Twenty-One

“Why do I feel like you’re stepping all over my dress on purpose?” I hiss, maneuvering my skirts out from under Lord Highgate’s clumsy feet. “Haven’t you had etiquette lessons?”

“Why do I feel like you are influencing my Marion and up to no good?” he snaps back, a sneer curling his lips. “My wife wasn’t where I expected her to be when I returned from my duties. Before your arrival, she was always where I expected her to be, performing one of the three tasks I allow her when I am unable to keep an eye on her.”

I roll my eyes, exasperation boiling over. Marion hit the jackass trifecta with Highgate. He’s the ultimate mansplainer, a bossy control freak, and a complete chauvinist. “And what three tasks is she allowed to do when not under your thumb?”

“Embroidery, aiding Her Majesty, and sitting among the various garden plants.”

You forgot screwing random guys so you can drool over it later.

But I don’t say that part out loud.

“You should really get a less fucked-up hobby than making your wife feel inferior just so you can be the big, strong boy.”

His pale face contorts, a strange mixture of surprise and anger flickering across his features. His hooded eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to retaliate, but instead, he laughs and drags his long fingers across his smooth chin. “You have quite the tongue, Lady Ashwood. I wonder how long it will be before it gets you into trouble.”

My brow puckers, and I inhale, ready to gather up the confusion and anger Kane left me with and hurl them at Highgate, when Marion approaches.

Her eyes flick between us. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, now that you’re here.” I turn away from Highgate, dismissing him as I link my arm through Marion’s.

We glide into the queen’s grand sitting room, a serene smile on my face despite the tension still thrumming through my veins. Crimson drapes cascade from high windows that look out onto the palace’s front gates. Overhead, the crystal chandeliers catch rays of sunlight and cast dappled rainbow droplets over the assembled guests and the elegant high-backed throne inlaid with golden pentacles that waits in front of the window for the arrival of the queen.

Kane stands behind one of the many plush loveseats, his hand resting on the carved wood. As Marion and I enter, he looks up from his conversation with a man I know I’ve seen somewhere in my world but can’t place.

Kane’s gaze finds mine instantly. I didn’t realize how much I crave his eyes on me, warm and dark and endless. But now he looks different, harder, colder.

I suppress a chill as I smooth my skirts and settle into the seat in front of him.

The meeting Marion tried to make an intimate affair is anything but. The room is crowded with many of the same nobles present at the feast, their jewels and silks glinting in the soft afternoon light.

Nervous cold sweat rolls down my back as I sit, my spine straight, every inch rigid with forced poise. I’ve never met a queen, and from what Marion has told me about this one, seeing her at all is substantial.

Once again, I’m flanked by Marion on one side and Kane on the other, although being this close to Kane doesn’t give me the same warm fuzzies it has before.

I suppose mentioning that I might want to stay in Towerfall and saying that we need to talk is up there with it isn’t you, it’s me . But blurting out I think I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t know what that means for us or if you even want there to be an us, but I don’t want to leave you didn’t feel like a better option.

I want to take it back, tell him we don’t need to talk, and force my body and mind to play it cool, but the last time I played it cool, I ended up half naked in the hall of a Chicago high-rise. I won’t fall victim to playing it cool, and my feelings can’t handle pretending sex is all I want.

There was probably a better way to approach the subject, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t screw it up somehow.

I’ve lost any chance of anything that maybe, possibly, could have been. It slipped through my fingers like every other good thing in my life.

I turn to him and open my mouth, but the words are stuck in my throat.

“Lord and Lady Ashwood, so nice to see you again.” A purple plume of fowl feathers quivers on top of Lady Whitmore’s head as she smiles down on me and Kane. “May I present Miss Ivy Church.”

Kane stands and bows as Lady Whitmore steps to the side. Ivy strides forward, graceful and confident and even more beautiful close up than she was from across the dining hall.

“Lord Ashwood.” Ivy extends her hand to Kane and slides into a slow curtsy as she bats her lashes, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips. “I wish we would have had the chance to be formally introduced at last night’s feast, but we all know too well how that ended. It’s a shame, though—I would have enjoyed getting to know you better.”

“Perhaps another time,” Kane says.

“Please, Lord Ashwood, don’t tempt me with promises you can’t keep.”

