Violie

Rather than wait for the empress to seek Violie out at what will likely be an inconvenient time, Violie decides to go to her. She excuses herself from dinner early that night, claiming a stomachache, but after the guards King Bartholomew assigned to her leave her in her bedroom, she changes into the servant's dress she keeps hidden in the back of her wardrobe and tucks her blond hair under a scarf.

She slips out the window and carefully walks along the thin ledge that borders the castle, fingers scrabbling to keep a hold on the stone walls. She only has to go two windows over to reach the guest suite the empress is staying in. Violie nearly loses her balance wedging the window open, but she catches herself on the frame, taking a moment to steady her rapidly beating heart before slipping into the empty room.

She looks around, noting that she's in a private dining room, furnished with a small table and four chairs, with a fire blazing in the hearth. After only a few seconds in the room, Violie is already sweating, though she's sure it's Margaraux's direction to keep her rooms as warm as possible. She closes the window and makes her way out of the dining room and into the sitting room.

Here, there are more signs of the empress in residence—several open, gilded trunks emblazoned with the Bessemian royal seal sit in the center of the room, and Violie notes a distinctly Bessemian-style tea set sitting on a tray on the low table between three overstuffed velvet chairs, as well as bejeweled golden candlesticks on the mantel holding honey-and-lavender-scented candles that Violie has difficulty imagining anyone in Friv buying or selling. A quick peek into the empress's bedroom shows her that Margaraux brought along her own silk bed linens and pillows as well—the perfectly nice but more drab Frivian cotton ones folded neatly on the chair beside the bed.

Though she knows she won't find anything, Violie can't help but snoop anyway, riffling through the desk already filled with Margaraux's fine feather quills and personal stationery, but no letters or papers that strike Violie as important. She looks through the books as well, remembering the ersatz book where Eugenia kept her letters hidden and where Violie discovered the correspondence between Eugenia and the empress, but there is nothing suspicious there. She is just considering digging into the still half-packed trunks when she hears Margaraux's voice in the hall outside the suite, instructing a servant to order her breakfast from the castle's cook.

Violie quickly sits down in one of the overstuffed velvet chairs, crossing her ankles and clasping her hands in her lap.

The doorknob turns and Margaraux pushes inside, her eyes immediately going to Violie and narrowing slightly before she speaks over her shoulder.

"That will be all," she says to the guards and servants accompanying her. "Fabienne will attend to me when she returns from the kitchens."

There is a murmuring of Yes, Your Majestys, but they're cut off when Margaraux closes the door firmly and turns back to Violie.

"Well," she says, voice curt as she makes her way toward Violie, sinking down into the chair opposite her. "What do you want?"

Violie smiles, ignoring the thrum of panic rushing through her. It's always been there when she's been alone with the empress, though that was never a common occurrence. Most of her work as the empress's spy was done through letters, the training she received in Bessemia handled through instructors. The empress oversaw her daughters from a closer vantage point, but was content to monitor Violie's progress through secondhand reports—a fact Violie is grateful for. She isn't sure how Daphne, Sophronia, and Beatriz survived a childhood with the empress. Even now, at seventeen, Violie feels like a fawn in the woods that has just locked eyes with a frothing-at-the-mouth wolf—quickly and quietly weighing the odds of her walking out of this room alive.

"I thought it best we chat without Princess Daphne present," Violie says, smoothing her hands down the rough wool of the servant's dress she is wearing. "I'm sure you'd rather I not answer your questions honestly with her around."

Even without Daphne in the room, Violie feels her presence all the same. She knew it would be necessary to speak with the empress alone, and Daphne is trusting Violie to relay the conversation to her afterward—a meaningful gesture, Violie knows, since trust is not something that comes easily to either of them.

Margaraux seems to believe her lie, though, and huffs out a humorless laugh. She leans back in her chair, surveying Violie with that cold gaze Violie hasn't seen replicated in any of the woman's daughters—not Sophronia when she banished Violie from court after learning of her betrayal, not Beatriz after she punched Violie in the face, not even Daphne when Violie believed she meant to kill Leopold and his brothers. "All right, then," the empress says. "Let's start with why King Leopold is still breathing."

