Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(74)

If everything carries on as it should, I might be spending a lot more time with the newblood guards, and Davidson especially.

It’s been at least two hours since Evangeline disappeared. She ate breakfast in unusual silence, devouring whatever the servant put in front of her. I didn’t push. It’s a difficult day for all of us, most of all her. When she told me she wanted to be alone for a while, I was ready to give her the space she so desperately wanted.

She gave me a copy of the letter she wrote, the one Ptolemus is supposed to read during his broadcast tomorrow. She isn’t the type to want input or even support, but there are no secrets between us these days. She wanted to give me the choice.

I haven’t read it.

It sits on the coffee table in our salon, taunting me even from the next room. I’m not a fool. I’ve lived in Silver courts as long as Evangeline has, and I’ve probably overheard more than she will in her lifetime. It’s a shadow’s way to watch and listen. Sending a letter, instead of going to the Rift herself—it’s risking disaster. And no matter how many times I tell her this, Evangeline refuses to listen. She’s always been stubborn, always quick to dig her heels in. I thought this place might cure her of that. She could be different here. But very little about her has changed. She’s still proud, still venomous, still terrified of losing the few people she holds dear.

I avoid the salon and the letter’s temptation, busying myself with the already-made bed instead. We don’t have personal servants, but there are maids who clean our rooms daily, ready to provide anything we might ask for.

Not for much longer.

I huff out a breath, blowing a lock of hair out of my face. I don’t have the faintest idea how to clean most of my clothing properly. Especially not the lacy pieces Evangeline likes best. I made sure to tuck a few of those in the cases. She deserves a reward if she changes her mind.

On the abdication, and other things as well.

Sighing, I lie back against the cool coverlet of our bed. The blankets are dark green, the same color as the Montfort flag, and I imagine I’m sprawled against a forest floor. My scarlet hair looks striking against the fabric, bright as a wound. I debate ringing for the maid and asking her to draw me a hot bath, when someone enters the salon from the hall. There’s only one person who wouldn’t bother to knock, and I steel myself for the inevitable disagreement over today.

Evangeline moves with grace. Not like a cat, but a wolf, always on the hunt. Usually I like when she’s hunting me, but I’m not her prey right now. She doesn’t meet my gaze when she enters the room, even though I’m silhouetted quite nicely against the windows. The light shifts over me, dappling my pale skin and red dress in a pretty haze. I like wearing red. It matches my hair. It makes me feel alive. Evangeline wears her house colors today even though she doesn’t need to anymore. Black leather, gray wool. She seems dull in comparison to her usual self.

She drops something on the floor, and I catch sight of a half-eaten apple as it rolls under a chair. The former princess doesn’t seem to notice or care. I wrinkle my nose.

“You better clean that up, Eve,” I say, speaking before she can scold me for sending Carmadon after her. Throw the wolf off the scent.

She barely shrugs, letting the softened light catch in her silver hair. It dances and refracts. For an instant she wears a crown only I can see. “I think I’ll enjoy our last few hours of maid service.”

So dramatic, I think, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “I doubt they’ll cut us off so quickly.”

“You know Davidson so well, do you?” She angles a knifelike smirk in my direction. I feel the sting of a familiar accusation and brush it off with a wave.

“I’m not having this argument again. We have more important matters to discuss.”

She paces to the foot of the bed, stopping to lean forward on her hands. Her gaze meets mine, storm-cloud eyes against my sky blue. I see desperation in her, and anger. “Your future profession is important to me.”

“It can wait,” I tell her, and not for the first time. Whatever role I decide to play in Montfort—that choice is mine. “You should be there,” I murmur softly, sitting up so I can touch her.

But she moves quickly, her cheek evading my fingers. With a huff, she flops down against the blankets, arms crossed over herself. Her hair splays, close enough to mingle with mine. Red and silver, the two colors that rule this world.

“Why send Carmadon to tell me that if you’re just going to parrot the same argument? Seems a bit circular, my dear.”

“Very well,” I mutter. As usual, my blood heats with her lying so close. “Should I try another tactic?”

Evangeline glances at me, pressing her cheek against the bed. I move slowly, deliberately, swinging one leg over her waist until I’m firmly settled above her.

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Please do,” she whispers, one hand finding my hip. The other remains still.

I lean down, speaking so my breath ghosts along her neck. She shivers beneath me. “There are already two factions within the Silvers of the Rift. One favors reorganization.” I press a kiss to the vein in her neck. “Joining the Nortan States. Living beneath the laws of that new government. Blood equality, a restructured society. They would prefer losing their status to shedding any more blood in another war.”

Her throat jumps as she swallows hard, keeping her focus. But the hand on my hip strays, trailing up my ribs. Over my dress, I feel her touch keenly, like she’s dragging her nails across bare flesh.