Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(39)

She should be glad for this, that her people were not suffering as horribly as she’d expected with a greedy king perched upon Auranos’s throne.

Instead, cold dread slithered into her gut.

This will not last.

How long would it be before everything changed and the people here, unsuspecting and soft from generations of luxurious living, would feel the pain caused by the King of Blood ruling over them? Or before those who did not so readily accept their new king caused enough unrest to unleash his wrath upon the innocent, rather than only upon accused rebels? It was a disturbing thought.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the dress shop Cleo remembered so well. There was a crowd of about a hundred citizens gathered here, a burst of welcome color and friendly greeting.

“Princess Cleo!” a group of young girls called out to her. “We love you!”

Their collective voices caused a lump in her throat. She waved from the window in their direction and tried to smile brightly.

Nic jumped down off the top of the carriage to open the door and help the queen out and then Cleo herself. “And here we are,” he said, a half grin on his face.

“Here we are.”

He lowered his voice so the queen would not hear. “Are you ready for this?”

“I suppose I must act as if I am.”

“A warning. Do not look to your left if you wish to keep ahold of your breakfast.”

Of course, with a warning like that, she had to look to her left. There, two artists were toiling feverishly on a mural on the side of a popular tavern: a plaster fresco that looked a great deal like a portrait of her and Magnus. She shuddered.

“How can they accept all this so easily?” she whispered. “Are they really so naive?”

“Not everyone,” Nic replied, his jaw tight. “But I think most are too afraid to see the truth.”

A familiar man moved out of the store before them and rushed enthusiastically toward Cleo and the queen. The tunic he wore was the most vivid shade of purple Cleo had ever seen. It reminded her of squashed grapes on the brightest summer day. He was completely bald, and his large ears gleamed with gold hoop earrings.

He bowed so deeply it looked painful. “Queen Althea, your gracious majesty. I am Lorenzo Tavera. I am deeply honored to welcome you to my humble store.”

The store he referred to could never honestly be described as humble. It was roughly the size of Aron’s family’s large villa in the palace city, three stories tall and encased in sparkling stained glass windows trimmed with silver and gold.

“I am pleased to be here,” she replied. “I was told you are the best dressmaker in this or any other land.”

“If I might be so bold to say, you were told correctly, your highness.”

The queen extended her hand and Lorenzo kissed her ring with a loud smacking sound.

“And Princess Cleiona, I’m very pleased to see you again.” Lorenzo squeezed her hands. Despite the joviality in his tone, his searching gaze held a momentary glimpse of both grief and sympathy.

She swallowed hard. “And I you, Lorenzo.”

“It’s my true privilege to create your wedding gown.”

“As it will be my true privilege to wear it.”

He nodded once, shallowly, then tore his gaze from hers to look at the queen, flashing her a big smile. “Let us go inside, your majesty. I have something very special to show you.”

The queen raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “To show me? Really?”

“Yes. Please, follow me.”

Inside the store waited a dozen attendants and seamstresses, lined up six on each side, their heads lowered obediently. The expansive store was lined with bolts of silk, satin, jacquard, and lace for as far as the eye could see.

“I have been working very hard on a dress befitting a queen of your high esteem.” Lorenzo moved toward a mannequin that had been draped in a magnificent indigo gown. It was embroidered with gold thread and beaded with sparkling stones. “I believe I’ve succeeded. What do you think of this, your majesty?”

“It’s divine,” the queen said, her normally expressionless face tinged with the tiniest pink, her words hushed. “Beautiful. This is my absolute favorite color. Did you know that?”

Lorenzo smiled. “Perhaps.”

This vibrant shade was the queen’s favorite? Cleo had never seen her in anything that wasn’t black, gray, or a muted shade of steely green. Since Magnus and his father also wore nothing but black, she’d assumed it was a strange Limerian custom at odds with the red-as-blood uniforms.

The queen’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who have you been speaking to about me that would give you such personal information?”

Caution shone now in Lorenzo’s gaze. “It was in my previous correspondence with the king. I asked. He responded.”

“How strange,” she murmured. “I had no idea Gaius even knew my favorite color.” She turned her attention to the gown again. “I would like to try it on.”

“Of course, your majesty. I will attend to you myself.” There was a fine sheen of perspiration on Lorenzo’s brow now at having come very close to offending such a powerful woman. “Princess, if you please, you can go with my seamstress into the fitting room. I will be with you as soon as I can.”

A pretty young girl approached, curtseying before her.