“Don’t know what?”
Her eyes roll heavenward. “I was afraid of that. Well, better you discover it from me than from someone who would delight in torturing you.”
My blood feels icy in my veins at her words, and fear of a magnitude of possibilities makes my whole body tingle with nerves. Lady Mei angles us away from the crowds and lifts the top of the box to reveal her tablet computer. She taps a few buttons and a video begins to play. “The King’s lever this morning.”
With a casual smile pasted on my face, I look down at the screen and recognize the enormous bed with its gold-and-red paisley drapery in His Highness’ public bedchamber. I can’t imagine what could be so important about the King’s rising ritual until one of his servingmen throws back the draperies and an auburn head pops up in apparent alarm.
An auburn head—and very bare breasts.
Well, that’s one way to make sure everyone, in and out of the palace, watches this video.
The blood drains from my face as I watch Lady Cyn yank the sheet up to conceal her chest and flash a naughty smile at the audience. The King’s staff does well covering the gaffe, bundling Lady Cyn out in a blanket as they circle the bed and begin their ritual with His Highness.
“That’s essentially it,” Lady Mei says, snapping the box closed. “Multiple videos were uploaded within minutes. Went viral worldwide in less than an hour. Do smile, darling.”
Like a light switch flipping on, I beam at her. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” I say, utterly genuine. “Lady Nuala informed me of her support just a few minutes before your com, but I had no idea what she was talking about. This day would have been a humiliating charade if you hadn’t had the will to be forthright.” She’s just saved me hours and hours of stomach-churning anxiety.
“She’s not pregnant, is she?”
I smile warmly at Lady Mei. “No,” I say softly. “And I think you’ve more than passed your test.”
“Thank you,” she says, and there’s a touch of emotion there that I didn’t expect. Perhaps she took my two-truths-and-a-lie trial far more seriously even than I did.
I squeeze her hand in reply and we begin walking again, Lady Mei taking my arm on one side, and Saber on the other. I feel protected and loved at this moment, even though I know it’s illusory at best, and temporary for certain.
“There’s no possibility this was truly an accident, is there?”
“Not a chance.”
“The King was in that bed as well,” Lady Mei says, her words at odds with the placid expression on her face.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “His Highness is far from innocent, but I’m inclined to think he had no part in this particular display.” I shake my head. “It’s not his style.”
Though I’m speaking calmly, rage simmers within me. Purposeful or not, I warned him, and he let this happen. Not the affair itself; that has been common knowledge since before we were even engaged. He has Lady Cyn, I have Saber, and we both know it. It’s Lady Cyn’s publicizing things that wins my ire. I gave the King an ultimatum twelve hours ago. If this is his idea of taking care of her, it’s clearly my turn to have a go.
“I’m left with no choice. I have to act.”
“What will you do?”
I don’t answer for a long time. “I’ll need to meet with His Royal Highness,” I finally say, “but I think I’ll let him stew for a bit first.”
* * *
—
I AVOID THE King all day: remaining outdoors most of the time, playing lawn games with the younger lords and ladies, posing for pictures—which I never do. I keep track of him via Lens, and if he ever heads even remotely near to where I am, I take myself off in another direction. Just before dinner, I decide he’s probably ready.
With my formal gloves draped in one hand and the force of a thousand whispers at my back, I parade down my roped-off path. The eyes of the gathered tourists follow me—every last one of them surely knows what happened in my husband’s bedchamber this morning. Many likely witnessed it. I hold my head high, jaw clenched.
I don’t even slow as Mateus scrambles to get the door all the way open without striking me. Positioning myself directly in the middle of the carpet laid before the King’s desk, I wait for the door to click shut behind me.
The King is standing with his back to me. I say nothing.
“It wasn’t my doing,” he says, sounding weary, turning his head so I can see only his profile. Coward. But I expected no less. I remain silent, my face utterly neutral. The silence hangs, thick and stifling.
