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Whatever happened, whatever he discovered, I hope it's a big enough step forward, something that draws us closer to putting an end to the threats and the shadows looming over us.
Remy is watching me, his discerning eyes assessing me in a way that tells me he knows there is something wrong. I’m almost grateful when another knock sounds, and he’s forced to answer.
I just wanted you to know that I could.
I cringe at the memory of Damian’s threat, shoving it away along with my fiddle as the maids bustle into the room.
Pasting a false smile on my face, I let them ask me questions about the gala and my charity while they clean and dress me for the day. All the while, I try not to wonder if Damian’s threat extends to them, too.
Is anyone in the palace safe from him?
It’s a ridiculous question, one I already know the answer to.
As difficult as it is to focus on anything but last night’s visit and getting out from under Madame’s thumb, playing this role during the day is what’s keeping us alive.
So, I force myself to make polite conversation through breakfast, smiling when cued, laughing with the family, answering questions about whether or not I’m excited for my first official gala. If Remy’s family can tell something is off, they’re astute enough not to comment on it.
Remy kisses my forehead with a little more sincerity than usual, though, before he and Jean leave to discuss the recent arrests. Shortly after they go, the rest of us head into the ballroom, including Paule, who never leaves Grandmère’s side.
That’s where I spend most of my day, planning my gala with the women of the royal family, Paule, Pumpkin, and more than the usual handful of soldiers.
All your increased patrols and your palace security won’t save either of you.
I tense with anger all over again. I try not to let it show, but my only reprieve from thoughts of my sadistic brother are when Grandmère and Paule speculate loudly on what month I will produce the next Corentine heir.
Forcing a polite smile to my lips, I listen as she suggests all the healthy eating and drinking habits for an expectant mother. Remy’s sisters are hardly helping, Chloé especially. One look at the uncomfortable expression on my face, and she’s linking her arm in mine, forcing me to stand there while she asks clarifying questions.
“I will make you pay for this,” I whisper when Grandmère isn’t looking.
The smirk she shoots me is so reminiscent of Remy that it sends an unexpected stab of longing through me, though I technically saw him just a few hours ago.
“And, mà cherie, you mustn't leave the palace after dark to protect the bébé,” Grandmère adds a moment later. “And once you begin to show, we will discuss the best gowns to display your glorious form.”
When she brings up something about the end of my third trimester and hyenas, Chloé’s face is tinged pink with all of her suppressed laughter.
“It’s rather fortunate that we have some in the menagerie then,” she says, looking at me with wide eyes full of mirth.
The queen is gracious enough to interrupt, at long last. She cuts her mother-in-law off smoothly with a question about the menu. Her hands are firm, but gentle on my shoulders as she pulls me away from all the talk of babies and futures that are far more unlikely than any of them suspect.
If not for the way I spent my evening, I might have found it all amusing as well. But knowing that Damian’s threat could apply to every one of them, it’s an effort to breathe normally.
All of this could go up in flames at any moment.
“Don’t mind Grandmère,” Katriane says, pulling me from my thoughts. She’s sampling one of the menu options for the gala, turning her nose up at a custard tart, then shrugging half-heartedly at one of the butter cakes. “And don’t feel pressured to begin your new family too soon. I know all too well how important it is to enjoy the honeymoon while it lasts.”
Instead of waiting for her to expound on something more personal than I am ready to hear, I offer a suggestion on the food.
“What if we did something unconventional for the menu?”
My mouth waters as I think of the small, sugar-crusted, fried bits of dough from the food vendors in the Mid-Sector.
The queen raises her royal brow in question, and I tell her about some of my preferred dishes from the Mid-Sector, including my favorite steamed pork buns. Though I can tell she’s a little put off by the concept of using such common plebeian recipes for a royal affair, she also seems intrigued by the concept.
Before we can discuss it further, the familiar stride of sure footsteps echoes through the ballroom.
“There you are.” Remy’s voice is like silk on my skin.
I turn to find him and his father striding toward us, his eyes fixed on me.
