the room slowly, as though I have no true destination at all. It takes nearly a quarter of an hour to amble our way down the stairs and through the long hallways to the front lawn, but when I see Lady Mei, she’s the picture of a young noblewoman at easy leisure. Her pastel-green gown is blowing gently in the breeze, and her hat has a small veil that she’s positioned to block out her view of most of the tourists. Not coincidentally, also their cameras’ view of her face.
When we draw near she perks up and greets us with a smile, as though she had no idea we were coming. Lady Mei’s arsenal of talents continues to impress.
“There you are,” she says softly, dropping into a low curtsy at my approach. “Your Highness,” she adds.
In a rather theatrical display, I take her hands and pull her back upright and then buss her on both cheeks before linking my arm with hers and heading away from the ropes where the tourists are gathered, frantically snapping pictures.
“What was your message about?” I ask. “And what in the world is that?” Tucked under her left arm is an ornately carved wooden jewelry box, and I can’t imagine why she might have sent a red com to call me out to see a new bit of finery—no matter how expensive it might be.
Lady Mei comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face me. “You don’t know at all? I thought that was why we just had that fancy show for the plebs. Puffing up your PR.”