Violie shrugs, the lies flowing from her lips with casual ease. "I suppose it would have been easy enough to do away with him in the woods as soon as I found him. Stab him—quite literally—in the back and leave him to bleed out. I certainly had dozens of chances during our travels. I doubt he'd have put up much of a fight. But his death was meant to be public, was it not? And you've seen how rumors of his being alive have sprouted up, even coming from people who can have no idea of the truth. If I'd killed him quietly, with no witnesses, those rumors would never have died and your grasp on Temarin would never have been secure."

Margaraux's mouth twists, but she doesn't argue. "Then why not bring him directly to me?" she asks.

Another good question, and another answer Violie has at the ready—this time, the truth.

"Because he knows you want him dead," she says. "I could sooner have convinced him to walk into a burning house than to set foot in Bessemia after Sophronia told him of your plans."

"Sophronia," Margaraux says slowly, the name heavy in her mouth, "wasn't supposed to know my plans. She believed Leopold would be exiled, not killed. Unless you told her otherwise?"

Another answer Violie has—this one half lie and half truth. "I didn't," she says, the lie. "Ansel did." The truth. Ansel was another of the empress's spies, this one a Temarinian peasant she'd used to instigate the mob that killed Sophronia. After he captured both Sophronia and Leopold, Ansel told them more of the empress's plans than Violie had even known, including the part where the empress set Sophronia up to be executed. Sophronia's death had always been part of the empress's plan, and Ansel had reveled in telling Sophronia as much. "I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, Your Majesty, but you shouldn't have been so loose-lipped with a boy with such…faltering allegiances."

"That," Margaraux says, voice full of ice, "was Nigellus's doing, and suffice to say he's paid the ultimate price for his foolishness."

Violie knows better than to follow that statement up with questions, but they ring through her mind regardless. Is Nigellus dead? At whose hand? The last time Violie saw him, he'd rescued Beatriz and Pasquale from Cellaria and was escorting them back to Bessemia. Beatriz didn't trust him, but she believed they were working toward a common goal.

"I understand that these circumstances are less than ideal," Violie says, focusing on the present issue. "But I have done everything in my power to get Leopold to someone whose loyalty to you was strong, and Princess Daphne seemed thebest option."

"And the truth about Eugenia?" Margaraux asks. She must see Violie's blank look, because she gives a tight-lipped smile. "Surely, Leopold would have been thrilled to see his beloved mother."

"Oh, that," Violie says, careful to hide her relief. "Not so beloved, it turns out, not after Ansel also told him that he was working with Eugenia as well as you. Not after Sophronia told him that Eugenia tried to kill her. When he learned she was here, he wanted revenge, but I talked him into avoiding her notice until I could ascertain her true allegiances and motives. Once I realized she was double-crossing you, I eliminated her."

"So, the story Daphne told about learning that Eugenia was trying to kill her?" Margaraux asks. "Does she believe that?"

Violie lets herself smile. "Well, Your Majesty, as you yourself like to say, the best lies are close to the truth. I knew Eugenia was responsible for Sophronia's death, and Daphne was mad with grief—it was easy to direct her ire at Eugenia, easy to convince her that her life was in danger too. I was not expecting to get caught planting those letters with Ansel that confirmed the plot against her, but all in all, I'd say it didn't work out too terribly."

"Well, of course you think that," Margaraux says, her voice turning mocking. "Here you are, born the bastard daughter of a courtesan, and now you're a princess of one country and the queen of another."

The words prickle at Violie's skin—she never wanted to be a princess or a queen. But a woman like Margaraux will never believe that, and it is so much easier to maintain a facade if Violie simply shows her what she wants to see.

"Yes," she says before tilting her head. "Do you judge me for climbing, Your Majesty, or do you perhaps respect me for it?"

A true smile curls at the corners of Margaraux's mouth as she pushes to her feet. Violie hastens to stand as well.

"You're an impudent little thing, aren't you?" Margaraux asks. "Very well, enjoy your time playing princess. We both know it will come to an end quickly, but if you play your cards wisely, perhaps you won't have to fall too far in rank." The empress gathers up her skirts and makes her way to her bedroom, turning to say over her shoulder, "I trust you can leave the way you came in?"

When Violie arrives back in the room she shares with Leopold, he's waiting up for her, sitting on the edge of the large bed, still in the clothes he wore to dinner. When he sees her, his shoulders sag and he lets out a low sigh—he's relieved, she realizes. Relieved she's alive. It shouldn't surprise her, not after everything they've been through together, but it does.

