Thirty

Landing in another realm hasn’t gotten any easier. At least this time I’m still on my feet. I stumble a bit, the landscape settling around me, but I manage to steady myself before toppling into a puddle of mud. The familiar sight of the gate surrounding the palace looms before me, grand and imposing against the clear daytime sky.

Luckily, there’s no one at the rear of the palace to spot my magickal entry, and I shove the tarot card into the bodice of my dress, its warmth reassuring against my heart. The intricate gold embroidery on the gown catches the sunlight, sparkling as I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. This time, I’m not just pretending. This time, I’m the real Lady Ashwood, and I’m going to fucking nail it.

The guards at the front gate watch me approach through narrowed eyes. I hold my head high, channeling every ounce of regal poise I absorbed from Marion.

“Halt!” One of the guards, a burly man with a thick beard, steps in front of the massive pentacle twisted into the design of the iron gate, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “State your business.”

It’s him—the same guard who killed Lila’s protector as she scrambled to hold back her brother.

My gaze drops to the ground beneath my feet. The cobblestones are stained red with blood. I clench my hands into fists so tightly, my nails bite into my palms. Taking a deep breath, I lift my head and spear the guard with a gaze that could melt glass.

“I am Lady Ashwood,” I announce, my voice barbed. “And I demand to see Queen Lockhart.”

The guard’s eyes widen slightly, and he glances back at his companions, uncertainty wrinkling his forehead.

I chose to ask for the queen mother for a reason, this reason. She’s reclusive and withdrawn. It’ll take time for McDougall, for everyone within the palace, to figure out what to do with me. And that’s exactly what I need—time.

The bearded guard frowns, the lines on his forehead deepening as he settles back onto his heels. “Lady Ashwood? We were told Lord and Lady Ashwood were no better than swindlers. You’re the real deal, are you?”

“What you were told is irrelevant. Furthermore, I do not have to prove my lineage to the likes of you. I shall let your betters sort that out,” I say, my voice like steel. “Now, inform Her Majesty that Lady Ashwood—the real Lady Ashwood—is calling. After what has transpired in her palace, Queen Lockhart will not do me the disrespect of refusing an audience.”

He crosses his arms over his barrel chest, a silent immovable wall. “Queen Lockhart does not receive unexpected visitors. Perhaps Lord Four or King Lockhart—”

“I will speak only with the queen,” I demand. “At the very least, I am owed that much.”

He squints and rubs the scraggly end of his beard. “Wait here. I’ll convey your request to—”

“No,” I bark, taking a step forward, my dress swirling around my ankles. “If your queen wishes for me to wait, I shall do so inside the palace and not out here on the streets.”

I hold my breath, the seconds stretching, my heart hammering. I can’t afford to show any weakness. Not now. Not when I’m so close to getting back inside the palace to set everything right.

He hesitates, then slowly nods, signaling to the other guards to unlock the gates. As the heavy iron creaks open, I release my breath. The scrape of metal against stone sets my teeth on edge, but the Empress is a warm, steady pulse against my chest, a promise that I’m on the right path.

I straighten my shoulders and stride through the open gate, my adrenaline pumping and my pulse pounding between my ears. They close behind me with a resounding clang , sealing me in as I step onto the stone pathway leading to the palace’s entrance. Massive doors loom ahead, flanked by more guards. They stand at attention, their gazes fixed as we approach. I lift my chin, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.

The bearded guard whispers to another, who steps inside, while the others remain by the door, their expressions unreadable. I stand there, waiting, nervous sweat sliding down my back.

They’re going to catch you, Hannah. They’ll see right through this expensive disguise and throw you in jail to rot.

I nearly choke and cover it up with some sharp throat clearing. I won’t let fear hold me back or trip me up. Not this time. I push away my doomed thoughts and stiffen my spine.

I am Lady Ashwood, and these men will do as I say.

When I step inside, I’m taken back to the first time I entered the palace—naive and desperate to find my way home. The grandeur nearly overwhelmed me, the vast halls stretching endlessly, the marble floors and high ceilings making it clear this world wasn’t mine.

But this time, it’s different. The grandeur is still there, my senses humming with riches and splendor, but I’m not as wide-eyed as I used to be. I’m in control. I belong here. The palace, the Kingdom of Pentacles, is simply a company like any other, and I know exactly how to speak that language.

