Chapter 24

Twenty-Four

Q uinn scuttled back and out of the balcony, making far too much noise. She landed in the hall on her knees and tried to get away from the council chamber as quickly as possible. Not that it mattered because Emrys saw her, and perhaps he'd known she was there the whole time.

After all, he was the one who gave her the password to the gondola.

But she needed to get away because her uncle couldn't find her. If he did, she'd be in a world of trouble. But more than anything else, she needed to get away because a weight of betrayal sank in her chest, and she needed to run from it.

It was too much to bear. Her uncle lied about everything and withheld the truth about her parents' murders. And Constance was a council member. Possibly immortal and definitely hiding a lot of secrets.

It was too much, and Quinn couldn't breathe. Betrayal was a poison suffocating her.

But running helped.

Dashing from one hall to the next, she got confused. It was such a big castle, and every room looked eerily similar with its over-the-top decoration, filigree, and gilded finishes .

After a couple of minutes of trying to find the exit, she was halted by the echoing of screams. Loud and unforgiving. Originating from down the hall. Normally, Quinn would have ignored it, but those voices were familiar.

Constance and Kordelia.

It was crossing some sort of line to listen in on her friend in a moment so tumultuous, and Quinn really should have ignored it, but she was so utterly frustrated. Constance was one of her closest friends, yet she felt the need to lie at every turn.

Quinn's chest swelled with hurt like an allergic reaction was smothering her innards.

"You cannot be serious." Constance's words were low and filled with dark astonishment.

This was followed by a lot of undistinguishable angry words thrown at each other back and forth. Quinn's heart was a caged animal trying to escape, angry and beating against the bars of her chest. She counted to five, trying to steady herself before she tiptoed to get closer.

"You forget your place," Constance said.

"I forget my place?" Kordelia spat.

"Remember who you're talking to." There was a pause before Constance continued, "You had no right."

"I had every right. I run the—"

"You only run the Viridian because I allow it," Constance cut back, a snake ready to strike.

Confusion slithered along Quinn's skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Kordelia oversaw the Viridian, yet Constance controlled this situation like a judge's gavel. But then, the queen had asked Constance first about her business, not Kordelia.

Was this yet another thing she was lying about?

Only muffled sounds cut the air, and Quinn's human ears couldn't make out the words. She tried to peek through the crack in the door, but she only saw grey shapes.

"I am sorry. I should've let you handle everything." A cloud of blonde crossed in front of the crack as Kordelia humbled herself .

"Yes, you should have." Constance was softer, but there was still a sharp edge. "Maybe Jane would be alive if we . . ."

"Yes," Kordeia breathed.

"So, we are clear," Constance said. "I need you to tell me when suspicious things are happening at the Viridian. I know you can handle them, but with . . . with what the mirror took from you, you don't have the best judgment."

Quinn's heart rattled. They were talking about the murder, and they were withholding information from the others. So many questions slithered through Quinn's mind, but chief among them was why would Jane be alive if they . . . what? She desperately wanted her friend to end that sentence.

"Understood, your grace." Kordelia bowed her head in deference. The words were not condescending but sincere, which was puzzling. Why would she call Constance "your grace?" That would make her a duchess. But she never once told her friends that.

"Don't call me that." Constance crossed her arms, her face a mask of sorrow.

"Understood," Kordelia said with a coquettish grin. "Since you want me to tell you when there are suspicious activities at the Viridian, I think we need to talk about Seren."

Constance's brows crinkled. "What about her?"

"I thought I saw her the other night," Kordelia said.

"That's highly unlikely." Constance smoothed out a rogue feather on her costume. "She left twenty years ago, and if she were back, I'd feel it."

"You're probably right. I worry about you." Kordelia reached out and played with one of Constance's bouncy raven curls. The touch was so close, so intimate. Then she cupped Constance's face and kissed her. It was passionate but short-lived as Constance pulled away.

"Don't," she breathed, a struggle lighting up her posture. Her limbs were rigid, yet her body tilted toward the blonde. As if two sides of her warred .

"I'm sorry." Kordelia's voice cracked. "I am sorry for everything."

With her thumb, Constance caressed Kordelia's chin. "I wish . . ." Constance's thumb traveled south—a lover's caress. "I can't. I can't be with you," she said, letting her hand drop.

Kordelia reached for another raven curl, but Constance stepped away. A mask of indifference flooded across her face as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

"Because you don't trust me," Kordelia finished the thought.

"I trust you in every way but this." Constance rocked between her feet, not wanting to meet the blonde's eyes.

"I know," Kordelia whispered. "I wish that I had never ruined things between us."

"Me too."

"Just know, Constance DeWinter, I love you. I have always loved you, no matter what I've done." The words were so devoted and private that shivers ran down Quinn's arms.

Now, Quinn truly crossed the line. Despite her anger at her friend, this was not a conversation she should've overheard. It was an intimate fight between two lovers or ex-lovers or whatever they were, and it was not appropriate to listen in on.

As Quinn backed away and forced her feet to make no sounds, she heard Constance say, "I know."

Making her way down the hall undiscovered, Quinn felt terrible. Shame crawled down her spine and settled in her stomach. Eavesdropping on something like that was so wrong and felt like being covered in tar without a way to get it off—

A sonorous, velvety voice sounded from behind her ear. Quinn jolted out of her skin as panic writhed up her bones. "Hello, Little Ballerina."