Daphne
It isn’t that wanted to poison Queen Eugenia, but she was left with little choice. Over the course of the tea had arranged for them to enjoy together two days after Eugenia’s arrival, the dowager queen hid far more than she revealed about her ordeal in Temarin, and what little she did reveal struck as lies.
Most notably, knows for a fact that Sophronia was executed nine days ago, and yet Queen Eugenia claims she’s spent the last week making her way from Kavelle toFriv.
The journey would take four days by carriage, but as Eugenia’s pace may have been hindered by the fact that they had to avoid notice for much of their trip, a week is plausible.
But that doesn’t account for the two missing days.
And then there is Eugenia’s wound. She tries to hide it with cosmetics and the swoop of her dark brown hair, but in the bright afternoon light coming through the windows, can just make out the angry bruise on Eugenia’s left temple. Judging by the size and shape of the wound, would guess it was caused by the butt of a pistol.
Given the lengths to which Eugenia has gone to hide the injury, would wager she won’t give an honest answer about how she sustained it. Posing the question also certainly won’t endear her to the dowager queen, and needs to ensure that the woman is on her side, at least for now.
So when Queen Eugenia turns to ask a servant for more tea cakes, reaches across the small table, dropping a sprinkle of powder from her hollow ring into Eugenia’s tea just before she takes the cream and pours a splash into her own cup.
It isn’t enough to cause her any harm, or even raise her suspicions. As small a dose as gave her, it should simply leave her exhausted, something she will likely attribute to a lingering exhaustion from her trying journey north.
—
returns to the dowager queen and her sons’ temporary chambers an hour after their tea ends, under the pretense of bringing a book of Frivian history she made a passing mention of over tea for just this reason. When a maid tells her that Eugenia is napping, feigns surprise and disappointment.
“Well, I can leave it here with you for when she wakes,” says before making a show of peering around the maid to the sitting room, where Prince Reid and Prince Gideon are playing with wooden swords. The maid has already moved the furniture aside to make room for them. “Would the princes be happier playing outside?” asks, loud enough to get their attention.
“Can we?” the elder, Gideon, asks. He is fourteen and gangly, with blond hair and freckles on his nose and cheeks. Reid, two years younger, stands beside him, his hair a bit darker, his skin a shade paler. Both of them look like their brother, King Leopold, or at least the paintings and illustrations Sophronia received of her betrothed.
“Your mother said you should stay indoors,” the maid says, shaking her head before turning back to . “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but they aren’t accustomed to the weather here yet. It wouldn’t do for them to fall ill.”
“Oh, of course not,” says, widening her eyes. “It was quite a shock to me as well when I arrived here, but it isn’t so bad if you’re properly dressed for it. I’m certain we can dig up some of Prince Bairre’s old clothes and get them properly attired.”
“I’m not sure…,” the maid says, frowning.
“Please, it won’t be any trouble. I was going to go for a walk myself and I’m sure you have plenty of unpacking to do.” She glances past the maid to Gideon and Reid. “Have you ever seen snow? Quite a bit fell last night, enough for a snowball fight.”
Reid’s eyes grow wide as asters. “Please, please, please, Genevieve,” he begs the maid. “We’ll be good, won’t we, Gideon?”
“So good,” Gideon promises, before looking back at . “Can Bairre come too?”
winces internally, though she isn’t entirely surprised. Of course a boy Gideon’s age would look up to Bairre. It might even be helpful to have him around, to put the boys at ease so that they feel comfortable sharing information, but she hasn’t seen him since their tea two days before, and she is dreading seeing him again.
“We can ask him,” says before looking back at the maid, Genevieve. “They’ve had a difficult few days, haven’t they? Fleeing their home, losing their brother. They need a bit of fun, don’t you think?”
The maid hesitates, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door that must lead to the queen’s bedchamber. “All right,” she says, turning back around. “But you both must do whatever Princess says, and be back before supper.”
gives the maid her sweetest smile. “I’m sure they’ll be on their very best behavior.”
—
Bairre agrees to help her show the young princes around the grounds and finds some heavy coats and boots for them, hidden away in the back of his wardrobe. They’re still a bit big on the boys, but at least they’ll be warm.
“I promised them a snowball fight,” says as the four of them make their way outside. The snow stopped early in the morning, but awoke to a thick blanket of fresh snow outside her window. As they walk up the hill on the edge of the forest, trailed by six guards who keep at a distance, Gideon and Reid are in awe of the footprints they leave behind, Reid taking particular joy in stomping each step.
“Have you never seen snow before?” Bairre asks them, and they both shake their heads.
“It doesn’t snow in Temarin,” Gideon says.
“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” tells them. “It snowed very rarely in Bessemia, but every time it did my sisters and I had such fun throwing snowballs at one another. I was always the best, of course.”
“Of course,” Bairre echoes, shooting her a lopsided smile.
“You and Sophie had snowball fights?” Reid asks, wrinkling his nose. “I can’t imagine that.”
“Oh yes,” says, smiling at the memory of a young Sophronia, face red and nose runny from the cold, holding a snowball in mittened hands, her gaze fixed on . “I’m sure you think Sophie was too kind to throw snowballs at me, but she was quite vicious when she wanted to be.”
Gideon looks skeptical about that, but Reid gives a loud sigh. “I miss her,” he admits.
bites her bottom lip. “I do too,” she says, aware of Bairre watching her. She won’t fall apart in front of him again, she’s done so too many times already. She focuses on the task at hand. “You must miss your brother as well,” she says, glancing back at the guards. They’re far enough away not to hear, and most of their attention is focused away from , Bairre, and the princes, scanning for threats.