Kane lowers his lips to Ivy’s hand with a murmured reply, and my fingers dig into my legs, my nails biting into my dress as my stomach twists into knots. I don’t want to be, I shouldn’t be, but I’m back in the conference room at Posh Pulse, trying again to prove my worth and claim what could be mine.

“I’m Hannah,” I say, springing to my feet. “Lady Ashwood. His wife.” My smile is brittle and forced, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“So you are.” Ivy frowns. “Well, we should get comfortable. I wouldn’t want to be on my feet in the middle of the room, waiting for the queen like a lapdog.” Her gaze flicks to Kane. “Lord Ashwood, I hope you don’t keep me waiting.”

Kane nods politely, but his hand tightens around the back of the loveseat, his knuckles white.

Ivy and Lady Whitmore settle into the two empty chairs across from us on the other side of the small table, their presence one more thing I have to be nervous about.

“Ignore her,” Marion whispers as soon as I sit back down. “She’s just trying to get under your skin.”

Mission accomplished.

I nod, trying to steady my breathing and think about something else. Anything else.

Marion motions to a cluster of women seated at the far end of the room near the fireplace. I try to focus on the gossip she spills between bubbles of laughter, but Ivy’s presence is too big, too much like Stephanie’s. Every time she laughs, every time she glances our way, I feel like a little girl playing dress-up in a world I don’t deserve to be in.

Attendants fan out with trays of sweets, and McDougall approaches, a platter of delicate pastries balanced in his hands. He pauses between Marion and me, and we whisper hellos as he brings the plate to the small table in front of us.

A delicate pastry topped with glazed strawberries wobbles on the edge of the tray. McDougall moves to catch it, but it lands in my lap with a soft thud, splattering cream and strawberries onto my dress.

The room goes silent for a heartbeat, all eyes turning to me.

McDougall’s cheeks are beet red, his fluff of hair quivering on his head as he rushes to pick up the sweet with a pair of gold tongs. “I beg your apologies, Lady Ashwood.” The glaze sticks to my velvet skirt, and the fabric lifts as he tries to gently peel away the pastry without causing further damage.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I force a hollow laugh as I unstick the food from my dress. “Looks like I’m the dessert now.”

Across the table, Lady Whitmore gasps, her jeweled fingers flying to her mouth, and Ivy flicks open her fan to shield her catty snicker. My heart skips a beat, embarrassment stretching the moment into an eternity as I sit there, pastry outstretched to McDougall, milk and sugar staining my dress. Ivy watches, waiting like a spider in her web for me to make the smallest mistake.

The weight of her gaze, of my past with Stephanie, of the pressure to be Lady Ashwood—it all presses down on me like an anvil.

Without thinking, I clear my throat, my voice cutting through the nobles’ hushed whispers. “Mr. McDougall, must I remind you to be more careful? We cannot afford any more mistakes.”

There’s a slight, almost-imperceptible crease between McDougall’s brow, his eyes flashing with hurt. He quickly masks it, his back rigid as he takes the pastry and bows with painstaking care. “Of course, Lady Ashwood. My sincerest apologies.”

A pang of regret twists in my gut, but I keep my chin lifted, my expression neutral, embodying Lady Ashwood the same way I should have embodied a killer marketing maven while at Posh Pulse.

My gaze flicks to Ivy. She continues to sneer, whispering to Lady Whitmore behind her fan, and I nearly wince as the two women laugh, no doubt at my expense.

McDougall retreats, the tray of pastries still in hand, his shoulders slightly hunched as if to protect himself from further humiliation. Regret squeezes my heart, but I can’t afford to show any weakness.

I glance back at Kane for reassurance, for anything more than the emotionless stare he’s leveled at me since the barn.

“Unnecessary, don’t you think, Fawn?” His jaw is tight, voice low, but his disapproval is loud enough to make my lungs squeeze.

I clear my throat, my heart sinking. “I thought…I thought that’s what they wanted. What I was supposed to do.”

“And for their approval, you would compromise who you are?”

Before I can respond, the double doors at the far end swing open. There’s no time for apologies or explanations. The moment has passed, leaving the bitter taste of guilt in my mouth.

The herald steps forward, his voice ringing out. “Her Majesty, Queen Lockhart!”

Every head turns as the queen enters. Long white hair cascades around her sunken cheeks and sharp shoulders. Deep lines draw a map of grief around her thin lips and pale blue eyes. Her presence commands the room, a ghost of former grandeur wrapped in a scarlet gown that flows like liquid fire with intricate gold embroidery along the hem.

