Four Dead Queens(105)

He looked at her, his face grave. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, Queen Marguerite.”

She sat up in shock, not realizing until that moment she was once again in control of her body. “Why?”

He settled her back into the pillows around her. “For your safety. I worried the assassin would make another attempt on your life if they knew you’d survived.”

“You still do not know who it is?”

A smile touched the inspector’s eyes. “I have a theory that is coming together quite nicely.” Marguerite wanted to ask more, but a wave of fatigue turned her limbs to lead.

“Sleep, Queen Marguerite,” he said. “There is time for your questions. And for all the answers.”

When Marguerite was ready to leave the infirmary, the inspector explained his theory. While it was painful to hear, a part of it made sense. A part that rang true, deep to her bones.

That part was her ruthless, selfish and conniving would-be husband.

It was then that Marguerite remembered someone whispering to her over her still, death-like form, words she thought she’d imagined in her feverish recovery.

Whispers from her daughter, admitting she had killed her.



* * *



—

“MOTHER?” AREBELLA WHISPERED, her voice soft but piercing as the advisors looked upon the queen, risen from the dead.

“I’m alive,” Marguerite replied, but to Jenri. “No thanks to my daughter.”

Jenri gripped Arebella’s shoulder as she threatened to fall from the dais.

“I saw you dead,” Arebella said. “In the infirmary. You were . . .”

Her mother smiled. “A ruse.”

“Yes,” the inspector said. “While I was able to save Queen Marguerite before the poison rotted her insides, I decided to keep her survival a secret. That way I could flush out those responsible for the deaths of the queens. When you saw her, she was in an induced coma. Sleeping, but very much still alive.”

Arebella slumped against the throne, her legs unable to keep her standing. “Alive,” she whispered.

The inspector faced his stunned audience. “I knew from the beginning the person responsible had to be someone who would benefit from the queens’ deaths. But I didn’t know who. Keralie was the first to come forth as a suspect, and while all the evidence pointed to her, her motive was not clear. Yes, she had the means, but why? Why kill all the queens?

“I told no one of Queen Marguerite’s survival, as I feared it would only be temporary. I waited to see who would come forth to claim a throne, and in doing so, they would become my number one suspect. But strangely”—he fiddled with his recording device—“no other royal relatives were found. Which put you, Arebella, as the only suspect.”

“Ridiculous!” Arebella shouted.

“When Queen Marguerite was well enough to speak, she told me how she dreamed her daughter had come to visit and apologized for killing her. But I could not arrest Arebella until I had proof. The hazy drug-induced memories of a convalescing queen would not be enough to condemn Arebella, not when all physical evidence pointed to Keralie. I needed more time for further investigation. Then Keralie found me in the infirmary and told me everything that had happened to her and allowed me to see her memories.” The inspector nodded at Jenri. “And just in time. For it appears you were about to name Lady Arebella queen of all the quadrants.”

“Lady Arebella?” Arebella muttered, tugging on her hair in irritation. “You mean, queen.”

“No.” The inspector focused his black eyes upon her. “You were never queen, don’t you see? How could you be when Queen Marguerite was never truly dead?”

“Why?” Marguerite spoke up, her eyes full of tears as she took in her daughter. She was beautiful, the best parts of her and her father. At least on the outside. “I wanted a different life for you. A better life. Why would you do this? To my sister queens . . .” Her voice broke. “They would’ve loved you as their own.”

“Better?” Arebella spat, her hazel eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “You denied me the one thing I wanted. You thought I was too weak to handle the power of the throne.” She spread her arms wide. “But look at what I’ve done.”

“You’ve achieved nothing but manipulating those around you to do your bidding.” Her mother gestured toward the young boy in the gold top hat.

Arebella raised an eyebrow; her derisive expression was strikingly similar to that her mother often wore. “Like any queen would.”

“Queens don’t kill.” How could her daughter be this morally corrupt?

“It was the only way to take what was rightfully mine! The throne!”

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. “You were never meant to have it.”

“Which is why I did what I had to!”

Marguerite’s mouth opened and shut. There was no reasoning with the girl. Her logic was flawed.

“My queen?” the inspector asked Marguerite. “What do you want me to do?”

Behind the angry girl, Marguerite couldn’t help but see the baby she had loved too much to allow her to be entangled within palace politics. And yet look at what had happened. Still, this was the little girl she’d longed to see ever since she’d given her away. She looked exactly as Marguerite had imagined: the same eyes, hair and face. But there was no warmth behind her eyes. Even now, knowing she had been exposed, she showed no remorse. Not even fear.