Page 49 of Wicked Queen

Mary, who had always reminded me a bit of a bulldog, was stooped and thin. I’d seen her a few weeks ago, but the change in her appearance was dramatic.

“Why are you talking to her?” Her beady eyes darted nervously between us. “I told you to stay away from her.”

“Mother,” Henry said in a warning tone.

“She has no idea—”

“Mother, Clara is the Queen now. You will have to start treating her with respect.”

“You think I’m the disrespectful one?” she hissed. “I should tell her. Then—”

“That is enough.” Henry grabbed her elbow and steered her away, mouthing an apology to me.

I pasted a bland smile on as a few passersby watched the exchange. I was accustomed to Mary’s hatred for me, but it never made it any easier. She blamed me for her older son’s death and she hadn’t liked me much before that either. There was no incentive for me to continue trying to win her over. It was a lost cause, and I’d run out of energy.

Looking around, I wished for the hundredth time that Alexander would arrive. He was running later than he’d hoped, though he’d warned me that might be the case. Somehow he managed to squeeze in a few meetings with potential allies in Parliament. It was far more important for him to take those than be at the games. Meanwhile, I felt alone, battling pregnancy brain and an inferiority complex. With Edward running the show and Belle absent, I didn’t have any friends to save me.

I ordered a club soda at the bar only to spot someone who looked more miserable than me. Anderson Stone was here and he’d been cornered by a woman. That probably happened to him a lot and normally it wouldn’t be my place to save him; it might send him the wrong message. But it wasn’t just any woman who’d sidelined him. It was Sarah. The most eligible girl at the games had found the most eligible bachelor.

But what she didn’t know could hurt all of us.

Anders’ face lit up as I drew closer, making me feel even worse. I’d gone in with the priority that I would keep my distance from him. Now I was walking right to him.

“Clara,” he called when I was within earshot.

Sarah’s head swiveled, her face dripping poison at the sight of me. “Oh, you.”

Sarah obviously wasn’t as keen to welcome spring as the rest of us, because she’d dressed in black from the wide-brimmed hat she’d donned to the wedge sandals on her feet. With her looks she would have stood out in anything, but the funereal effect of this ensemble made her a force of gravity. Everyone in the tent cast subtle glances her direction. Then again, she was also the girl who had come back from the dead. Maybe the outfit had been a fitting choice after all.

“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked sweetly. The little twat needed a reminder that I’d been the one coddling her drunk ass in the middle of the night.

“Fine. I can hold my liquor.” Then again, she probably didn’t remember. Alcohol was the ultimate blackhole.

“It didn’t seem like it last night,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

If looks could kill, Sarah’s would have me torn me to shreds and left me bleeding out. “I’m fine, really.” She waved me off with a hand. “You can go back to gestating or whatever it is you do.”

Anderson’s mouth opened, probably to defend me, and I couldn’t allow it.

Instead, I opened my own and said exactly what I was thinking. “I ensure the line of succession doesn’t pass to a Royal cunt. That’s what I do.”

I shouldn’t have said it.

Anders physically stepped away, looking as if he might burst something trying to keep a straight face. But the insult broke Sarah, who looked like I’d hit her over the head with a brick. Flustered, she turned and stomped away.

“I see you two are getting along,” he said.

“She’s the sister I never had.”

“Don’t you have a sister?” he asked, confused.

“I do. I like that sister.”

“I see.” He kicked the grass with his toe, daring to glance at me. The gesture made him look more like a nervous school boy than a famous race car driver. It was at odds with the artfully unbuttoned shirt and messy, blond hair. He was trying to send a message that he was wicked and reckless, but I knew better. “I take it she doesn’t know about…”

“No, she knows about you,” I fibbed.

“But…” Anderson turned the shade of blank paper. I thought he might pass out, so I grabbed his hand.