Long May She Reign(23)

The courtiers were gathered in small groups, their clothes looking particularly garish against the drab walls. William Fitzroy leaned against the wall in one corner, not speaking to anybody. He stared into the distance, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched. Others looked more social. A couple of the queen’s old maids-in-waiting stood together by a painting of white horses, whispering together behind their hands. Torsten Wolff was talking to an older gentleman whose name I had forgotten. And Rasmus Holt stood near the middle of the room, his back to the door.

“Her Majesty, Queen Freya!” the guards announced. The room fell silent. Every single person looked at me. Torsten Wolff, William Fitzroy in his corner, the gossiping girls. They bowed and curtsied, almost as one, but no one lowered their eyes.

Rasmus Holt had turned at the announcement. He watched me now, his eyebrows raised. He looked over my hair—still enormous, still in place—my skirt like a muffin, the jewels shimmering on my skin. He frowned in disapproval. I gripped my left elbow with my right hand, fighting the urge to cringe away.

He took a step toward me, revealing the person he had been talking to. It was Madeleine Wolff. My new heir. She was as petite as always, stunningly beautiful, with honey-brown hair and large brown eyes. She oozed confidence and elegance, from the little quirk of her head to the angle she held her thin wrist.

My stomach flipped at the sight of her. She was so effortlessly regal, like the world was moments away from falling at her feet. For a moment, a flash of thought, I hated her. She was everything I needed to be, and she didn’t have to try. But even as I thought it, I knew I couldn’t really despise her. She was enchanting.

I tore my gaze away, searching for the grand chair, the one my father had told me to take. My gaze settled on William Fitzroy again. He stood straighter now, and he was looking at me. My heart thudded. He frowned, like he was debating something, and I quickly looked away. The chair was at far side of the room. I just needed to reach it. But as I began to walk toward it, Holt intercepted me.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “May I introduce you to Madeleine Wolff?”

“Your Majesty.” She sank into a perfect curtsy. “It is so wonderful to meet you. I am sorry I missed your coronation. I so wished to be here, but my estate is a day-and-a-half’s journey away, and by the time I learned of it, it was too late to attend. But I hurried here as soon as I learned the news.”

“Thank you.” It felt like the wrong thing to say, it didn’t really make sense, but I had to say something. My heart had started pounding again, like Madeleine was about to attack me. But she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. I needed to stop panicking. I needed to stop.

“Young Madeleine just arrived,” Holt said. “I told her she should rest, but she wished to see you immediately.”

Madeleine did not look like someone who had stumbled from a carriage after a day and a half on the road. She looked flawless.

“Her Majesty mentioned to me that you had never met,” Holt added to Madeleine, “but I am sure you will get on wonderfully. Madeleine is an artist, Your Majesty. A very talented one.”

“You are too kind,” Madeleine said. “I paint, yes. But I would not call myself an artist.”

“What do you paint?”

“Landscapes, usually. The kingdom. The things I see from the window. The things I wish I saw.” She smiled. “Do you paint, Your Majesty?”

I shook my head. “I’m not very artistic.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case. That’s the wonderful thing about art, I find. You can always create something, and it’s certain to have worth if you look at it with the proper eye.”

Her words sounded like the usual court babble, but she didn’t seem to be mocking me. She rested her fingers on my forearm as she spoke, like we were the best of friends already, and I couldn’t resist leaning closer, too.

“Your Majesty.” My father strode toward us. “Do you not wish to sit?”

“I am sure the queen will sit when she wishes, Titus,” Holt said. There was a note of warning in his voice. “She is getting to know Madeleine Wolff here.”

“I should sit,” I said quickly. That had been the rule. I needed to look powerful. I needed to make people come to me.

But it felt so unnatural to stumble through the room and take the largest chair, facing the lingering court. Conversation had picked up again, the remaining people clinging together in twos and threes. People glanced at me, but no one approached. They seemed happy to analyze from a distance. My eyes met William Fitzroy’s from across the room. He stared back at me, but I couldn’t read his expression.

I shifted on the chair, an itch running down my legs. I couldn’t remember how to place them.

Madeleine Wolff followed me and sank into an elegant curtsy. “May I sit, Your Majesty?”

I nodded, and she slipped into the chair beside me. She glanced around the room, taking in the surviving faces. “It is so strange,” she said. “To be back. I was close to so many people here, so many who are gone. The queen. Rosaline Hayes—did you know Rosaline? I have never met a sweeter person, or a meaner one. Oh, she was so kind to her friends, but if you crossed her, she would strike you down so cleverly and succinctly that it would take you a week to realize she had mocked you.”

Yes, I remembered Rosaline. She had clearly never considered me worthy of whatever kindness she possessed. She usually just raised her eyebrows and laughed whenever I was near.