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He sputtered on his knees. “She is an heir to you.”

Erida was glad for her mask, for all her lessons hard-learned at the court of Ascal. Rage flared in her chest, burning hot at even the thought of Marguerite usurping her throne. Slowly, she stood, and descended the steps of the dais at a steady, maddening pace. She halted beyond reach of the lords, too smart to come within range of a hidden dagger or clenched fist.

She eyed Marguerite instead, waiting for the girl to meet her gaze. After a long time, the once princess raised her face, reluctant but resolute.

With a twist of her stomach, Erida realized their eyes were the same nearly shade of blue.

“Did you learn embroidery at your convent?” she asked, trying to coax an answer from the young girl. “Sewing? Needlepoint?”

Marguerite barely nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Well done. I was never skilled with the needle. My stitches were always crooked. I didn’t have the mind for it. Thread could never hold my interest.” It wasn’t a lie. Erida had despised all manner of sewing and weaving, largely because she held no talent for it. But she despised traitors even more.

She shifted, facing the lord on the floor. “Sewing your mouth shut, however, that would be very interesting indeed. Do you follow my meaning?”

He could only nod, clamping his teeth together so as not to provoke her further.

“A wise decision,” Erida mused. “Now, what do you know of their plan, Marguerite? I can see you’re a smart girl, smarter than your brother was.”

The deposed princess winced at the mention of Orleon. Her eyes flew past Erida, finding Taristan still seated next to the throne. In an instant, the pageantry fell away, and Erida glimpsed the fury in Marguerite’s eyes. Pure, unchecked, a deep anger built on grief. Erida understood that too, well enough to fear it.

The Queen tsked slowly. “No idea? Do you have a guess, at least?”

“To keep me safe,” she answered, tight-lipped.

Erida raised her brows. “Safe for what? Certainly there was some reason.”

The princess dropped her eyes again, trying to retreat behind her wall of quiet innocence. She was young, not as skilled as Erida had become, and the Queen saw through her.

“I do not know, Your Majesty,” Marguerite murmured.

Erida could only smirk.

“I was a young girl once too. I know your weapons, Marguerite, for they were my own. And I admire your bravery, foolish as it may be,” she said.

As Thornwall had a week ago, she crooked a finger, signaling to the soldiers guarding Marguerite. A pair of them stepped forward, seizing the young girl by both shoulders.

At least she knows better than to fight,Erida thought, watching the young princess break. The same deadened look King Robart wore came over Marguerite, but hers ran deeper. A single tear trailed down her cheek.

“Remember this moment, Marguerite. Remember that tear.” Erida watched the single drop fall. “It is the last one you will ever shed as a girl. You are a woman now, the last of your childish hopes and dreams bleeding to death before your own eyes.”

Marguerite forced her gaze up, her blue eyes ferocious as she met Erida’s own. She said nothing, her lip caught in her teeth.

On her right-hand side, Erida felt the telltale ripple of heat. Taristan appeared next to her, his face blank as her own.

“There are no fairy tales in this world,” Erida said, her eyes going soft. “No charming prince will come to save you. No godhearsyourprayers. You will not avenge your brother. Rise against me and you will fail. And you will die.”

Marguerite flagged in the grip of her captors, almost falling. She hissed out a pained breath.

“But behave yourself, and you’ll be well provided for,” Erida offered, matter-of-fact. She even smiled. “I have no desire to torture a conquered king and his living child, so long as you both cooperate. Your father has a lovely apartment and wants for nothing. Neither will you, I can promise that.”

It was hardly a comfort to Marguerite.

Erida cared little, and turned to stone again, eyeing the Madrentine lords.

“As for treason,thatI cannot abide,” she growled out. Her gaze bounced between the pair of them, trying to guess their measure. “The lesson need only be taught once. Who shall learn it?”

The one standing furrowed his brow. Sweat glistened across his forehead, despite the chill of the room. “Your Majesty?”