Violie

Violie doesn't think she will ever get used to being treated as royalty. Even in Friv, a court that stands on ceremony far less than any other in Vesteria, people still bow and curtsy as she passes. As a child growing up in a brothel and then later as Empress Margaraux's spy masquerading as a servant to keep watch on the empress's daughter Sophronia, she was accustomed to being looked past and ignored. In both roles, being ignored was what kept her safe. But now, no matter where Violie goes, people are always noticing her, even when they pretend not to.

It's somehow both better and worse when she's with Leopold. Even before he became King of Temarin at fifteen, he was the crown prince and attention was his birthright. Now, living in exile from the country he was meant to rule, he draws attention like the sun each time he walks into a room, making it seem especially ridiculous that he managed to play at being a commoner for as long as he did, when he and Violie escaped Temarin after the siege that killed Leopold's wife, Sophronia. Leopold's identity is known by everyone at Eldevale Castle now, though, and when Violie walks beside him, more people than ever are looking in her direction, but fewer seem to be looking directly at her, and that at least is a comfort.

"And so when Bertrand wakes up this morning, he'll think he had dinner last night with Daphne and Sophronia—the Sophronia he remembers, not, you know, me," she explains, catching Leopold up on their plan to trick Bertrand into reporting to Empress Margaraux that Sophronia is well and truly alive.

Leopold nods, but Violie notices the furrow in his brow. It's almost always there these days, getting deeper whenever they discuss Sophronia, or how Violie has taken on her identity.

He agreed to the plan Daphne concocted after Violie was arrested for attempted murder, even helped to identify her as Sophronia during her trial, but Violie knows that it bothers him perhaps even more than it bothers her. After all, he was in love with Sophronia, and he has only just begun to mourn her. Calling Violie by her name, treating her in public like his wife, can't be easy.

To say nothing of the fact that the woman Violie attempted to murder was his mother, Queen Eugenia. There was no love lost between the two of them—Eugenia had been largely responsible for the siege that killed Sophronia, and her aim had been to kill Leopold as well—but she was still his mother. He doesn't blame her—or Daphne, who succeeded where Violie fell short in ending Eugenia's life—but Violie knows part of him must mourn her.

And so, no, calling Violie by Sophronia's name, treating her in public as his wife and queen, while knowing who she is and what she is capable of, can't be easy for Leopold.

Even now, his arm feels stiff beneath her gloved hand as they take a turn around the snow-draped garden—one of the few places they can speak privately, assured that anyone who can overhear is too far away to make out their whispered words.

"Then the plan is succeeding," Leopold says. "Does he want to meet with me as well?"

"He didn't say," Violie tells him. "But he'll be gone in a matter of hours, and as long as you keep your distance until then, you won't have to worry about keeping up the pretense."

"I like to think I'm getting good at the pretense," Leopold says. "I'm certainly getting enough practice."

They pass another couple on the garden path, a middle-aged man and woman Violie recognizes as Lord and Lady Kilburrow, who stop to bow and curtsy and exchange small talk for a moment before continuing on their way. When they're out of earshot, Violie looks at Leopold.

"You are getting to be a better liar," she admits, unsure why paying that compliment digs beneath her skin. It's the truth, but that makes it worse. Until recently, Leopold lacked the guile to convincingly lie about liking someone's haircut, let alone commit to holding up the delicate tower of lies keeping them, and more specifically her, safe. She hates that she's done that to him, dragged him into a web of deceit he has no business being in, but as soon as she thinks it, she corrects herself.

Shedidn't drag him into this, and in fact she's given him every opportunity to run. The empress laid ruin to everything he knew. She took his country, his wife, and even in some ways his mother. The empress is responsible for destroying the spoiled boy king he was, and Leopold himself is responsible for the man who has risen in his place.

It isn't a tragedy, she tells herself, looking at him again. Rogue snowflakes stick in his burnished bronze hair, and there is a sharpness to his regal features that she still isn't quite used to seeing there, but it suits him.

Oh, if Sophronia could see you now,she thinks, with an echoing stab of guilt.

When a servant finds Violie in the rooms she shares with Leopold to tell her that Bertrand has woken up, she hurries to his room, meeting Daphne just outside the door. Daphne gives her a tight smile, but her gaze quickly goes to the guards around them.

This is a delicate balancing act to pull off—the guards will need to see Violie go into Bertrand's room as Queen Sophronia, so that they don't find it strange that she never saw the man while he was here, but Bertrand must not see Violie as anything more than a servant.

