Page 62 of Royal Icing

But no, it was a far worse surprise.

The queen entered, still wearing a suit jacket and skirt even though it was nearly eleven p.m.

“Miss Clark,” she said.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” Emma said, attempting a curtsy as best as she could while her hands were covered in flour and her limbs were stiff from almost dying and then sleeping on a hardwood floor. Cradled in the arms of her son. Oops.

Speaking of whom, was she going to be visited by the entire royal family before Leo showed up? She hadn’t seen or heard from him since their steamy moment in the gatehouse hours earlier. Not that she was keeping track or anything.

“I just wanted to see how things were coming along in light of your recent trauma.”

“Oh, everything’s fine. Your kitchen staff have been so helpful. I have everything I need, it’ll just take time to get all the components put together. I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”

Assuming she could pull it all off completely on her own since Maya was A) useless, and B) apparently having a royal sex vacation.

“I trust you’re right,” she said, striding around the kitchen with her hands clasped behind her back like she owned the place. Which she did. “I also wanted to ask, if it’s not too much trouble, could you make another batch of espresso croissants for Ruby before you leave? She really loves them.”

“I would be happy to.”

They were the pastry that had gotten her the job, after all. She owed the princess a lifetime of croissants.

“Thank you,” the queen said, staring off into the distance. “I also wanted to thank you for what you did for Ruby.”

Emma paused. Ruby hadn’t mentioned that she told the queen about what happened. It was better to play dumb.

“It was nothing.”

“That damn Paul,” the queen said with a tsk. “He’s as bad as his father. Lord Axley owns thirty luxury hotels between here, Italy, and Spain.”

“Well, that does explain Paul’s insufferable air of entitlement,” Emma said without thinking. Yikes. She probably shouldn’t have just said that to a queen.

Queen Eleanor had a ghost of a smile. “In a perfect world, we would dig out the stocks from the museum and make an example of him. But this isn’t a perfect world, and sometimes things have to be handled a little more diplomatically.”

Emma didn’t comment. If someone had sexually harassed her little sister, she would’ve pushed them off the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Leo also mentioned that you saved him from choking,” the queen said. “It seems our family has much to thank you for. As such, I’ve invited a representative fromFood Magazineto come to the ball.”

Emma froze.Food Magazinewas the preeminent food publication of the twenty-first century.

“I’m sure you can expect a significant feature on your gingerbread castle,” the queen added.

Great. Now the stakes were even higher. And worse, the journalist would probably assign all the credit to Maya.

“How kind. Thank you, Your Majesty,” she added with a curtsy.

A silence settled, but the queen didn’t leave. Emma sensed there was more than just the stress of the ball weighing on the queen’s mind.

“Ruby’s a wonderful girl,” Emma said. “You must be so proud of your children.”

“We’re very blessed,” she said quietly.

“It must be difficult for you, knowing that she’s going off to college next year.”

“Yes,” the queen said, gripping the edges of the sink and staring out at the dark courtyard. “She’s my baby. My last child. And soon she’ll be thousands of miles away in a foreign place. She’s always had a thirst for independence. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I tried too hard to keep her here, keep her safe. She won’teven be here for her next birthday. I’ve never missed any of my children’s birthdays.”

What an uncharacteristically maternal thing to say for someone who had apparently been withdrawn and uninterested in Leo’s childhood.

“That sounds really hard,” Emma said. “If it would bring you any comfort, I’d be happy to make a birthday cake for Ruby. I’ll just be a few miles away when she’s at school. She won’t be alone.”