“Your privilege is astounding,” Sabine sighed, rubbing her neck.
“And your neglect of your own basic necessities is tiresome,” Elodie countered, using her fingers to work out a particularly pesky knot in the New Maiden’s shoulder.
“The people cannot worship a figure they do not relate to or understand,” Sabine said through a muffled groan of relief. The criticism held all the threat of a butter knife, but it sliced Elodie’s fragile ego as though it were a sword.
“I suppose it is a good thing I do not wish for them to worship me, then,” the queen said curtly, rising to her feet.
“Elodie, stop.” Sabine was suddenly beside her, fingers twisting carefully into hers. She put a hand to the queen’s cheek, her calloused fingers sending a thrill skittering down Elodie’s spine. “You took a blow I had meant for myself.”
Elodie leaned into the other girl’s touch. “Aren’t we a pair? That means your troubles are mine as well.”
A delicate cough. Marguerite had reappeared in the doorway. “The bath is ready, Majesty.”
Elodie led Sabine to the bedroom, where the tub sat behind a folding partition. The steaming water smelled of lavender. She brushed the New Maiden’s smoke-stained robe from her shoulders with a soft thump. The simple wool dress beneath had been untouched by the flames.
“Is that all the help you’re going to give me?” Sabine’s brown eyes glittered.
The queen suppressed a smile. “Best never to be presumptuous.” Sabine’s fingers tightened around Elodie’s wrist. That was answer enough.
As she unfastened the line of buttons on the back of Sabine’s dress, Elodie marveled at the gentle arc of the other girl’s spine. She brushed her lips across Sabine’s shoulder blade, the protruding bone as delicate as a baby bird’s wing.
When the dress, too, fell to the ground, Elodie’s gasp caught in her throat. She was overwhelmed by the sight of Sabine’s soft curves, wanted to commit her body to memory, to worship at the altar of her physical form. Sabine crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m feeling a bit exposed.”
Elodie’s tongue soured with dismay. “I thought you wanted me to stay.”
“Not stay dressed.” Her face split into a wicked grin.
Elodie shed her own gown, and together they sank into the bath, Sabine’s back against the queen’s chest. Elodie wrapped her arms tightly around the girl’s middle, pulling her closer. Her scalp still carried the scent of smoke. It was lucky that the arson had not led to murder, that the New Maiden had emerged unscathed.
Sabine tapped her finger idly on the water’s surface. The motion sent ripples all the way to their toes.
Every action had its consequence. The queen had not responded to the letter from Edgar DeVos—an undiplomatic action that may have stoked the boy’s anger into a raging flame. Elodie was a fool if she did not draw the logical conclusion.
She cupped her hands into the bath to gather water and send it trickling down Sabine’s head, a shoddy mimicry of the baptismal ritual used to induct clergy into the New Maiden’s fold. The bathwater grew murky as she scrubbed the soot from Sabine. Elodie’s mood darkened, too. Her plan to ignore Edgar was no longer possible, not if defending her pride put Sabine in harm’s way.
Once the water ran clear through Sabine’s hair, Marguerite brought towels and long dressing gowns. They settled at the foot of Elodie’s bed, wet hair soaking the fabric around their shoulders.
“Can I ask you for something?” Sabine’s gaze was fixed on the gold threaded quilt.
Elodie frowned at the pretense. “What’s the use of being queen if I cannot help those I…” She paused, trying the word she meant on her tongue before she spoke it. But in the end, she cowered. “Care for?”
Sabine’s breath hitched, a soft exhale that Elodie thought might be disappointment. Her stomach twisted regretfully, but the moment had passed.
“I need a safe place for my family to stay. This time, my enemies came for the church, but next time…” There was no need for her to finish.
It was so obvious a request that Elodie frowned. “The south wing is always available for guests.”
“It isn’t an imposition?”
Tera Warnou would have turned up her nose at the thought of Harborsiders wandering the halls of Castle Warnou. But Elodie did not hesitate. “I would do anything for you.”
Sabine pressed her lips to Elodie’s. The queen lost herself in the New Maiden’s kiss. Let it wash away the soot and the grime that clung to her soul. When their embrace ended, she emerged anew. She sent Sabine with Marguerite to procure a coach that would collect her family. Then the queen finished getting dressed. She had business to attend to.
Elodie was intercepted three times on the way to her study. First by a doctor she had asked to examine Brianne. The youngest Warnou’s vitals were sound, the woman insisted—she merely required rest. It was an odd assessment of a patient who had spent days suspended in sleep, but even as Elodie accepted the prognosis, she made plans to procure a second opinion. Next, she was stopped by the castle steward. Bale was old as sin and convinced that all the servants were pilfering the royal silverware. Elodie dismissed him easily with a mumbled excuse. Finally, outside her study door, the Queen of Velle was detained by Maxine.
The broad-shouldered Loyalist nearly barreled her over as she turned down the corridor. Elodie’s face softened in apology until she registered with whom she had nearly collided.
“Hello, soldier.” Elodie pursed her lips. The last time she’d shared air with Maxine, the Loyalist had bound her hands and locked her in the royal chapel.
Maxine was nothing if not disciplined. She offered Elodie a terse bow. “Majesty. Our meeting is fortuitous.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “I have something for you.”
Elodie raised an eyebrow. “Is it an apology?”
“A letter came for you,” Maxine continued, as though the queen had not spoken. She produced a thick envelope from her breast pocket and handed it over. “I’m not an errand boy, you know.”
“I won’t tip you, then.” Elodie turned the envelope over, breath catching as she glimpsed its serpentine seal. “Actually”—she scowled up at the Loyalist—“here’s a tip: If you don’t apologize for participating in my detainment at the Church’s request, I will remove you from your post. You do not want me as your enemy, Maxine.”
Maxine’s jaw clenched. “I apologize, Your Majesty,” she finally managed, Elodie’s threat decidedly greater than the blow to her pride. The guard had no way to know the true subject of Elodie’s ire was the boy whose unsteady scrawl had spilled ink blots across the envelope in her hand.
“Very well.” Elodie sighed. The outburst had offered her no relief. “You are dismissed. If you see Tal, send him to me.”
“You seem to have forgiven his betrayal,” Maxine muttered darkly as she turned away. It was not worth Elodie’s energy to engage her further.
The moment she stepped through the door into her study, the queen tore open Edgar’s letter with her teeth.
Elodie Dearest,
