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Before I can examine the document further, someone else enters the library, alerting us to her presence with a rather squeaky cough.
Fin’s eyes go wide. He quickly raises a hand, as if he’s scratching the side of his face.
“You’re really awful at making it look like you’re not trying to hide from someone, you know,” I murmur as Imogen, Ellie’s lady’s maid, approaches us.
“Think you could scare her off for me?” Fin asks under his breath.
“Why would you want me to do that, Phineas?” I say, imitating the way Imogen is often prone to using Fin’s full name.
“You know why.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think you and Imogen would make a cute couple. You both have that…” I screw up my face, struggling to find a torturous enough comparison.
“Asha.” Fin is practically growling under his breath.
“You really should give her a chance, Phineas. The two of you would be adorable together. Unless, of course, there’s someone else you have in mind.”
Fin’s eyes flash in irritation. His cheeks flush with heat at the not-so-vague reference to my sister, whom Fin has been avoiding any discussion of for the better part of a year now. Despite finding excuses to encourage the kitchen staff to leave leftovers out for my sister’s food bank, happening to be in the library anytime she’s there, or asking about my father incessantly, knowing the conversation will turn to news of my sister’s wellbeing.
“I hate you,” Fin whispers, but the lie must cause his throat to close up, because he winces and adds, “hyperbolically, of course. Just please make her go away.”
“Sure. I’ll just make sure to train my non-eye on her. You know, let her get a good look at the fleshy bit of skin.”
“You are the best sister-in-law a male could ask for. You know that, right?”
Normally, I might feel guilty about purposefully trying to scare off one of the many girls who fawn over Fin.
Such is not the case with Imogen.
As she approaches, I make a show of waving my hand at her dramatically to get her attention.
“What are you doing?” Fin glowers at me. “You don’t even act that excited to see the people you actually like.”
“She’s going to come over here anyway,” I whisper through the side of my mouth. “Might as well make it uncomfortable for her.”
The conversation goes about as I might have expected, with Imogen refusing to acknowledge my existence except when propriety demands a one-word answer from her.
Eventually, Fin decides he’s had enough and scolds her openly for her rudeness, at which point Imogen rushes away crying.
The whole interaction leaves me with a gnawing sensation of guilt for some reason, and when I remind Fin I don’t need to be defended, he tells me, “Yeah, well I’ve already gotten that ‘I don’t need you to defend me’ speech from Lydia, and frankly, she’s scarier than you, so I’ve got to take my brotherly protectiveness out on someone. Besides,” he says with a sly grin as he peers up at me, “you weren’t doing a good enough job scaring her off.”
I throw a crumpled piece of parchment at him.
He tosses it back, hitting me in the eye—the good one, too.
CHAPTER 12
ELLIE
I like to think of myself as the type of person who comes to meetings prepared.
Attentive. Pen and parchment in hand. Ready to listen, absorb, then succinctly state my opinion.
“Princess Elynore?” says a mildly scolding voice.
I snap out of the trance I’ve let myself wander into. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
King Marken sits at the head of the table, looking as regal as ever in his freshly pressed blue robes. Silver cufflinks shimmer at his wrists, matching the thread woven into his sleeves and collar. My father-in-law cranes his head at me, scanning me up and down with those stone-gray eyes of his.