“She’s supposed to leave before morning. She knows that. She’s never stayed before. Not on a Tuesday night. I don’t know—” He seems to realize he’s blathering and turns at last, his jaw tight, doubtless holding back a stream of flimsy excuses. “I was exhausted. I fell right to sleep.”
“It was dreadful PR” is all I say. “And the timing was particularly bad.”
He groans. “I know. When I realized what was happening, I wanted to throttle her—” He stops himself there, and I have to hold back a cruel chuckle; I can see that he remembers I’ve seen him literally throttle someone. “Not actually—I wouldn’t—oh, for the love of all that is holy,” he says, throwing up his hands and then dropping into his chair. “This was not my doing.”
“You do seem to have a lot of unintentional incidents in your love affairs, my liege. Perhaps if you spent more time thinking with the brain in your skull rather than the one in your breeches, you could avoid this pattern in the future.”
He glares at me, his cheeks flushed. “So lay it out, Dani; what is to be my punishment?”
“Oh, I imagine the court—not to mention the press—will bring worse consequences down on your head than I could possibly think up. You still have a lot to prove, even after winning the vote. But I never for a moment thought it was your idea. I know who did this.”
“What is to be her punishment, then? Will you ban her from my bed?”
I laugh gaily. “Why would I do that? As long as you’re sleeping with her, you’re not sleeping with me. One might say she’s doing me a great favor.”
“One might,” he growls.
“No, I shall deal with Lady Cyn as I see fit. You had your chance, and now I get mine.”
“What are—”
“No, no,” I say, cutting him off. “This is women’s business, and you need not concern yourself. I’m here for an entirely different purpose.”
He looks at me in consternation. “You are?”
“My birthday’s almost here. Are you throwing me a party, or should I get the staff going on that?”
The King is so taken off-guard he actually sits with his mouth a centimeter or two open for a long spell. “Throwing you a party?”
“Of course. What in the world did you think I wanted to discuss with you?”
The anger flashing in his eyes makes my little heart sing. “You—I can’t—” He stops himself and points a finger at me. “I despise you.”
I laugh my special Giovanni-coached laugh. “Of course, Justin. That’s why this marriage works so well. A perfect symmetry of affection between us. So shall you take point on the party or shall I? We want to keep up appearances, but there’s no need for us to be duplicating each other’s efforts.”
“Well, if you’re offering,” the King says, feeling his way carefully, obviously expecting a trap.
“I am. If I do the planning, everything will be exactly as I want it, non?” I pause, tapping one finger on my chin. “I don’t think I’ll go to the trouble of faking a surprise birthday party—so done to death—but I can certainly take charge of the food and décor.”
“That would be lovely,” His Royal Sleaziness says, still wary.
“I’ll be charging it to your account.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“Oh, and please get me a gift. S
omething expensive. I don’t much care what. Ask Lady Mei if you need suggestions.”
“Lady Mei?”
“Zhào. You know her. Her parents, at the very least: Marquis and Countess—not your inner circle, but an old and distinguished family. From Sonoma-Versailles’ founding, I believe.”
He coughs and then clears his throat. “Indeed.”
“It’s only a publicity gesture. It needn’t take much of your time. I know you’re busy catching up after your travels.”
He nods without speaking and studies me, clearly waiting for me to begin shouting or demanding favors or restitution. I do neither.
“That was all I needed,” I say after a long silence. “Shall we go in to dinner together? It is Wednesday.”
He’s untrusting, but he comes around the desk and offers his arm. I refuse to be what he expects anymore. Besides, I’ll take great pleasure in seeing him squirm, watching me warily, waiting for the consequences of his foolish actions to arrive.
All the better when they finally do.
