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“Still. My guess is he is using you to bait the prince into a reaction. He enjoys torturing the boy.”

Inez tuts and shakes her head. With only the two of us in the room, she has become muchfreer with her thoughts, much to my delight.

“My advice, miss, is to keep your head down and not rise to the king’s antagonising,” she continues. “He thrives off the reaction he can pull from others. It is his favourite pastime. To act like a cat playing with its food.”

I contemplate this quietly and draw a card from the deck.

???

When the sun starts to lower, Inez ushers me into the washroom so she can bathe and dress me. She works efficiently—after an hour, I am clean, creamed, and garbed in a deep red dress which skims the floor.

This gown is different from the rest. It is deceptively comfortable. There are tight, stretchy trousers hugging my legs under the skirt. Instead of the usual rigid corset bones, it is lined with a strange material mimicking the restrictive look but instead moves flexibly with my body. It lacks the long sleeves of the other gowns. Instead, the neckline reaches up high, leaving my shoulders bare. Jewels speckle the fabric in a scale-like pattern, shimmering in the light. I look at myself in the floor-length mirror, slowly turning.

“You do look beautiful,” Inez compliments. She adjusts the pins holding up my hair. “This was one of the queen’s favourite dresses.”

“She had good taste.” I smooth my hand over the garnet bodice. It is hard on the outside despite being soft on the inside.

“That she did.” Inez moves to begin fussing over the few loose dark curls draped down the sides of my face. “She made it herself, in fact. Oh, a master seamstress she was. She used to say it was the dress she donned for war.”

“War with whom?”

Inez looks at me pointedly in the mirror.

“Her husband, miss.”

I slide my gaze back to the dress, viewing it in a new light. I feel the skirt and notice several pockets within the bunched fabric. They are big enough to hold knives. I wonder what assaults the hard bodice can withstand while protecting the wearer. The queen made this with a purpose.

“What was she like?” I enquire.

“Well…” Inez frowns, hesitation in her voice. “She—”

“The king is ready for you,” a guard calls through the chamber door, followed by a loud thump against the wood. Inez takes a step back from me.

“You are ready, miss.” She looks at me, admiring her handwork. “As you ever will be, anyway.”

“Thank you, Inez.” I turn to hug her fiercely. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze.

“Oh!” she gasps before laughing and squeezing me back. “You are most welcome,miss.

“Now!” The guard thumps harder. Inez jumps off me before spinning me around to face the door.

“Time for you to be off. Good luck.”

I square my shoulders and, for the first time in my life, I pray to the Saints.

Chapter 12

The dining hall is darker than I remember it. Or maybe it is my mind, which is gloomy as I enter the room with my captor.

The king sits at the head of the table, but the prince is nowhere to be seen. I was hoping he would have been here for support or to present a united front. The sight of his empty chair makes my stomach sink. I glance around the room, but it is empty except for the servants waiting in the shadows. One of them I recognise from the kitchens, and they give me a subtle smile.

“How lovely of you to join me,” the king bellows, grinning. He talks as though I have a choice in the matter and not as though he has taken all my choices from me. He has only said one thing to me and already my temper rises. I grind my teeth together, trying hard to focus on what Inez told me.Do not rise to his antagonising. With difficulty, I pinch the corners of my skirtsand curtsy. I can play the cowed commoner for one evening.

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness,” I say, keeping the venom out of my voice as much as possible. It seems to work—he gestures to the seat next to him. A servant darts out to pull the chair back for me. I incline my head in thanks to them, and their eyebrows shoot up as if shocked I had even looked at them. A flare of anger rises at their treatment, but I force it back down again. I uncurl my fists.

As soon as I am seated, I realise how uncomfortably close I am to the king. I find myself missing the prince’s presence. He, at least, was able to act as a buffer between us. The king eyes me curiously.

“A fine dress,” he comments. There is an unkind familiarity in his eyes like he has been reminded of something unpleasant. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze.