Long May She Reign(83)

I held my breath, standing, waiting, as the world crashed back into me. The knowledge of who I was, where I was, what I’d done. I might have made a mistake. I could have ruined everything.

Everyone was silent, waiting for me speak again, or else just unsure what to do. “Anyway,” I said, to fill the quiet. “I think we need . . . we should relax. Have some music?”

Madeleine smiled, sweeping back into her perfect courtly role once again. “How about charades, Your Majesty? We haven’t played that in ages. Perhaps you could adjudicate?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

Nobody ran from the room. No one muttered angrily when I stepped out of earshot. We played, and we talked, and I felt right. Still slightly drained from all the interaction, still slightly unsure of what people might do next, but something had clicked, some knowledge that I could actually do this, I could be queen the way I wanted, and the consequences would be whatever the consequences would be.

“It was a good speech, Your Majesty,” Holt said, later that evening. “A little spontaneous, perhaps, but good.”

“Thank you.” I said, even as I cringed away from his praise. The speech had been messy, I knew that, but I felt liberated by it. I’d laid everything out, and I’d survived.

And so I knew what I needed to do. “Norling mentioned that you found the Gustavites. I want you to contact them and ask them to meet with me. Tomorrow.”

“You want to invite them to the Fort?”

“No, I’ll meet them wherever they’re planning to meet. Make it clear that we know everything about them, but that this isn’t a threat. I need to talk to them about their ideas.”

“Your Majesty! They tried to murder you.”

“One of them did. But she said the others didn’t help her. That most of them didn’t agree. And I need to find out what they think. It’s important.”

“It’s dangerous, Your Majesty.”

I looked him in the eye, hands shaking slightly. This man who might have killed everyone, for me, the man who might want to kill Fitzroy, too. “What isn’t?” I said.





TWENTY-SEVEN


I COULDN’T SETTLE TO SLEEP THAT NIGHT. THE DAY’S events still pulsed through me, and, now that I was safe in the dark, I finally allowed myself to dwell on that kiss.

Fitzroy hadn’t really spoken to me all evening. Shouldn’t he have at least given me a significant glance? Something? Things shouldn’t continue as normal, unless the kiss didn’t mean anything at all.

And all right, yes, I wasn’t entirely hopeless. I could weigh the evidence, gather the facts, and see where they might point in any other scenario. His refusing to leave, his telling me he liked me, that kiss. The pointed looks during our conversation, the fact that he opened up to me, even when we had just met, despite almost never opening up to anybody . . . a bystander might look down the list and decide the answer was obvious.

But that missed the clear argument to the contrary. This was happening to me. I could imagine people occasionally deciding to be my friend. They’d listen to my ideas, yes. But they couldn’t like me beyond that.

I was queen, but I was still me. People like me might get one small, brief kiss of friendship. And we might confuse that for something more. But we didn’t . . . it didn’t make sense.

With a grunt of annoyance, I climbed out of bed, waking up Dagny from her spot by my feet, and grabbed some paper. Written down, the evidence for and against seemed ridiculously unbalanced. “Because it’s me” did not look like a reason at all, once it was detached from my brain. But still . . . it felt like reason enough.

“Freya? What are you doing?” Naomi peered around her bedroom door, rubbing her eyes. “I saw your light. Did you have a breakthrough?”

I clutched the paper. “No, it’s all right. I was just thinking. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re making a pro and con list about Fitzroy, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and I sighed. “It’s a ‘what does Fitzroy think about me’ list.”

“Just go talk to him, Freya. He’s the only one who could tell you.”

I could, technically, but . . . “I don’t know where he’ll be.”

“He’s waiting down in the lab for you. Where else would he be?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do.”

At least if I asked him, I would know. I could stop this obsessing. The thought terrified me, the risk of humiliation too great, but I’d faced the court, hadn’t I? I could do this. “I guess I could—gather evidence. To reach a proper conclusion.”

Naomi laughed. “Well, go on, then. Be sure to tell me how it goes.”

Naomi was right, of course. I wasn’t sure whether that was relieving or annoying. Fitzroy was in the laboratory, more papers spread in front of him. He looked up when I walked into the room, and his smile was a little more tentative than usual. Maybe slightly awkward. Because of how I was acting? Because he regretted the kiss?

I had to speak before doubt got in the way. “What did you mean,” I said, “when you said you liked me?”

His smile shrank another fraction. He looked decidedly unsure now as he stood. “Was it not clear?”