TWO DAYS, I GIVE IT. Two days during which the court chooses sides and I take notice. It’s funny to see Lady Cyn parading around. She actually thinks she’s won. For all her careful plotting and venomous cruelty, I confess, I find her less than clever. She’s taken her jab—cuckqueaning me before the court and the outside world alike. But so soon after the King’s crucial vote, days after Julianna’s suicide, her actions have left our scandal-smeared court struggling with a bitter sense of buyer’s remorse for their young, adulterous King.
She has punished him, not me.
I don’t like the ways I’ve learned to constantly consider the secondary and tertiary consequences of my actions, but it’s a good habit to be in. Lady Cyn thought only of humiliating me, of staking her claim. She sowed the wind and will reap the whirlwind. With my help, of course. I’ve been searching for a way to punish her since she turned Saber over to the King. How kind of her to lay the opportunity in my lap.
I stroll into the Drawing Room of Plenty on the King’s arm, and we wait together while the crier quiets the crowd so everyone will hear our names announced. A pinch stings in my heart as I remember the night this whole nightmare started. The night my friends went ahead of me so this same crier could announce my name. The night the King moved me into the Queen’s Bedchamber.
Tonight most of those friends are gone, and I am actually the Queen.
But in another few minutes, everyone in the palace will know it.
There’s a general buzz of displeasure in the salons as the King and I step through the red velvet curtains. Those shareholders whose minds the King changed with his speech are clearly having second thoughts, and even those who agree with his policies and positions must be shaking their heads at the lack of maturity shown by their randy, impulsive young King.
Justin has a great deal of work in front of him, and I have no doubt he’s already had a damage-control meeting with his PR team. I wonder if he’s realized yet that his best shot at a reputational comeback is through his wife.
Bad news for the King. Good news for me.
As soon as we’re in the drawing room, the King mutters something about a drink and abandons me. I smirk—he ought to know better.
I turn and beckon to Saber. “Will you escort me?”
He hesitates. “Will His Majesty like that?”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“You probably should.”
He seems surprised when I just grin. “You’re right. And tomorrow, I will. But right now I need you on my arm.”
“Of course,” he says instantly, and I love that. Though always ready to speak his mind, he’ll be whatever I need him to be, consequences be damned. I find Lady Mei leaning against a wall, Lady Nuala hovering nearby, and I wave both of them over to tête-à-tête.
“Where is she?” I whisper.
“Hall of Mirrors,” Lady Nuala answers. “Far end. What are you going to do?”
“Ruin her,” I say softly. And I can’t help but enjoy the fact that Lady Nuala—once a pawn in Lady Cyn’s pathetic attempts to embarrass me—will now be instrumental in her former friend’s downfall. “My dear ladies, I’m in need of a crowd of very influential people. As much high nobility as possible. Do you think you can arrange that?”
Lady Mei glances first to Lady Nuala at her side, and then to the far doorway of the Hall of Mirrors, where more residents than usual are mingling. Likely because of the recent scandal. I wonder if Lady Cyn thinks all those eyes will keep her safe. Well, she isn’t the only person who knows how to use an audience as a tool—or a weapon. “It will be my pleasure,” Lady Mei says, an eyebrow raised.
“We’ll walk slowly,” I say, and let a serene smile curve my lips as they hurry off. My hand rests on Saber’s folded cuff, and we stroll casually toward the hall. Before I dressed this evening, I asked security to bring up the single set of diamonds in the palace proven to have belonged to Marie-Antoinette. The unmistakable piece is all the jewelry I need, aside from my huge wedding ring. The crowd parts to my right and left as the train of my sapphire gown flows like waves behind me, the diamonds at my neck glinting like sea spray on the figurehead of a mighty ship. Even unimpeded, at my stately pace it takes several minutes to make it through the line of salons and to the threshold of the Hall of Mirrors.
I hear Lady Cyn’s loud laughter before I can see her. But I don’t so much as incline my head in her direction. Not yet.
