“So, you’re saying it’s actuallyluckyI was cast out on my ass like an unwanted piece of refuse for two full decades…” I nod my head, lips twitching. “Good to know.”
Grinning, she reaches into the pocket of her fitted white blazer. I watch as she pulls out a silver lighter and a tightly-rolled blunt, clamps one end between her lips, and lights up.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asks, already blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth.
“Actually—”
“Great!” She winks. “There are enough prudes in this house already.”
I sigh deeply.
I need coffee. And clothing.
Not necessarily in that order.
“I mean it.” Chloe takes another deep hit, closing her eyes as the marijuana’s effects begin to roll through her system. “I’ve only been here three bloody hours. If I get one more lecture about leaving ashes on all this priceless furniture…”
“Maybe they’re a bit sensitive about youstarting a fire,” I murmur, my tone sharper than intended. “You know, since a whole wing of Waterford Palace burned down yesterday, and all.”
She blinks at me, stunned, before a surprised laugh tinkles out of her mouth. “Damn, girl. That wasseriously dark. I think I like you already.”
“Great. Now, get out so I can put on some clothes.”
She laughs again, clearly not offended by my dismissal, and slides off the bed. I think she’s leaving, but she merely crosses to the armchair in the corner where a large white shopping bag rests.
“Here.” She tosses it onto the bed. I do my best to catch it one-handed without dropping my sheet. “That was sitting in front of your door when I got here. Compliments of the palace’s fleet of personal shoppers. I’m sure they’ve stocked you with an array of utterly boring outfits. Whatever you do, don’t let them select your dress for the funeral — unless you’re a fan of something black and boxy, likely with a modest boatneck. Godforbidanyone in this family ever show a hint of cleavage!”
“When is the funeral?”
“Sunday.”
“Tomorrow?”
She snorts. “Of course not. A week from tomorrow. Royal functions take eons to plan — especially funerals. And this won’t be just any funeral. We’re mourning the loss of our king and queen. Before the actual ceremony, the bodies will lie in state for a full week.”
My brows lift in confusion at the unfamiliar term.
“They’ll be displayed for public viewing at Windsor Abbey,” she explains slowly, as though she’s talking to a child.
“Sounds rather… morbid.”
She plunks herself down in the armchair with a sigh. “It’s done so the common people have a chance to pay their respects. Only the aristocracy is invited to the actual funeral.”
A frown pulls my lips down. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Fair?” She scoffs. “You really are new to this, aren’t you?”
I ignore her. “How many are expected to attend?”
“Half the kingdom, from the looks of it. I swear, there’s already a queue forming down the streets surrounding the cathedral, and the official vigil doesn’t even begin until tomorrow. I saw several groups pitching camping tents, so they wouldn’t lose their spots in line.”
“That’s madness.”
“That’smourning. You should see it out there. It’s like the zombie apocalypse. The whole country’s at a standstill. Streets deserted, companies closed, people home from work… Every shop shuttered tight, every flag at half mast. Huge crowds camped out in front of the hospital, praying for Henry. We almost couldn’t get the SUV out the front gates this morning.”
“How—” I hardly dare ask. “How is he?”
“Alive. Barely.” Her face closes down. “I was out last night with his fiancée, Ava Sterling, when we saw the news trending on Twitter. Imagine that? Finding out the man you’re supposed to marry was nearly burned alive from strangers on the internet.” She barks out a bitter laugh. “Some fucking world we live in.”