Page 89 of Wicked Queen

“It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t, and I could tell. “Let’s get some air,” I suggested.

The garden was far enough away from the actual event that few people had straggled out that direction. It was a bit of a shame since even the lights illuminating the reflection pool and the ellipse of jets had been tinted violet. The effect was other-worldly but chill, and I instantly relaxed.

“Feeling okay?” Belle asked as I kicked off my heels to enjoy a moment without their constant pinch. She scooped down to pick them up.

“Thanks,” I said, hooking my fingers around them. “Honestly? I always feel out of place at these things.”

“You planned it,” she pointed out.

“I know.” It was hard to explain that even after a few years of time spent with London’s most powerful and elite, I still didn’t feel like one, particularly because I’d been crowned Queen Consort alongside Alexander.

“No, I mean you planned it,” she repeated. “Clara, there was a time when you would fade into the wallpaper at a party. You never would have planned one.”

“I’m hiding now.”

“You’re taking a breather,” she corrected me, turning to face me. “After which, you will return and make small talk and nod graciously and walk hand-in-hand with your husband.”

“I know that, but I still feel like an outsider.”

“Because you are,” Belle scoffed. “You’re the Queen. You basically went from party flunky—I love you but it’s true—to above everyone. You don’t belong because you were always meant to stand out.”

“When did you become so wise?” I asked her, narrowing my eyes.

“Love does funny things to people. I promise not to let it go to my head,” she said.

I was incredibly blessed to have my friends, because they were real. Status, money, power—none of that mattered to them. They didn’t see me as an outsider. They saw me as Clara. I didn’t know what I would do without them, which was the real reason that I’d dragged her outside. “Spill. What’s this about a house? Are you moving? I thought you loved Holland Park.”

There was enough house for a baby or two and then some, but I’d gotten the impression for months that Smith Price had plans to whisk her away.

“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “Not since…”

“Since?” I pressed as my heart pounded a little harder. Her evasion was only more worrying.

“We’re buying an estate in Scotland,” she blurted out, hurrying on when she saw my face fall, “or we were. I think we still are, but it’s not permanent.”

“You’re temporarily moving to Scotland?” I asked faintly.

“It’s not far. Only a couple of hours by car and less by helicopter and you know someone who flies those,” she teased, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“That’s why you keep going out of town. I wondered.”

I recalled how much Smith had enjoyed Christmas at Balmoral. They’d returned to Scotland soon after, which had been my first clue that they were plotting betrayal. “How can you leave me here? When will I see my god baby?”

“Your god baby, huh?” Her eyebrow arched like this was in question.

“It better be.”

“She,” Belle said softly, the ghost of a smile flitting over her mouth.

“She?” I repeated. “It’s a she?”

I forgot about being mad at her and pulled her into a hug. Belle laughed, squeezing me as we squealed. “Don’t make me cry. I’ll ruin my make-up.”

“Sod your make-up,” I said, drawing back, I glared at her. “You can’t take away my god baby and Elizabeth’s best friend.”

“Best friend, huh?”