The room remains silent as we rise from our seats in unison. We bow and curtsy while the queen moves with a grace born of habit, her back straight, her steps slow and measured. Her crystal-blue eyes are unfocused and tired, scanning the room without truly seeing it.

As the Queen Mother nears, Kane bumps me with his elbow. I follow his direction, dipping my head and deepening my curtsy as she passes and practically floats to the high-backed mahogany throne in front of the window.

She takes her seat next to her own personal tea table complete with a porcelain tea set and a spread of delicate pastries and fruits. Her nod is slight, and I rise from my curtsy along with Marion and the others.

“Be seated,” Queen Lockhart says, her voice melodic yet commanding.

We comply, the rustle of fabric and the soft scrape of chairs the only sounds as we resume our places.

McDougall rushes to her side. He pours the queen a cup of tea, the liquid steaming as it cascades into the porcelain cup. With meticulous care, he adds a single lump of sugar, then finishes with a splash of milk before retreating to join the other attendants lining the wall.

Queen Lockhart lifts her teacup, her thin pale fingers wrapped elegantly around the handle. She takes a noiseless sip and briefly closes her eyes as if savoring the moment. Only when her cup is back in its saucer, the gentle clink echoing in the silent room, do the other nobles resume their movements and quiet conversations.

I steal a glance at the queen. Her deep-crimson dress pools around her pale form like blood around a corpse. Her weary blue eyes meet mine, and I offer a small respectful nod.

“Lady Ashwood.” She calls on me, cutting through the hushed chatter, and I feel like I’ve walked into the office without pants. “It has been quite some time since our kingdom has welcomed any visitors. Tell me, what do you think of Pentacles?”

A lump forms in my throat. My thoughts drift to the crumbling fountain, rickety shelters, and starving children in the heart of the city and the men with bright blue eyes who were used as pawns by the snake in their very own garden.

I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to tell the truth.

Spin it, Hannah.

I take a deep breath and summon the skills I’ve spent my entire adult life honing.

“Your Majesty,” I begin, my voice steadying as I find my footing, “Pentacles is undeniably beautiful, and the people I’ve met have been nothing short of welcoming.”

I pause, glancing around the room at the assembled nobles. My gaze lands on Ivy, who’s waiting, judging. “The kingdom has immense potential. The history is rich. The culture is vibrant. But every place, even one as great as Pentacles, has areas that need attention to truly shine.”

“You speak like someone well-versed in the art of persuasion, Lady Ashwood.” Queen Lockhart’s eyes narrow, and she tilts her head from one side to the other as if weighing my words. “Tell us, what areas within the kingdom would you polish to make shine?”

Behind me, Kane grips the loveseat, the wood creaking.

“Well, I don’t really mean that—”

A shriek pierces the air, shattering the fragile calm.

Gasps ripple through the room as the queen surges to her feet, her pale eyes wide. She whips around and strides to the window, her gown sweeping behind her.

Kane is next, surging forward without a word. I chase after him, fear gripping my chest. One by one, everyone in the room crowds to the windows that line the grand chamber.

Outside, the townspeople surge against the gates. Their voices rise in a roar of shouts and cries that crash against the palace’s cold, unyielding stone. Armor-clad guards struggle to hold the line blocking the main gate, their spears raised in a futile attempt to maintain order.

My breath is quick and shallow as I fill the space between the queen and Kane. Fingers gripping the windowsill, I scan the throng below. My eyes lock onto Lila, the young girl from my trip to the center of town, the mirror version of my boss’s granddaughter. Her brother breaks away from her and chases after a startled chicken, completely unaware of the chaos around him. Lila leaps forward after him, but the crowd cuts her off.

The little boy continues his chase, racing straight toward the line of guards. He trips and lands at the feet of a guard, the chicken squeezing through the gate’s iron posts to safety.

With a shout, the guard lifts his spear. Lila breaks through the crowd and rushes forward, panic flashing across her face as she shields her brother from the approaching guard. His face turns red as his yelling intensifies, his words lost in the roar of the mob.

A man breaks away from the mass of people, pushing the guard back and placing himself between the children and the threat. The guard levels his spear, the pointed tip glinting in the sunlight. Their rescuer continues to shout, shielding Lila as she grabs hold of her brother and stumbles back into the crowd.

