“I lost my appetite somewhere around sunset,” I mutter and pull the blanket tight around my shoulders.
Sylvie doesn’t press. She moves around the room, fluffing pillows, lighting the hearth. She doesn’t hover, but she doesn’t rush either. She’s quiet in the way only someone who truly understands heartbreak can be.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for breakfast.”
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Be sure to add honey to the porridge. Bernice says it helps sweeten a sour mood.”
“I think I might need the whole hive.”
Sylvie chuckles and brings the tray over. “Here. Eat. Even misery needs energy.”
I manage a small smile and accept the bowl, stirring the porridge absentmindedly. “You’re good at this,” I say.
“At what?”
“This.” I gesture vaguely. “The whole…knowing-what-to-say-and-when-to-bring-honey thing.”
She shrugs, settling onto the windowsill. “Castle life teaches you quickly. You either learn how to read people, or you get eaten alive—sometimes literally, depending on what room you wander into.” She laughs, but the words hit a little too close to home.
I force a smile, pretending my stomach isn’t turning itself inside out over everything I’m trying not to think about. Namely, a certain golden boy who managed to ruin a perfectly good fantasy in record time.
Focus on something other than your spectacularly bad tastein men.
“Speaking of wandering…” I glance up, watching Sylvie in the soft morning light. “I was touring the castle last night, and I didn’t see Clara. Is she…okay?”
Sylvie’s smile flickers. She fiddles with a frayed thread at the hem of her apron, the picture of someone trying very hard not to lie. “Clara is…complicated.”
Complicated. That’s certainly one way to describe a woman who was just sacrificed in a bathtub by Queen-Serpent-Crown.
I set my spoon down carefully, keeping my tone light. “Complicated how?”
Sylvie shrugs, her hands smoothing over her apron like she can iron out her own tension. “She…tended to ask questions. Go places she wasn’t supposed to.”
“She sounds a lot like me,” I say, smiling a little too sweetly.
Sylvie’s gaze sharpens for just a second before she drops it back to her lap. “Castle life doesn’t suit everyone,” she murmurs. “Some people get…into things they shouldn’t.”
I pick up my spoon again, swirling it idly through the porridge. “Is that what happened to Clara?” I glance up, watching her carefully. “Did she get into something she shouldn’t?”
A beat. Sylvie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
When she finally speaks again, she says, “There are a lot of rules here. Most of them aren’t written down. But everyone knows who enforces them.”
“Delphara?” I ask.
She stiffens slightly. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t worry about Clara.”
Maybe it’s better if I didn’t know there’s a secretbathroom/death chamber hidden in this place, either, but here we are.
Sylvie huffs a small, humorless laugh. “Worrying isn’t exactly encouraged around here. Not unless you want to end up on the Queen’s list, which, trust me, is a lot easier to get on than off.”
I let her pivot. Let her shove the conversation back onto safer ground even though every instinct in me wants to keep digging, keep clawing for the truth.
I stir my porridge again, the honey dissolving into cloudy swirls. “Yeah,” I say lightly. “I’m pretty sure I made the Queen’s list the second I breathed near her.”
Sylvie huffs a laugh. “That’s about as warm as she gets, honestly.”
I flash her a crooked smile, leaning into the easy rhythm. “Good to know I’m not the only one she’s got it out for.”
