“Nothing.”
She sounded flat and distant even to her own ears, but Adeline tried for a breezy smile all the same. Her mother, unsurprisingly, was not convinced.
“Has he done something –”
“No!”
The word snapped out of her. She knew she sounded like a stroppy youth, and honestly, she didn’t much care. She was tired. She was tired of being good, of being gracious. Of being walked all over until she was worn thin. Maybe she was due a bit of a strop. Maybe she was owed a bit of grace.
She poked at a piece of pastry in the dish on the bedside table, chasing it around the ceramic tray.
“No,” she said again, more quietly. “Now can you leave it alone, please?”
The Queen pursed her lips.
“I can, but I’d rather not. You’re upset, and I want to help.”
Adeline laughed, the sound dry as it ripped painfully from her chest with no humour to soothe it.
“And you always get what you want, don’t you? Being the Queen?”
Selma’s pale brows pulled together, both pinched and arched. She looked so delicate, with her wide, hollow eyes and crestfallen expression. Perhaps it should have soothed the sickening anger roiling inside her, but Adeline found it only made her grit her teeth harder.
“I just want you to be happy, darling.”
She laughed again, even harsher than before. “Do you?”
The Queen frowned. “Of course.”
Adeline dropped her own fork into the dish, a little forcefully, and watched her mother flinch at the sudden clatter.
She relished it.
“Do you remember Elsie?”
The Queen tilted her weary golden head, puzzled, and the angry youth within Adeline’s chest reared up. This would be entirely too satisfying.
“Elsie?” She smiled faintly, politely apologetic. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Adeline smiled back, a too-sweet smile that almost hurt her teeth.
“Elsie was my friend. Her mother was a porter in the kitchens.”
Nothing at first. But then her mother’s puzzled smile went slack, and Adeline watched as she paled further, even the faint, fevered flush draining from her cheeks.
“I remember.”
She said it quietly, so quietly that it was easy to go on as though she hadn’t spoken at all. So on Adeline went, bright and over the top, grinning with all her teeth.
“On my Blessing Day, I tried to play a joke on Mareda. Nothing particularly sophisticated, just a stupid little trick. I ran down to the kitchens, and Elsie helped me find the tray of goblets to be served at our table.”
Selma squeezed her eyes shut.
“Adeline,” she whispered, as though it pained her. As thoughshewas the one who hurt.
“I painted the rims with silver icing sugar – all of them. I didn’t know which one she’d pick, you see, and I wanted to make absolutely sure that I got her. Not the brightest plan, in hindsight, but Iwasonly eight.”
“Adeline. I’m sorry.”
