Violie
parts ways with Rufus and the princes just outside Eldevale, making her way to the castle as they head westward toward the Silvan Isles. There is little fanfare when it comes to goodbyes, but Rufus does tell her to be careful with a kind of gravity that makes her wonder if beneath his easygoing facade, he is more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for.
Once returns the horse to the stables, she makes her way into the castle. There are no clocks around to tell her the exact time, but she can guess by how deserted the halls are that it’s well after midnight but before dawn—no time to waste. She ducks around a corner and hides behind a marble bust of a Frivian man with a long beard, digging into her rucksack and withdrawing the powder case Daphne mentioned—studded with rubies.
This will be easy, she tells herself. All she has to do is get Eugenia to inhale with the powder below her nose.
And it is easy to make her way down the deserted castle hallways, not another soul in sight. Easy to get into Queen Eugenia’s sitting room, then her bedroom without anyone noticing her. As finds herself standing at the foot of the dowager queen’s bed while she sleeps on, oblivious, it strikes as ludicrous that killing a queen is this easy. Surely it should be more difficult. Part of her wants it to be more difficult.
The poison powder will act quickly. It’s entirely possible Eugenia won’t wake up at all. She will simply die in her sleep, easily and painlessly. closes her eyes and sees Sophronia led out to the executioner’s block, sees the guillotine fall, sees her friend’s head leave her body.
That, too, was a quick death, she supposes, though it doesn’t make her hate Eugenia any less. Using the poison powder feels like a kindness Eugenia doesn’t deserve. It would be far more satisfying for to wrap her hands around Eugenia’s throat, to see her eyes fly open. wants Eugenia to see her, to know what is happening, why death has come to her now. She wants Eugenia to know that she is the one killing her.
The thought surprises . The previous times she’s killed have been unemotional affairs. She has killed out of necessity, her victims more obstacles than enemies. It has felt almost clinical.
There is nothing clinical about this, though, she thinks, watching the steady rise and fall of Eugenia’s chest.
She brings her cloak up to cover her nose and mouth as a precaution before withdrawing the powder jar from her pocket and unscrewing the lid as she moves to stand beside Eugenia’s bed.
Eugenia is asleep on her back, the covers pulled up to her chin and her dark brown hair in a long braid. She looks younger than has ever seen her, but she knows that the illusion of innocence is just that—an illusion. She will not hesitate, she tells herself. She extends the powder jar, holding it just beneath Eugenia’s nose and waiting for her to inhale.
When she does, several things happen, almost at once.
Eugenia jerks awake, sitting up straight and knocking the jar out of ’s hand.
Powder flies, much of it landing on Eugenia, but enough of it dispersing through the air that holds her breath, pressing her cloak harder to her nose and mouth.
Then Eugenia’s scream pierces the air and suddenly, gets her wish—Eugenia looks at her, recognizes her, and in other circumstances, would relish the fear that flashes in the woman’s eyes, but not now. Now she needs to get out.
“What did you do?” Eugenia demands, coughing, her hand reaching out to grab ’s arm in a viselike grip.
twists out of it, but already her head is spinning from the lack of oxygen, making her feel dizzy. She cannot allow herself to breathe, not in this room with poison now all around her.
Dimly aware of Eugenia coughing behind her, has nearly made it to the door when it is thrown open, hitting in the face and sending her backward, the cloak falling from around her face as Genevieve bursts in, taking in the scene with wide eyes.
It is the last thing sees before everything goes black.