Lady Cyn seems oblivious to the looks of censure being cast in her direction by those who have remained loyal to me. She’s surrounded by her own personal court of beautiful young ladies, who form a barrier of adoration between her and the displeasure of the court. Social nearsightedness: she sees only the opinions of those she’s chosen to keep close. She doesn’t understand how vulnerable that leaves her.
I narrow my eyes a fraction when I see Lady Annaleigh Garcia standing at Lady Cyn’s right. Doesn’t matter. She was warned—she had her chance.
“What do you know of Marie-Antoinette?” I ask Saber in a quiet voice, smoothing my expression back into passivity.
“The basics, I guess,” he murmurs. “Queen, cake, lost her head.”
I laugh at the simplicity of his explanation—doubtless representative of the views of most outside Versailles. “There’s a story of when she was yet a princess, and her husband’s grandfather was king: Louis XV. His own queen was dead, but his mistress lived in the Palace of Versailles, acknowledged as such, and with great influence at court. But Marie, at seventeen, was a prudish little thing.” I turn my head enough to meet Saber’s eyes, but not quite in Lady Cyn’s direction. “She refused to acknowledge the mistress in public. In those days no one was permitted to so much as speak to royalty without being spoken to first. And Marie wouldn’t. Not one word to the immoral woman. After months of intense conflict with the King, little Marie decided that for his sake she would condescend to speak one sentence to the woman and never acknowledge her presence again.”
“One sentence?” Saber asks.
“One,” I confirm. We’re some ten meters from Lady Cyn, and in the roiling of the crowd around me I can see Lady Mei and Lady Nuala’s work. We’re not only drawing general attention, but several of the most powerful members of the court have gathered close, forming a circle around Lady Cyn and me.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch the short form of Lady Garcia as she pushes her way through the crowd ahead of me, then glances back at me with fear sparkling in her eyes as she reaches her daughter. Without a word, she grasps Lady Annaleigh’s arm and begins pulling her away, despite her squawk of pain.
“I suppose it matters what that sentence was?” Saber whispers. His eyes take in everything, and a wrinkle forms between his brows.
“Oh, certainly.” I almost laugh when Lady Annaleigh, even as she’s being dragged off by her mother, swats at her friend Lady Breya Voroman-Wills’
s shoulder and looks meaningfully toward me. With wide eyes, Lady Breya takes two steps backward. Just enough to say to the entire crowd that she doesn’t stand with Lady Cyn.
Not in the face of her Queen, at least.
“It wasn’t the actual words that mattered,” I whisper, continuing my story. “It was the delivery. Hundreds of years later it’s a sentence every Sonoman-Versailles young lady knows by heart. A cautionary tale to remember your place.”
I’m so near that no one could mistake my destination. But the stupid woman is drunk on what she’s mistaken for triumph and pretends, viciously, not to notice my imminent approach. Saber’s hand begins to drop beneath mine, but I clutch at his knuckles, and he reacts instantly by again supporting the weight of my arm.
I draw up before the impeccably dressed Lady Cyn and simply stand there, my hand on Saber’s arm, waiting.
The crowd quiets until Lady Cyn has no choice but to turn and face me. Lady Giselle, the only friend who remains physically at her side, drops into an appropriately low curtsy and avoids my eyes. But Lady Cyn is still as a statue, her chin high, knees straight, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
My face is stone, and I let a few silent seconds pass while all the whispering around us falls to utter silence. I raise one brow, and though I maintain eye contact, I turn my body so I address her dismissively, over my shoulder, repeating the words Marie-Antoinette once spoke, long ago, when she was just my age.
“There are a lot of people here at Versailles today.”
The gasps of the nobles around me are so loud they buzz in my ears as I stride away from Lady Cyn on Saber’s arm.
I want to turn. I want to see the result of the dire insult I’ve just struck her with. But I value the impact of giving her my back over the indulgence of seeing my revenge. I’ve publicly labeled her what she is—all she will ever be: the King’s mistress.
And not the famous kind—the forgotten kind.
The kind with no friends.