"Did you think she would stab me with her letter opener?" Violie asks, crossing to the trifold screen that divides the room, allowing them to dress and undress with at least a modicum of privacy. Her nightgown is already hanging over the screen, so she makes quick work of the buttons on her servant's dress.

"I may not know as much about the empress as you do, but I'd wager she has far more dangerous weapons at her disposal," he says.

Violie gives a snort of laughter as she pulls the dress over her head and reaches for the nightgown. "I'm sure she does, but she has far more to lose than to gain by killing me now, and she knows it."

Leopold falls silent. Violie frowns and pulls the nightgown on. When she steps out from behind the screen, Leopold clears his throat. "As far as we know," he says. "But you've said it yourself—she's always one step ahead of us. If she knows something we don't—"

"I know," Violie interrupts, coming to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. "That's why we're leaving at dawn. Daphne and Bairre will claim that an emergency came up with your brothers—without disclosing where they are," she adds quickly when Leopold opens his mouth to argue. "But we'll head to Cellaria to find Beatriz."

Leopold groans, flopping back on the bed and throwing an arm over his face.

"There's nothing wrong with that plan," Violie snaps. "Daphne and I have been over everything, and—"

"It isn't that," Leopold says, and when he lowers his arm, Violie realizes he's laughing. "I'm just not excited to be with you on a ship again."

Violie feels her cheeks heat up as she remembers their journey from Cellaria to Friv—the one she primarily spent in their cabin, vomiting.

"Well, we're both in luck," Violie tells him. "Daphne used her connection with Lord Panlington to secure horses. We'll have to ride—if we use one of the royal coaches, Margaraux's men will find us before we're out of the Trevail Forest."

Leopold nods slowly. "Then I suppose we'd better get some rest," he says, pushing himself to his feet. He grabs a nightshirt from where his valet left them on the armchair in the corner and takes it behind the screen.

"Have you heard from your brothers?" Violie asks, getting up and making her way to her side of the bed, pulling back the heavy duvet. The first couple of days they shared the room, Leopold insisted on sleeping in the armchair, but after a servant nearly caught them sleeping separately—which certainly would have raised questions—they have been sharing the bed. An easy thing to do given how large it is. Violie would wager that a family of six could sleep comfortably in it.

"Bairre passed a letter along today," Leopold says. Because any letters to Leopold would certainly be read and the rebels may very well still want Gideon and Reid killed, the man who took them in—Lord Savelle, the former Temarinian ambassador to Cellaria—has been instructed to send letters to Bairre instead. "They say they're doing well, but they're angry that I'm keeping them out of the fun, as they putit."

"You'd think getting kidnapped and nearly killed would have cooled their adventurous streaks," Violie says, climbing into bed. Only then does she look toward the screen and freeze. Because of the way the screen is positioned in front of the fire, she can see the outline of Leopold's body as he pulls his shirt over his head, draping it over the screen. Violie's eyes linger on the strong line of his shoulders, the bulk of his biceps as he reaches for the waist of his trousers.

Cheeks burning, she tears her eyes away from the shadow on the screen.

"Lord Savelle will be able to keep them safe, though," she says, staring instead at the dark green velvet duvet.

Stars,she thinks. If Sophronia were here to see her ogling Leopold…

She pushes the thought from her mind, rolling onto her side so her back is to the screen.

"I'm sure he can," Leopold says.

Violie hears the rustling of clothes as he finishes changing into his nightshirt his footsteps emerging from behind the screen.

"Dawn, then," he says, climbing into bed beside her. She doesn't need to turn around to know that he's in the same position as she is—on his side with his back toward her. It's the same way they've slept for a week now, but it's the first time she's been so aware of the space between them. A lot of space, she reasons, but she would be grateful for a little more. Even when she closes her eyes, she can see the backlit outline of his body behind the screen. Just as he could see her, she realizes, recalling his uncomfortable silence a few moments ago. She pushes the thought from her mind, determined not to linger on it.

"Dawn," she echoes, propping herself up to blow out the candle on her bedside table before burrowing back under the duvet. She hears Leopold do the same with his candle, and darkness engulfs them, sleep following soon after.