Page 39 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

She rose from the bath without warning; there was no sense in staying any longer if Yanna and Isabel were going to prod her like some experiment.

Isabel toweled her hair while Yanna slid her into a pretty kirtle of muted pink over a cream shift, and a fine eggshell corset patterned in roses and leaves from the back of her armoire, duly ignoring the folded stack of clothing Garin had gifted her at the bottom of it.

This was one of the pieces of clothing her mother had acquired in the past year, should she one day return to society—as if fashion would suffice as any kind of bandage over her Daemon tongue.

Perhaps in the past few days, in Lilac’s hysteria her handmaidens hadn’t had the chance to examine her properly.

They stared at her in the mirror as she combed her hair, which brushed the bottom of her collarbone and had mysteriously deepened in color, dancing in several shades of oak and auburn and framing her full, flushed cheeks.

Lilac rifled in her vanity drawer for her powder and rogue to try to cover some of it up while they styled her in a pair of half-up braids that softly crowned her head and balanced the intensity of her gaze.

“Are you… expecting someone, Your Majesty?” Isabel asked, stepping back after her hair was fashioned.

“No.” Lilac untucked a couple chunks of hair around her crown, just like she liked it.

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 see me .”

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.

Hedwig and 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.

A carriage 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 her arana 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 station beneath the 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 her arcana lingua was 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. You know this.” 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. ”

All she’d been able to think about was Garin. Even when she’d forced him from her mind, momentarily distracting herself by tending to her duties, she’d felt it. Him, his dark absence. His power over her.

“And what of the investigation at the Le Tallec estate?” Lilac eyed Henri, who slowly looked up from his plate while Marguerite shifted her glare to him.

“We agreed on one after Armand killed himself and I just assumed others might already know about it.” Lilac stuffed her irritation down and feigned confusion, lowering her voice. “Did it not occur yet?”

“It did the morning after you departed. The evidence was irrefutable. Sinclair is in the dungeon with double the guards.” Henri bit into a dripping turkey leg, quick to change the subject. “You didn’t see our caravan of carriages roll past in the square?”

“I suppose I was busy being fitted. Herlinde did not have anything to my liking, by the way,” she lied, for Marguerite’s benefit. “I’ve requested her to come fit me here. She will have it finished in plenty of time.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” said Henri. “We passed your carriage on the way to the estate. Outside of the Herwick Haberdashery.”

Lilac hummed, as if she’d simply forgotten. Henri was lying for her. They might’ve spotted Lilac’s carriage far ahead, but Giles had been driving them out of the square by the time Henri’s carriage pulled in.

“The Hemlock Haberdashery,” Marguerite corrected.

“That’s it, now.”

Lilac took her time chewing through her fig and cheese-covered bread as her mother waited for her to respond. “I must have been inside the shop at the time.”

Marguerite all but shuddered into her custard, and as an afterthought, said, “It is a wonder Herlinde bothered settling her second shop next to that pig’s trough.”

She said nothing as she finished the last scraps on her plate, grateful for the warm meal she could finally eat and keep down.

Several unpleasant memories of the past three days flashed through her mind.

The cold sweats and gnawing at her stomach, yet no appetite to eat when food was placed before her.

The muscle spasms and heat. The unbidden images of Garin.

No proposals . It had brought great relief to her that morning, solving her most immediate problem of completing Garin’s demand of marriage.