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Hours later,in a lonely study room, I half-heartedly scraped books off the chairs and sofas. It was nearly time to leave for the king’s address and Graham was probably already there. With my arms full, I stepped out the door into the hallway, the late afternoon sun landing in patches on the worn stone tiles.
“Miss Yarrow.”
I almost dropped my books at the sight of Graham. He hurried down the hall toward me wearing his finest suit. His face was flushed, and his black tie was crooked.
In that clothing, he wouldn’t be overlooked. Mrs. Whitting would fawn all over him if she saw that suit and our privacy would cease to exist. I pulled him back into the study room I’d just left and shut the door. “What happened? Were you punished?”
“Well, my mother spent all morning scolding me . . . but it wasn’t that.” His eyes turned serious. “My father needed help.”
“Is he okay?” I couldn’t hide my fear. The king would ruin everything if he died too soon.
Graham bit his lip. “More or less. He’s still insistent about giving his speech.”
“Shouldn’t you be at the Academy then?” I asked.
He glanced at his gold pocket watch before sitting on a faded blue sofa. “I have time.”
I smiled and set my books on a table, taking a seat beside him. “If your mother was so angry, why did she let you leave—and without guards?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly ask permission. I convinced my coachman I needed to stop for important business on the way to the Academy. It helps that my cousin is driving the carriage and listens to me over my mother.”
“So, what’s the important business?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to see you.”
My stomach twisted.
“I wish I could stay longer, but if I arrive late for the speech, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Academy disqualifies me from inheriting.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” I laughed. What he said was a joke, on the surface, but I had a feeling it revealed his genuine fears. I reached out and straightened his crooked tie. “The Third House doesn’t dress as well as yours, according to Mrs. Whitting.”
He blushed. “If only that were the Strouds’ worst flaw.”
“Why does everyone hate the Strouds so much?”
“They’re arrogant and exclusive—even for nobles. Evander Stroud refuses to keep servants because he can’t bear to mingle with lower-ranked citizens. And his daughter always claims to be too tired or ill to attend a single event, no matter how important. You would think she’d be more concerned with appearances, considering she’s second in line for the throne.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want the throne,” I said.
Graham raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it. I met her when I was younger, back when she occasionally made an appearance, and all I remember is an obnoxious blonde bully who wanted nothing more than to boss all the other kids around. She would be horrible for Cambria.”
Better than the Brennins, I thought, biting my tongue.
“Anyhow, I didn’t come here to bore you with noble gossip.”
“Good,” I said. “I get plenty of that from Mrs. Whitting.”
“My apologies.” He laughed and glanced at his pocket watch again.
“The Academy couldn’treallydisqualify you for being late, could they?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Only a majority vote by the Immortals could override the laws of traditional inheritance—but that’s never happened. Besides, Sir Pearce may not like me, but he’d lose his title if the Third House inherited. No one really knows who Mara Stroud would choose as First Immortal, but it’s guaranteed not to be him.”
I slouched into the sofa. “But you would choose Sir Pearce, wouldn’t you? He’s been loyal to your family for twenty years.”
He bit his lip. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“Does he know that?”
