Four Dead Queens(86)

Arebella huffed. “Now is not the time to be sloppy. Do it right or don’t do it at all.”

The mouse of a woman nodded, her hands steadying, although her lip was now trembling. Arebella cursed the woman’s weakness. The housemaid had been her adoptive mother’s and had never warmed to Arebella. She would happily have done without any help, but she couldn’t reach the many buttons down her back.

She stilled the housemaid’s hands in hers. The fragile woman flinched, expecting the worst. Arebella had never been cruel to her, but she’d also never been kind.

“Thank you for your help,” Arebella said with a forced smile. Why not start practicing her cordialities now, before she arrived at the palace?

Once Arebella was dressed in the shimmering golden gown, she descended the stairs to the foyer, a lantern in her hand to guide the way. Candles had been lit to conserve power. It was not a grand house, for it was all a single income could afford, but it had three bedrooms and a reception room, where the palace staff would be waiting.

Her veins thrummed, and her heart trilled. This was the day—the first day of her new life—the life she was always supposed to have lived. She’d recited the words over and over in her head in preparation for this moment. She’d practiced her expressions in the mirror. Shock. Sadness. Awe. Disbelief. She had perfected them all.

When she entered the reception room and found only one man, she nearly turned on her heel. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it. Where was the rest of her royal staff?

When a queen died, a convoy of palace staff and guards was supposed to journey through the main streets of Toria, ending at the palace. An announcement should’ve gone out on the latest Queenly Reports, informing the quadrant of where and when they could catch a glimpse of their soon-to-be Torian queen. It was tradition. And she had dressed for the part, knowing Mackiel would be waiting for her carriage to pass—to signal the next stage in their plan. She’d have to send him a message instead.

The man in front of her was younger than she’d expected. She had imagined what her advisor might be like. Perhaps she would be motherly and Arebella would befriend her instantly, taking her hand in a gentle, but firm, grasp. Or perhaps he’d be stoic, a father figure whom she’d win over with her ambition and intelligence.

Arebella blinked, but the scene didn’t fade from her eyes. She couldn’t control this. This was real.

“Lady Arebella,” the tall, thin man said, then bowed when she made eye contact.

Lady? Although it wasn’t Queen Arebella, not yet, she quite liked the sound of it.

“I apologize for calling on you at this hour,” the man said. “My name is Jenri.”

Would he still play the role of the stoic advisor? Arebella was thrown for a moment, her mind scrambling to reimagine her future.

“Good morning,” she replied. “How may I help you?”

This would be the hardest part—pretending she didn’t know who she really was. As far as she should be concerned, a visit from the palace was a grand and enjoyable occasion—at any hour. And so Arebella smiled widely.

Jenri swallowed audibly before stepping forward. “I’m the advisor for Toria.”

“Oh?” Arebella placed a gloved hand to her chest; her heart banged wildly beneath her fingers. “How fascinating! What brings you to my home?”

Jenri’s discomfort made Arebella buoyant; she was succeeding in fooling him. She hadn’t been sure she could deceive someone from the palace—someone trained to detect deceptions—until this very moment. She wished Mackiel were here to see her succeed.

“I’m afraid I have some difficult news,” Jenri said, his face twisting. “You may want to sit, Lady Arebella.”

She clenched her teeth in response. No one told her what to do. And soon she would be ordering him around. “I’m fine standing.” She couldn’t deny Mackiel’s brashness had rubbed off on her. “Thank you,” she added at the last minute.

Jenri nodded. “I’ve been told you are aware you are adopted?”

“Yes.” This is it, she thought. But don’t smile. Look slightly concerned. Confused. “But my adoptive mother died a few years ago. I inherited this home once she passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Arebella nodded glumly. “But what does that have to do with the palace?”

“Quite a bit.” Jenri cleared his throat. “I wish there was an easier way to say this. However—”

“You can tell me.” Arebella stepped forward, her palms faceup. “I’m not as fragile as I look.”

Would the words fall easily from his mouth, or would he struggle to spit them out? And how would he word it, exactly? Arebella bit the inside of her mouth. Focus. Be in the moment. Remember everything. Every word.

He smiled at her. “No, I don’t suppose you are. It’s in your blood to be strong.”

“My blood?” Arebella was sure he could hear her pulse.

“Yes.” He glanced to the floor for a moment before continuing. “You see, your birth mother, well, she was the reigning queen of Toria.”

Arebella let out a well-timed gasp. “Queen Marguerite?” A smile spread across her face. “Truly?”

He nodded shortly. “I’m afraid the woman who took you from the palace did not inform you of your heritage due to her personal beliefs against the thrones.”