Blaise blanched, and I turned to face the head maid, who nodded at me gently and said, “Milady,” before turning her bulging eyes on Blaise.
In the end, I helped Blaise scrub the foyers, much to the head maid’s horror. I didn’t care about her bustling and grumbling, though. Not when Blaise was trying so desperately not to let me see the tears of gratitude constantly trying to slip down her pale face.
CHAPTER 24
ELLIE
I’d anticipated an afternoon of cheap conversation, vain gossip, and prattle regarding the latest fashions.
I couldn’t have shown up more ill-prepared.
Imogen was the one who escorted me to the veranda where the luncheon was to be held. Apparently Blaise was still suffering under the stern hand of the head maid, tasked with shining the insides of the metal suits of armor as a punishment for shirking her responsibilities yesterday.
My escort was skittish, and as always, I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed with her nervous energy or pity the poor girl.
I figured pity was a tad kinder, if not also a tad condescending.
“Your hair looks nice,” I tried, noticing that she’d styled it differently today, the brownish-blondish knot at the nape of her neck shinier than usual.
“Thank you, milady,” she said, bowing slightly, her eyes buzzing about like a pair of bumblebees.
When my attempted conversation died, I pressed, “Are you using a new product?”
“I am.”
I took a breath and attempted to steel my patience. Ever since Evander had invited me to his quarters for dinner, Imogen had been short with me—almost unpleasantly so. “Did you buy it at Madame LeFleur’s? I know her products are quite popular amongst the women in town.”
Also quite useless, but I didn’t think Imogen was likely to engage me in such a topic.
She shook her head, almost violently. As if I’d asked her if she drank puppy blood to stay youthful. “No. I wouldn’t go there. My stepmother says that woman’s a witch.”
“Right.”
I officially gave up on engaging Imogen in conversation today.
She led me out onto the veranda. The floor was lined with cedar planks, the table wooden as well, though intricate designs of mountain peaks had been carved into its face, likely to represent the Kobii mountains that served as the border between Dwellen and Avelea to the south.
Imogen had delivered me early, as she’d promised. I’d wanted to arrive before the queen’s other luncheon guests. Sure, it was uncomfortable sitting around and waiting, but at least if I arrived early, I could greet each lady one by one, learn their names, and tuck the information away.
Perhaps I even had a chance of gaining their approval this way.
Women were like that, I’d decided. It was easier to sidle up to their good graces individually than trying to force oneself into an already familiar group.
Attempting to do so could so easily be interpreted as a wedge.
Plus, arriving early would keep me from the awkward situation of walking in late and having a host of fae females staring at my every asymmetry.
The queen was there when we arrived, her delicate frame like a dewdrop on a leaf, with the veranda overlooking a garden of evergreens that must have been planted to resemble a forest.
She stood at the wooden table, peering over a collection of papers, one hand perched on the wood to support her weight, the other running a finger over the lines as if searching for something.
“Ah!” A self-satisfied grin that reminded me of a hand patting a back broke across her beautiful face.
Only then did she look up to find me standing across the room from her.
Her back stiffened, and though the pleasant smile remained plastered to her face, it dimmed at the edges.
“Ah, you’ve arrived early. Good. Thank you, Imogen.” She nodded to the servant girl, dismissing her.
I fought the urge to clear my throat. Though Blaise and I hadn’t gotten very far in the etiquette handbooks yesterday, I was fairly sure it was against decorum for a lady to clear her throat. Unless it was the queen reprimanding someone, of course.
Things had been a bit tense between the queen and me since the night I insulted Evander’s reputation in front of her.
That was yet another reason I’d had a bad feeling about this luncheon. Blaise had informed me I’d been personally invited by the queen, and for some reason getting thrown into a pack of hungry fae noblewomen didn’t seem like the most benign of invitations coming from someone who already didn’t like me.
Perhaps I could prove her wrong.
Her sharp blue eyes took one rushed sweep over my attire, and her throat tightened.
I’d asked Blaise yesterday to find something appropriate to wear for the luncheon. She’d obtained a modern contraption masquerading as an outfit—one she insisted was all the rage in fae social groups.
I hadn’t thought to ask her which fae social groups.
By the fleeting look over the queen had given me, I was inclined to think it wasn’t the royal ones.
The suit was one piece, the top made of two strips of cream-colored linen that were attached to the waistband. Imogen and I had struggled with dressing me this morning, Imogen cursing Blaise under her breath for picking an outfit so unreasonable, then not bothering to be around to help me get into it.
I was inclined to agree.
