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By all accounts, I was an absolute disgrace.
It astounded me that Cael had remained so powerful and free from blame. He’d likely had a close hand in the news, only allowing it to print what he wanted. But that could all change. Respected or not, Cael wouldn’t keep his position without me as queen. The First Immortal could only be selected by whoever was on the throne, but not enough time had passed to confirm if Graham was alive or dead.
If Graham was going to be king, I wouldn’t be afraid of Cael keeping his power. He knew the full truth of Cael’s cruelty and still bore the bruises from his attack. But if Graham refused to return, I had no way of knowing who Anton Byrne, heir of the Fourth House, would select.
Byrne was mentioned frequently, and with great esteem, leading me to wonder if the flattery was another one of Cael’s schemes. He could’ve been attempting to win the man over to keep his title, which was exactly what I’d expect of him.
I crumpled the newspaper into a ball. This city was falling apart, and I felt powerless to save it. I wished I could go back to Tramore and speak to Graham again. I wanted nothing more than to help him understand how much we needed him here. And how much Ineeded him.
It dawned on me that I’d never truly told him how I felt about him. But how could I when I could hardly admit the truth to myself?
I shook my head and set the papers down. I was more than ready to get my head out of the Tribune’s world of half-truths and speculation and take some action instead. We needed to get to my house before nightfall. And now that people would be watching for us, we had to be more careful than ever. Luckily,I had the Enforcer uniform, which Zenitha’s maid had cleaned and pressed to perfection, even taking it in at the waist to better fit me.
“My eyes,” groaned Cait. “I can’t read one more word. Make me stop.”
I gently tugged the newspaper out of her hands, giving it a few tries before it came free from her grip.
“We’ll never catch up on it all today,” I said. “Let’s go downstairs.”
Cait looked up at me with a smirk. “Yes, sir,” she said in a mocking tone.
I stood and looked in the mirror, smoothing my scratchy mustache, horrified to once again see the Cael impersonator staring back at me. “Ugh, I look hideous.”
“Honestly,” Cait said, standing up, “you’re surprisingly handsome. It’s just your voice that’s ruining it.”
“Oh,” I said, then corrected to as deep a voice as I could muster. “Ohh.”
“Too much,” said Cait. “Try somewhere in between.”
“Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Oh,” I practiced, trying out different pitches.
Cait shook her head, her brows knit together. “You might just have to stay silent.”
“One can’t be an Enforcer of grammar if one doesn’t speak.” I lowered my voice to a near whisper. “Perhaps if I’m very quiet.”
“Actually, yes.” Cait’s eyes widened. “That sounded kind of good. A bit elderly, but male at least.”
“Pay me no heed,” I said in my low breathy voice, gathering up the unread papers for later. “I am simply a youthful-looking man who believes one should be required to put in a bit of effort to hear my incredibly enlightening statements.”
Cait laughed. “Well, it’s unfortunately my turn for a makeover. Let’s find out what humiliation Zenitha has in store for me.”
By early afternoon,we stood in the curtained entrance of Zenitha’s shop, loaded up with supplies she’d generously given us—food and water, newspapers, and bags to carry it all. I added the electric torch, the knives, and the Enforcer’s pistol, making sure not to leave anything behind that could incriminate Zenitha.
A post-makeover Cait paced by the door. By Cambrian standards, she looked stunning, but she carried no resemblance to her real self, which I preferred over the live porcelain doll in front of me. A bouffant of red curls sat atop a pouty-looking face—not that it was the intended look, just Cait’s actual mood—complete with powdered skin and rosy cheeks. Her dress was carnation pink and far too ruffly. Ornate lace decorated her sleeves and hems, and a pleated, lacy parasol completed the overdressed doll look.
She held a freshly forged rank card, another one of Zenitha’s talents, but we’d agreed it was better if I didn’t try to counterfeit an Enforcer’s card, not with the difference in details and materials.
“The shoes are the worst part,” said Cait, lifting her hem to frown at her heels. “I was only a noble for a few weeks. I never figured out how to walk in these things.”
“They’re the shoe of the season,” said Zenitha. “No one will question your nobility as long as you’re wearing those beauties.” She stepped back to appraise us both, clicking her tongue in satisfaction. “You both look magnificent. Now I’ll leave it up to you to ensure that you sound properly posh. That’s even more important to a Cambrian than looks—though both are critical.” Zenitha looked down at me. “Now what is your name, sir?”
“Enforcer Graves,” I said in my best attempt at my man voice. “And we greatly appreciate your generosity and talent, Madam Zenitha.”
She laughed. “You’re taking the ‘recovering from laryngitis’ route, I see?”
“It’s the best I can do.” I shrugged.
“Don’t shrug.” She waggled her finger at me. “The voice is passable, but Enforcers do not shrug.”