My breath stills as the guard’s expression hardens. In one swift brutal motion, he plunges the spear into the protester’s side.

The man’s scream of pain is cut short as blood pours from his mouth and down his side. The scarlet stain spreads across his shirt, running in thick dark lines down his dirt-streaked skin. Eyes wide, he grasps at the spear embedded in his flesh, his weak hands trying to pull it free.

With a merciless yank, the guard tears the spear loose. The man crumples to the ground, his body twitching in a final desperate struggle to hold on. Blood pools beneath him, soaking the earth as life drains from his body.

The crowd surges forward in a stampede of outrage. The guards tighten their formation in silent warning that any further disobedience will be met with the same fate.

Without thinking, I reach for Kane’s hand, for reassurance and strength. His gaze is fixed on the scene outside. His grip is steely and tense beneath mine, but he doesn’t pull away.

The room around me buzzes with hushed conversations. The nobles whisper among themselves, their faces drawn, their eyes bright with worry. The kingdom is on the edge of collapse, and they will do nothing but gawk from their ivory tower.

The queen mother straightens, her serene mask slipping to reveal a flicker of unease. Her lips press into a thin line as she turns from the window, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she looks away.

“My son is resting from the minor injury he sustained, but we must call for him and for more guards,” Queen Lockhart snaps at McDougall. “The kingdom needs its king. Alderic must address this unrest immediately. Pentacles cannot afford to descend into chaos.”

“Maybe aggression isn’t the answer,” I blurt. Kane’s hand tightens around mine, and I shake loose of his grip. “Your Majesty, the people are starving. I’ve seen it firsthand. If you were to—”

Ivy interrupts, her brow pinched, voice dripping with disdain. “Who are you to say such things to our queen? You’re not even from this kingdom.”

She doesn’t know how right she is.

“I don’t have to be from here to know when something is wrong or that your people are fighting to meet their basic needs—food and shelter—things that should be given freely. Things that were until—”

“My husband is gone,” Queen Lockhart thunders. “Those people you speak of tried to do the same to my son. Luckily, he only requires a bit of rest to regain his strength.” She takes a deep breath, her thin nostrils flaring. “Regardless of the leader the king has chosen to be, I have no more fight left in me. I do not want to fix this. I simply want it to be fixed. I do not care how. I do not care if it means the end of the Lockhart rule as long as Pentacles still stands. I am through—with all of it.”

Her declaration hangs heavy in the room, a shocking admission that ripples through the assembled nobles like a stone in a still pond.

The queen takes another breath and closes her eyes as if gathering the last of her strength. With a flick of her wrist, she dismisses us all and strides from the room, her dress billowing behind her like a blood-soaked cloud.

Ivy tears away from the window after the queen, stopping next to me to hiss, “You are nobody, a plaything, temporary. I suggest you leave. Go back where you belong before I force you from my kingdom myself.”

The words are daggers meant to slice, and I can’t help but hear Stephanie deal the cutting blows. Ivy marches after the queen, a trail of nobles in her wake.

“I was trying to help,” I say, my voice breaking.

I turn to Kane to rescue me once again, but he doesn’t look at me as he strides from the room, his departure twisting the knife in my chest. Marion stands next to her husband, her face a mask of courtly composure. I catch her eye, hoping for a glimmer of solidarity, but Highgate presses his palm to her back and ushers her from the room. Her gaze flickers with a moment of regret, but she follows her husband without a word.

Ivy is right. This isn’t my kingdom. This isn’t my realm. These aren’t even my clothes. Thinking I could blend in, thinking I could help, is a joke.

It’s difficult to swallow, and my inhales come in panicked gasps.

I can’t find a balance between who I am and who I’m supposed to be. Honestly, I’ve never gotten the balance right. I’m always too much of myself or too much of someone else. The only time I’ve felt like me is when I’m alone with Kane. But I’ve messed that up too.

The urge to flee is overwhelming, and I bolt from the room. The ornate corridors blur as I run, tears streaming down my face. Desperation fuels my flight as my footsteps echo in the empty hallways. I’ve tried so hard to fit in, and I want to make a difference, but now I’m losing it all.

I burst through a side door and stumble out into the garden. The cool air hits my face like a slap, and I choke back a fresh round of tears. One thought crystallizes in my mind: I know how to fix this.

Find my purse, find the card, and find my way back home.