Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Nin stirred her porridge, her brow deepening into a furrow as she listlessly picked at her breakfast. Cedric had not come this morning, and his absence weighed heavier than the dull ache in her skull.
Last night’s realization sent a bitter sting through her chest. She had accepted this mission to save her brother, not to fall helplessly in love with her tutor.
What was it about the stern man that had won her over? His fierce protectiveness? His surprisingly tender touch when she stumbled?
Or perhaps she was simply a fool for thinking he had seen her—truly seen her—and that she actually mattered to him.
Her attention strayed to the bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon in her nightstand. In his last, Alain had proudly announced he was taking short strolls around their new property.
You won’t believe it, Nin. This home—this garden is all for us. I cannot wait until you return so you can see how beautiful it is. Everything has been paid off, so we do not need to worry about anything. We finally have a home!
A wash of cold spread through the hollow of her chest. Alain was waiting for her, and yet she longed for someone who would never choose her back.
The hardest part of all, more than the demanding training, more than the pressures of court life, was missing what she had left behind and mourning a happiness that would never be hers.
A knock sounded on the door. Lucille answered it before returning and smoothing her apron. “The queen requests an audience with you.”
Nin dropped the spoon into the bowl. Heart hammering, she peered up at a frowning Lucille. “Why do you think she would summon me?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucille said, “but we’ll need to get you ready.”
Nin swallowed the hard knot in her throat.
No amount of powder could fully hide the bruise along Nin’s temple, though only a careful eye would notice the purplish shadow beneath her skin. She followed Lucille through the polished halls, her pulse pounded with every step.
The queen was alone in her private chamber, seated by the window with a cup of steaming tea. There were no attendants, no ladies-in-waiting, and no guards in the room.
Nin faltered at the threshold.
“Come in,” the queen announced gently. “I wish to speak with you alone.”
Nin’s palms grew damp as she crossed the floor. She fought the urge to wring her hands when the queen gestured to the seat beside her.
Silence stretched thin, twisting her nerves into knots. She had never been summoned like this before.
Nin held the dainty teacup between her hands as a way of comfort.
At last, the queen spoke.
“I know your secret,” she said calmly, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink.
Nin’s pulse roared in her ears. Sweat collected in her palm, slicking against the ever-warm, enchanted teacup.
“Secrets?” she echoed weakly. “What—what do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“You and I both know,” the queen said softly, “that I am not your mother. And you are not my daughter.”
All the blood drained from Nin’s face. Her throat tightened as she met the queen’s cool, knowing expression. She opened her mouth, but no excuse came. Instead, she clenched her hands in her lap, bracing for the repercussions.
She had failed.
“I know my daughter better than Cedric believes I do,” the queen continued, lifting her cup again to her lips. “Though I have not always been the most present mother due to my duties, I do not fault him for this deception, or for keeping it from me.”
Disbelief stirred beneath Nin’s skin.
“You’re… not angry?” she asked quietly.
The queen shook her head. “I trust Cedric with my daughter’s life. And I know she is somewhere safe.”
Nin couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped her lips. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. “She is.”
“Good.” The queen’s lips curved faintly. “Would you like to know how I discovered the truth?”
Nin nodded, her cheeks warming.
“Your lack of manners was one clue,” the queen said with a small chuckle. “Many excused it, but a mother notices such things. The way you seemed to linger over sweets when I wasn’t watching, and the crook in your tooth—the one my daughter does not have. You are remarkably alike, but not identical.”
The queen paused, her eyes softening. “I’m sure you understand. Mothers have that sense, as I’m sure yours does.”
Nin’s fingers tightened over her teacup. “Perhaps… but my mother is no longer with us.” She paused, her focus shifting to the floor. “My father as well. It’s been some time.”
The queen placed her cup on her saucer. “My condolences,” she said gently. “You’ve endured much then—that is a loss that is not easily mended by time.”
Nin swallowed, surprised by Her Majesty’s compassion.
“If your parents were alive, I would honor them as well. Your service has been invaluable even with its challenges,” the queen continued. “I know there has been far more unrest in this palace than I would like.”
“There has,” Nin admitted, her fingers curling over her skirt. “And I’ve been trying to… help. To uncover who’s behind it all.”
The queen studied her, her delicate brows drawing together. She set her tea down once more. “You’ve been wounded.”
Nin’s fingers brushed the tender spot on her temple. The queen was more perceptive than Cedric gave her credit for.
“Yes,” Nin admitted, drawing a slow breath. She hesitated, wondering how much to confess, but decided it was a wasted effort to hide anything from Queen Constance anymore.
“I tried to take matters into my own hands,” Nin continued. “We weren’t getting any closer to the truth, and the danger was pressing in on your daughter—”
“You, in this case,” Queen Constance interrupted, concern etched in her beautiful features.
Nin’s throat tightened. The brave front she put on for Cedric and Lucille couldn’t conceal her inner terror about how narrowly she escaped death. Not once—but twice.
Taking another steady breath, Nin revealed the events that occurred the evening before. The queen remained composed, but alarm flickered in her cool, blue eyes when Nin mentioned the Silent Breath.
“I fear we’re running out of time,” Nin said.
“Indeed,” the queen replied, her tone growing grave. “The wedding approaches quickly. Once married, my daughter will leave for Prince Rodrigue’s court across the sea. That’s only a fortnight away.”
“I know,” Nin said. “We’ve been doing our best.”
Queen Constance turned in her seat and reached into a small, painted porcelain box on the table. She withdrew a glittering green brooch the size of her pinky nail. The emerald was framed by swirling gold acantha leaves and bordered by a cluster of tiny diamonds.
“I wish to help however I can,” the queen said, presenting the brooch to her. “There is a rare enchantment on these jewels. There are very few in the world, and I have only one. Not many Artisans are able to create such things with the Maker’s Breath.”
Nin’s eyes rounded as she reached for the jeweled brooch.
“It will keep your mind your own,” the queen continued. “You will be protected from coercive enchantments.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Nin said, bowing her head.
“It will aid you in this endeavor. If I also have to convince Cedric to allow you more freedom, I will do so.”
“I don’t know if he wants my help,” Nin said, averting her gaze. “He’s too busy trying to protect me.”
The queen smiled knowingly. “It seems he cares for you more than you think.”
A visceral ache pulsed through her abdomen. The memory of his words stung across her heart.
“What more could it be?”
“I’m not sure about that,” Nin said, her voice tight.
“You might be surprised,” the queen said softly. “But I think it’s time he came to his senses. You’ve done an impressive job fooling the court, and your talents could serve us well in other ways now.”
Warmth sprouted, slow and steady, spreading through her limbs. Nin straightened, holding the queen’s look with newfound confidence. For once, all the work she had put forth had paid off. She wasn’t the failure she continued to believe she was.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Nin said, bowing her head in deference.
The queen rose gracefully from her velvet seat. “You may return to your quarters and rest.”
Nin curtsied and withdrew.
She returned to her chambers, her heart swelling with gratitude. The weight that had pressed down on her for weeks seemed to lift, replaced by a thrilling sense of possibility.