Page 107 of Queen of War and Ruin

Blayne sniffs as he glances around the garden again. I can almost see the wheels of his mind spinning. If Princess Acelina approves of him⁠—

Gods. I hate to be a part of anything that could make Blayne’s life easier.

“I believe this is enough fresh air for the day,” I declare, turning to Petrys. “Take me to my quarters.”

I don’t even look at Blayne as I leave. My cheeks burn as I stalk through the garden, holding my head high, pretending I don’t notice all the people turning to watch me, all the whispers rustling in my wake.

How many of these well-dressed nobles believe Malrik’s lies? How many of the people in this garden think I started this war so I could be with Prince Laurance in Ethiria? Or, gods, how many of them think I betrayed Zarek so I could marry Blayne instead?

I shiver as I pass from the sunlight of the gardens into the cool hallways of the palace.

“It’s got to be tonight,” Petrys mutters once we’re alone.

I turn to him. We’re walking through a narrow hallway, alone, heading toward what must be the guest quarters where I’m supposed to spend the night.

“What?” I whisper.

Petrys stops in front of one of the doors. He looks down the hallway, then turns to me.

“We wait until we know this new advisor isn’t guarding Zarek,” he replies, “and then we’re all getting the fuck out of here. Tonight.”

Chapter 55

Lilias

DO I HAVE A CHOICE?

But it’s not Petrys who opens the door to the small guest room hours later, after the sky behind the window has turned to gray and the last streaks of sunlight have faded from the western horizon. It’s not Blayne either.

It’s Doloros. And she’s carrying a dress.

It’s an elaborate, pale ballgown, one I recognize from the wardrobe in Blayne’s house. Doloros helps me step into the massive skirts. The dress doesn’t fit me well; it’s too tight across my chest, and it’s so long I need to hold the skirts up while I walk. While Doloros pulls the bodice tight, I wonder who wore this dress before me. And what happened to her.

Doloros has me sit in front of a mirror as she arranges my hair into an elaborate knot of braids and curls. I stare at my reflection and wonder if this mirror is also a window.

No, I don’t think so. I doubt this room is important enough to be spied on.

“Are you ready?” Doloros asks, once she steps back from the dressing table.

I meet her gaze in the dull gleam of the mirror.

“Do I have a choice?” I reply.

“I could tell him you’ve fallen ill,” she says with a shrug.

That’s the most she’s ever said to me. My lips twist into a smile.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “But that won’t be necessary.”

I come to my feet as Doloros opens the door. Petrys is waiting for me in the hallway. We walk through the halls together, Petrys slightly ahead of me, his hand on his sword.

“People are scared of him,” Petrys whispers, once we’re alone in a wide hallway. “This new advisor. No one wants to talk about him.”

We turn toward the castle’s grand entrance hall. The swell of voices grows louder.

“I had a hell of a time even getting someone to tell me where on the fourth floor his quarters are,” Petrys whispers, shaking his head.

“But you did?” I ask. “You know where they are?”