“Octavia!” I sit up so abruptly, the book tumbles from my grasp. It hits the floor with a dull thud. “Wh— what are you doing here?”
Her eyes narrow as they take me in. Lavender hair in a messy bun on top of my head, makeup smudged beneath my eyes, dressed in a loose t-shirt and a pair of buttery soft yoga pants. I scramble off the bed, nervously tucking a rogue tendril of hair behind one ear. It takes all my resolve not to flinch as she sidles closer, her heels clicking ominously against the hardwood floor.
“I see you are…” She sniffs delicately. “Settling in.”
“Yes, Octavia. I mean ma’am.Madame. Err…Highness?” I fumble horribly. Lady Morrell would be devastated to learn all her careful lessons have gone to utter waste.
“I have not yet been given a royal title.” Octavia’s expression is totally devoid of warmth. “When I am officially named queen consort after Linus’ coronation next month, you can refer to me as Your Majesty. Until then…” Her eyes narrow to pinpricks. “Frankly, I’m not sure you’ll need to address me at all, but if you cannot avoid doing so during a social engagement, you may call me Lady Lancaster or Duchess of Hightower.”
God, she’s so cold. I don’t know what I did to get on her bad side so quickly — besides, you know,exist— but I find myself shivering despite the warmth from the fire.
She looks around at my belongings, scattered over every surface. The half-eaten plate of cookies, the sweater I wore earlier crumpled on the armchair, a hefty pile of Linus’ books on my side table. She traces her finger across the embossed cover of the volume at the top of the stack, a flicker of disgust moving across her face as she digests the title.
Kings and Queens: The Lancaster Legacy
“I assume there’s a reason for this unexpected visit,” I say, voice dripping with false sweetness.
“Certainly.” She turns back toward me, folding her arms across her chest. “Linus has informed me that you’ll be attending the funeral alongside our family.”
I think she’d sound more pleased by the prospect of an impending colonoscopy.
“The seamstresses will be coming tomorrow at noon with a selection of dresses for Chloe and myself. I’ve been…advised…that I must extend this invitation to you as well.” She scans me up and down. “Seeing as you cannot be trusted to dress yourself, we will have something proper selected for you.”
I reel back, but manage to force a smile onto my face. “How very kind. I’ll be sure to pick something…” I pause meaningfully, just to annoy her. “Fit for a queen.”
Her shoulders stiffen with barely-contained outrage. “Wonderful.”
“Well, if that’s all…” I look pointedly toward the door. My message could not be more clear.
Get the hell out of my room.
“Not quite.” Her lips purse in a thin-lipped smile that scares me far more than any of her frowns. “There is one more matter I need to discuss with you.”
My brows lift, waiting.
“You had a friend visit the premises, several days ago. Owen Harding. Is that correct?”
I go still. “Yes.”
“Mr. Harding did pass the initial security clearance checks, which allowed him access to this estate. Thankfully, Ipersonallyinsisted the King’s Guard dig a bit deeper into his past.” She takes a step closer, eyes never shifting from mine. “We can’t be too careful when it comes to your safety, now can we?”
My heart is pounding double-speed inside my chest. “Your concern for me is truly heartwarming, Octavia. But I assure you —unnecessary.”
Her smile widens. “Unfortunately, I must disagree. The secondary search uncovered some… shall we say…problematicconnections in Mr. Harding’s past.” She shakes her head, feigning distress. “It seems he has ties to several anti-monarchist groups. Perhaps even a radical cell of anarchists, determined to overthrow the crown at any cost.”
My mouth falls open. “What?!”
“It’s certainly a relief we caught wind of it now, before things…” She pauses. “Escalated.”
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at the utter absurdity of the words coming out of her mouth. “You must be joking.”
“Safety is not a joking matter, nor one we take lightly. Especially in the current climate.” She sighs, as though she’s terribly troubled. “Never fear — only a few more pieces of evidence and we should have enough to take him off the streets. For good.”
I freeze. “No.”
“Oh, yes. It’s merely a matter of whether wechooseto keep looking. Do you understand me, Emilia?”
Oh, I understand you perfectly, you heartless hag.