Page 64 of Disillusioned
Yanna remained by her side, watching the queen with her arms crossed. “Who are you going to see?”
She didn’t answer right away, already busied with dabbing a deeper shade of rouge on her lips and cheeks. “I’m not seeing anyone. They’re going to seeme.”
She retreated from the mirror, swallowing nervously and brushing her skirts down. Yanna promptly swatted her hands off and tightened the front lacing of her corset. It was exactly the touch she needed.
She was ready. She had to be ready now, or she might never be. Lilac thanked them one last time for all they’d endured before uttering one last request, to which they dubiously agreed.
The queen emerged from her chamber anew on the third evening like some exhumed thing, blade strapped to her thigh, breasts plumped toward the gods, and an appetite for vengeance.
Hedwigand her helpers were putting out roasted game among plates of fruit and bread. The chef did a silent double take as Lilac walked by and took her seat at the head of the table, where every pair of eyes in the room followed, and whispers commenced.
To be fair, Lilac felt more different than she looked; at least, she thought so after examining herself long enough at her vanity. If her townspeople were going to talk, it should be over something worthwhile. Acarriage crash, a bar brawl… Her dealing with vampires. Those rumors, likely circulating now, were far more entertaining. For the first time in years, the whispering around her had nothing to do with herarana lingua.
Surprisedly pleased with the different kind of attention, Lilac took some turkey and cheese onto her plate and began to eat just as her parents and their own small entourage were the last to enter. Usually it was Lilac who arrived halfway through the meal, and so they squinted at the head of the table as the doors slammed shut behind them.
Her mother’s hair was sticking out of a hair cover, as if her maids had attempted to wrestle it into place; as if she hadn’t slept last night. Where she usually regarded her daughter with a disapproving tilt of her mouth, Marguerite now offered her a tight smile at her rosy appearance in both her complexion and ensemble.
“You’re rather dressed for dinner,” Lilac commented.
Despite her hair, her mother wore a sky blue gown with puffy sleeves, and it looked like she’d put all of her shiny silver trinkets on. Henri pulled out a chair to Lilac’s left as his wife let out a strained chuckle across from him.
“Oh, I could say the same of you,” replied Marguerite.
“Are you hosting someone?”
Looking peeved that Lilac had avoided the inquiry in her statement, Marguerite placed a small bunch of grapes and a corner of bread onto her plate before answering. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Oh?” Lilac leaned over her plate and took a dainty sip of water.
“For now, some of the ladies of the court—my court,” she corrected, “are on their way, just in time for Hedwig’s baked custard. My ladies-in-waiting arrive tonight.”
Lilac coughed into her glass and placed it down, wiping the dribble off her front before it soaked into her dress.
“Keep yourself together,” said Marguerite, as if her old friends were already present.
The women who’d served on Marguerite’s former court resided in surrounding towns, some in different duchies. The closest in Marguerite’s circle, besides her two ladies-in-waiting, had been Vivien herself. She’d skirted holding a distinct role, however; Vivien would’ve kissed a Daemon before sitting at an official stationbeneaththe queen consort.
She’d always wanted the position for herself.
Marguerite’s ladies-in-waiting were also a pair she’d learned to remain cautious around. Even before herarcana linguawas revealed, Lilac knew them to be terrible gossips. They hadn’t lived at the castle since requesting to be relieved from their stations in light of Lilac’s scandal. In the midst of it all, she remembered being shocked her mother let them leave so quickly—but as she got older and noticed Piper’s absence more and more, she understood. A lady-in-waiting was a queen’s confidante, advocator, and assistant, but often became more than that. They were her mother’s friends. Marguerite preferred to lose her personal companions than force them to serve her against their will. Doing so might have stirred additional gossip surrounding her family—Marguerite’s second worst nightmare following stale fashion.
“They’re coming here tonight? For dessert?”
“For your coronation,” Marguerite corrected. “They’ll have arrived by dessert, yes.”
Her parents were staring blankly back at her, looking just as confused. Lilac pushed her plate away.
“Might I remind you, guests from out of country and across the kingdom will be arriving throughout the week. Some will be staying at nearby taverns, some at the available manors and estates of willing hosts. But those closest to our family are invited to stay here. Youknowthis.” Marguerite peered at her daughter, as if trying to ascertain her sanity.
Lilac swallowed her biting reply. Her mother was right, this was customary. “Gertrude and Helena are nearly here. Will they stay in the north wing?”
“Yes, we had those quarters cleaned and prepared while you were gone. This is what is usually done when hosting esteemed guests. In case you’ve forgotten.”
The thought of hosting many strangers in the same castle where she’d hidden from the kingdom was nearly too much to bear. “It’s been years, thanks to you,” she shot. “With France at our border, I haven’t quite been focused on our guest list, or their accommodations.”
“We did mention it in passing a day or two ago,” said Henri.
“You were still bordering hysterics,” added Marguerite. “A bath with the girls did you well.”
