Page 49 of A Dagger in the Ivy

Though Queen Eleanor is quick to push the exposed skin of her hands and arms behind her back, she’s not fast enough for me to miss the bruising around her forearms and wrists and the cuts on her palms and fingers. Her eyes are wide, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“Your Majesty, what happened?” I take a step toward her.

She retreats two steps, her breath hitching. Biting her lip, she turns to one of her maidservants. “Fetch another pair of gloves. Now.”

The young woman does as the queen commands, hurrying past me out of the room.

“Your Majesty,” I say again, “did someone hurt you?”

The queen’s expression immediately changes, her chin held high and her mouth in a straight line. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one would dare hurt me.”

“But you have bruises. Cuts.”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “Yes, yes. I dropped a wineglass and was too impatient to let the shards lie. In my efforts to get rid of the mess, I suffered a cut or two, but it’s nothing serious.”

I suppose that could be true. I do remember hearing her—at least I believe it was her—crying in that private room and glass breaking. She had had a lot to drink, and if she had dropped a glass and attempted to pick up the shards, she could have very well have cut herself. But the bruises? My eyes travel down her arms, but I can’t see past her elbows, since she has the rest hidden behind her back.

She can see the question in my eyes. “It seems the wine makes me a bit clumsy as well. But I do hope you can keep the carelessness of my movements between us. It wouldn’t do well for the kingdom to think of their queen as an uncoordinated drunk.”

“But if you’re hurt—”

“Celeste!” Her outburst seems to have shocked herself. She swallows hard and quickly composes herself. “You would do well to remember your place. I will not have a guest in my home throwing about accusations, especially accusations that would bring defacement to the throne. You should know that disloyalty is handled extremely seriously in Hedera.”

I open my mouth to object, but despite the sharpness of her words, there is a pleading look in the depth of her eyes. I can feel her sorrow, her desperation.

And in this moment, I am sickened by the king.

There is no way I can voice my opinion, my speculations, without being accused of blaspheming against the king. Especially without proof. Though it claws at my heart, I give her a nod. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

I incline my head and turn to leave the room. But I vow to find a way to make this right. I cannot stand to allow the queen to suffer for long. Somehow, I will stop the injustice.

When I head back to the ballroom, I find Torbin coming toward me.

“Where did you disappear to?” He takes my hand, and there is something off about his expression.

Does he know?

My stomach twists, and there is anger bubbling inside me. But if I’m wrong and accuse him, I would not only start a dispute, but I would be breaking my word to the queen.

“I just wanted to make sure your mother was all right.” I force a smile. “Beyond a ruined pair of gloves, she assures me she’s fine.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Come join me.” His fingers intertwine with mine. “There are some nobles I’d like you to meet.”

Though I’m not in the mood to speak to anyone, especially anyonenew, I maintain a cheery disposition. “Lead the way.”

The grand hall buzzes with chatter and laughter as Torbin leads me through the crowd, his hand moving to rest lightly on the small of my back. The nobles’ curious gazes follow us, whispers trailing in our wake. I straighten my posture, summoning the composure expected of a princess.

When I glance around, I see that the firebreathers are gone. The king sits back in his chair, drinking his wine, in front of him a half-eaten plate of food. He watches me, as if evaluating me, his jaw set and his lips pressed flat. A part of me wants to let him know that I am aware of what he’s doing—at least what I believe he is doing. But at the same time, I have no proof, and I know my uncle would advise me to play the part until I do.

I offer the king the smallest of smiles and dip my head for him before turning back to the couple to whom Torbin has escorted me.

“Celeste,” Torbin says warmly, his voice carrying over the din, “I’d like you to meet Lord Edwin and Lady Isolde.”

Lord Edwin, a stout man with a jovial smile, steps forward and bows deeply. “Your Highness, it is an honor to finally meet you. Prince Torbin speaks highly of you.”

I return his bow with a graceful nod. “Thank you, Lord Edwin. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lady Isolde, tall and elegant, curtsies with practiced grace. Her emerald-green gown shimmers under the chandeliers, matching the sparkle in her eyes. “Princess Celeste, welcome to Ivystone. We are delighted to have you here.”

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