The key, Daphne and Violie have worked out beforehand, is in the clothing. Because it's winter and even the halls of Friv's castle are freezing, Violie is wearing an elaborately embroidered ermine-lined velvet cloak—part of the wardrobe King Bartholomew gifted her with when she first claimed to be Sophronia. But beneath the ornate cloak, she's wearing a plain gray wool dress, not unlike the ones the castle servants wear beneath their far less ornate cloaks.

Daphne enters the room first and Violie follows, shrugging off the cloak as she steps inside and folding it over her arm. Daphne shrugs her cloak off as well, revealing a violet velvet gown whose bodice is embroidered with silver flowers, embellished with crystals—the gown's ornateness serving to highlight just how plain Violie's is by comparison—and passes it to Violie as soon as the door closes, allowing Violie to hide her own cloak beneath Daphne's.

Now, alone in the room with Bertrand, whose glassy eyes and sallow skin do make him look like he indulged in far too many pints of ale the night before, it's easy for Violie in her plain dress to melt into Daphne's shadow, a lady's maid accompanying her princess.

It isn't only the clothes that accomplish the transformation; Violie's posture shifts as well, going from upright and regal to ever so slightly slouched. Instead of keeping her chin lifted and boldly meeting the gaze of everyone around her, Violie keeps her eyes on the floor. Her steps become timid. Even her breathing shifts. Once again, she lets herself fade into the background, into a role she's missed, where all she needs to do is avoid notice and pay attention.

Bertrand bows when he sees Daphne but doesn't spare Violie more than a passing glance. She's careful not to stare outright, but she manages to look him over out of the corner of her eye, noting not just the queasy green tinge to his skin but the flustered expression and the way he wrings his hands in front of him.

"I'm afraid I lost my head last night, Your Highness," he tells Daphne, eyes downcast.

Daphne smiles benevolently. "Oh, you're hardly the first foreigner to fall prey to Frivian ale—it's dreadfully strong stuff, I'm afraid," she says, waving a hand. "Queen Sophronia couldn't join me to see you off since she and King Leopold had a prior engagement in town, but she sent along her wishes for a safe journey."

Bertrand's face grows redder. "It was very good to see your sister again, Princess—and you as well, of course, but after the news from Temarin, we all believed she was…well, the stars have truly given us a miracle, haven't they?"

Violie internally lets out a sigh of relief, though she keeps her features placid.

"Indeed they have," Daphne says, relief practically rolling off her as well. "Sophronia also has a letter she hoped you would pass along to our mother, when you see her. I do hope we can trust you to keep it safe."

Daphne pulls a rolled letter from her pocket—one she and Violie labored over the night before, arguing about the details of Sophronia's handwriting and word choice until it was perfect.

But Bertrand doesn't move to take it, his brow creasing as he drags his gaze from the floor and looks at Daphne. "I'm not certain I understand, Princess," he says slowly, eyeing Daphne with a wariness that raises alarm bells in Violie's mind.

Daphne, however, doesn't lose her smile. "Well, as you said, my sister's being found alive and well is nothing short of a miracle. I know the empress trusts you, Bertrand, but surely she will want to hear from Sophronia herself?"

"Well, of course, Princess Daphne," Bertrand says, stumbling over the words. "It's just…would Princess Sophronia not prefer to give her mother this message in person?"

Ice trickles down Violie's spine, and Daphne's shoulders go rigid.

"Forgive me, but your mother is only a day away now, she should be here tomorrow morning. Is this message something that cannot wait until then?"

"My mother is coming here," Daphne says slowly. "ToFriv."

Daphne can't hide the shock in her voice, and Violie can't blame her. Leopold raised the possibility when they concocted this plan, but Daphne was adamant—the empress had never in her life left Bessemia. She rarely even left the capital city of Hapantoile, convinced that if she was gone from court for any stretch of time, she would find herself at the center of a coup that had threatened since she ascended to a throne she had no true claim to sixteen years before. Traveling to another country seemed less likely than the stars going dark.

"Yes," Bertrand says slowly. "Surely we discussed it last night, Your Highness?"

Daphne, for her part, recovers quickly, regaining her smile. "Oh, I'm sure you must have, Bertrand, but I suppose I'm not quite accustomed to Frivian ale myself. It must have slipped my mind."

"Of course, Your Highness. Your mother is looking forward to seeing both you and your sister. I was sent ahead to announce her arrival and see that there was a room prepared for her at the castle. She should arrive tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Daphne says, the word barely making it out through her clenched teeth.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Well, that is…" Daphne swallows down what Violie suspects are any number of very unpleasant adjectives before bracing herself for a lie. "Wonderful. I look forward to receiving her. We look forward to receiving her."

Without waiting for an answer, Daphne sweeps from the room, and Violie trails after her, struggling to keep from breaking into a run.