Same as before, McDougall is immediately at my side, his presence as sudden and silent as a ghost. His lace-white wisp of hair floats above his head, his weathered features pressed into a question. “Does my lady have any luggage that needs to be fetched or a carriage to be seen to?”

A smile lifts my cheeks, and a laugh escapes me. All luxury destinations are the same, it seems.

“No luggage. No carriage. Simply me.”

The urge to take his hand, to thank him for everything he’s done and apologize for trying to be someone I’m not, wells up within me. But I don’t. The time will come, but this isn’t it. The stakes are too high. For now, I’m happy my disguise works. The gown, the wig, the violet contacts—I’m playing my role perfectly, and I’m in control of the narrative.

He nods. “Very well, my lady. Shall I escort you to the sitting room, perhaps ring for tea?”

“That would be lovely.”

He motions to the nearest attendant, who bobs into a curtsy and disappears into the maze of the palace as I fall into step beside him. The familiarity of his presence brings a sense of comfort, another reminder that I’m not entirely alone.

We reach the sitting room, the air tinged with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the velvet-lined furniture and ornate tapestries.

I take a deep breath, ready to unpack my situation and not really sure of exactly how I’m going to do so, when the door swings open. The young attendant steps in, carrying a tray laden with a delicate tea set, an array of cakes, and a selection of ripe fruits. The moment is lost, and I bite my tongue, frustration simmering beneath my composed exterior.

I lower myself onto the nearest settee and watch silently as the attendant arranges the tray on the low table in front of me with agonizing slowness, the clinking of porcelain punctuating the seconds ticking by.

I force a polite smile as the attendant finishes setting up the tea service. She curtsies before retreating to the door and leaving as silently as she came.

“If that will be all, my lady.” McDougall dips into a bow and makes a move to leave, his hand already reaching for the door. “I’ll excuse myself and alert Her Majesty to your presence.”

“Wait,” I call out, louder than I intended.

He pauses, his fingers on the door handle, and turns to face me. “Yes, my lady?”

“Please, stay,” I say softly, my heart hammering a staccato beat within my chest. I take a sharp inhale, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside me. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”

McDougall steps closer and tilts his head. “And what is that, my lady?”

Suddenly wildly uncomfortable, I adjust in my seat and clasp my hands in my lap. “McDougall, I…” I falter, searching for the right words. “I owe you an apology. I was rude and dismissive of you when I was last here. You don’t deserve that, and I’m really sorry.”

He blinks and stands a little straighter. “Why, thank you, my lady, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“We have,” I say. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“You are not the true Lady Ashwood?”

“I never was.” I remove my wig and let the blond strands tumble to the cushions before removing my contacts and hiding them with the linen napkin.

“My gods.” His eyes widen, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before recognition registers. “Hannah?” He squints, creeping forward as if I might attack.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“You arrived with the warrior.”

“Yes,” I shoot to my feet and lunge to grab his arm, “but please don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, his swirl of hair trembling. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“I have known Kane since he was a boy. I watched him grow up alongside King Lockhart. I know who he is. I know he has only ever wanted what is best for Pentacles. But why have you returned? It is dangerous here for you, now more than ever.”

“I think I was called here.” I press my hand to my chest, to the card warm beneath my dress. “I know I was called here. I’m the only person who can save him. And, not to sound white savior–ish or anything, but I’m also the one who can save your kingdom.”

I reach into the bodice of my dress and pull out the Empress. The card’s edges glow with golden sunlight, and an otherworldly breeze twirls through the grasses at her feet.

“It’s magick.” His gaze falls to the card, then back to me. “May I?”

McDougall motions to the card, and I let him have it. As soon as he touches it, a faint shimmer of energy ripples through the air. He stumbles backward, his hand reaching for purchase.

I grab his elbow and gently guide him to the settee.

“You do not live as long as I have without hearing a legend or two. However, this—” His voice is heavy with awe as he drags his fingers along the image of the Empress. “This is the stuff of dreams.”

“It’s real,” I say, my voice steady. “The Tower sent it to me, summoned me, and brought me here. It’s calling for me to act, but I need your help.”

“Of course.” He nods and hands me the card as if in a trance. “But first, there is one other we must inform. She will be positively thrilled to once again have you in her grasp.”