Reid nods. “Mama says he’s dead,” he says.
“He’s not,” Gideon tells him, his voice sharp.
“No?” asks, glancing at the elder prince. “Have you had word of him, then?”
“No,” Gideon says, frowning. “I just know, is all. Did you know Sophie was dead? Did you feel it?”
frowns, opening her mouth and closing it again as she struggles to find the words. Bairre beats her to it.
“I felt it when my brother died,” he says. “Cillian was ill for a long time, but it never felt real. Until it did.”
glances at him, the desire to reach out and take his hand catching her by surprise. Instead, she clenches her hand into a fist at her side.
“See?” Gideon says, triumphant. “I would know if Leopold were dead. He isn’t.”
isn’t sure how much faith to put in feelings, but she’s fairly sure that if Leopold is alive, his mother and brothers don’t know about it.
“It must have been very frightening,” she says after a moment. “Fleeing the palace in the middle of a siege. I know I would have been terrified. You’re very brave.”
Gideon and Reid exchange a look so brief almost misses it.
“Yes,” Gideon says, lifting his chin. “It was terrifying.”
He doesn’t elaborate. It could be because the events of the night left them traumatized, too shaken up to speak ofit, or…
She stops in front of Reid, bending slightly to straighten the collar of his coat. She meets his gaze and gives him a warm smile.
“Unless you weren’t at the palace at all that night,” she says lightly. “Perhaps you were already far away from the danger by then. Somewhere else.”
Reid frowns. “I—”
“No, we were at the palace,” Gideon interrupts. “It was terrifying, just like I said. Are we going to have a snowball fight or not?”
’s eyes search Reid’s face a second longer before she reaches down to the snow beneath her feet, balls up a handful, and throws it square at Gideon’s shoulder with a grin.
“Got you!” she says, but Gideon and Reid are already laughing, reaching down to make their own snowballs.
—
After half an hour of lobbing snowballs back and forth, and Bairre surrender and the brothers turn on each other, running deeper into the woods, their laughter echoing. Five of the six guards stay with and Bairre while one follows the boys.
“Stay close!” calls after them. When she turns back to Bairre, she finds him watching her.
“You think they’re lying?” he asks her. “About the siege?”
“I know they are,” says, leaning back against the trunk of a great oak tree. “They aren’t very good liars. Reid would have broken if I’d had him alone, but Gideon seemed…afraid.”
“But why lie?” Bairre asks. “Are they trying to protect Leopold, wherever he is?”
shakes her head. “No, I believed them when they said they hadn’t had word of him. They’re lying because their mother told them to. I haven’t the slightest idea why. And before you ask, yes, that’s the stars’ honest truth.”
isn’t sure he believes her, but after a second, he gives a quick and decisive nod.
“If she’s a friend of your mother’s, can’t you ask her?” he says, and though his voice is mild enough on the surface, it is not an idle question.
“I’m not sure they are friends, but they did become family when Sophie married Leopold,” says, and that at least is the truth. “And the letter she arrived with was in my mother’s hand, and in hindsight, I suppose they have a bit in common, both tasked with running countries that were hostile toward them.”
“Your mother’s hold on Bessemia is strong, though,” he points out.
nods. “In my memory, it always has been, but when I was a baby, just after my father died, there were many who refused to bow to a woman who’d been born a tailor’s daughter, many who thought they themselves would be better suited to the throne.”
“But your mother triumphed,” he points out. “She didn’t end up fleeing to a foreign land with you and your sisters intow.”
has never thought about that path, what might at one point have seemed a likely one. How different her life might have looked, if that had happened. It might not have been a very long life at all. In the distance, she hears Gideon and Reid laughing as they play.
She pushes the thought aside. “My mother always triumphs,” she tells Bairre with a smile. “She made the right allies, and she had her empyrea, Nigellus, on her side. Now every person who tried to overthrow her is dead, or imprisoned, or has made appropriate amends, and the last sixteen years of my mother’s reign have seen Bessemia flourish.”
“Perhaps more tailors’ daughters should find themselves crowned,” Bairre says before glancing sideways at her. “You miss her,” he says. “Of course you do, that isn’t surprising, but when you talk about her, you light up.”
nods. She always knew she would leave Bessemia, leave her sisters and her mother, too. The empress certainly never minced words about that. She raised them to leave her. But especially with Sophronia’s death still an open wound, doesn’t think there is anything in this world she wouldn’t give to find herself in her mother’s arms once more.
“She’s a remarkable woman,” she tells Bairre. “I’ve always wanted to be just like her.”
Bairre’s hand finds hers, entwining their fingers together. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can form words, a scream pierces the air, followed by another.
Ice floods ’s veins as she drops Bairre’s hand. “The princes,” she says, already starting after them.
Bairre falls into step beside her, as do the guards, as they begin to run. ’s eyes search the woods around them, but there is no sign of either boy apart from footsteps in the freshly fallen snow.
“They can’t have gone far,” Bairre says, though he sounds like he’s convincing himself more than her. “These woods have been patrolled ever since…”
Ever since we were set upon by assassins here, thinks. The thought isn’t terribly reassuring.
“Gideon!” she calls out. “Reid!”
But only silence meets her cry. She and Bairre continue to shout the princes’ names as they follow the footprints, but there is no response. The prints weave through the trees, circling and crisscrossing in a maze before ending in the middle of a small clearing, where the body of the guard who accompanied them lies, blood staining the snow beneath him red. Two more guards run to him, but knows by thelook of him that he’s dead.
“Horses,” Bairre says, pointing out hoofprints in the snow. “At least five of them.”
lets out a curse under her breath, her heart thudding in her chest. The princes have been kidnapped.