“You . . . want me to spy on Serene?” She had no real loyalty to the princess, yet the thought made the back of her scalp prickle with sudden unease.
Grandeur blew out his breath. “I didn’t mean to make it sound so dramatic. I only hope you’d feel comfortable coming to me if you were to learn anything distressing.”
Clare wet her lips as she leaned back. “Of course.”
His expression tightened. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” she said at once. Maybe too quickly.
But Grandeur smiled, and when she saw his tension ease, she felt a little better.
Clare stepped out of the princess’s bedroom and paused when she saw the door to her private study cracked open. Clare had never seen anyone inside the locked room, and alertness sharpened her nerves. She could hear soft movement inside, and since the muted voices of Vera and her sister, Ivonne, came from the dressing room, Clare knew it wasn’t one of the maids.
Thoughts of assassins and rebels flashed through her head, quickening her breath. Clare cut a look across the sitting room, toward the suite’s main door. Should she call the guards?
Before she could, the study door dragged open and Clare came face-to-face with Serene.
The princess seemed just as shocked to see her standing there, though her features pinched almost at once. “Spying?” she asked crisply.
Clare flushed, her mind darting back to the conversation she’d had with Grandeur yesterday. “No.”
Serene arched a dark brow and stepped closer, tugging the door shut behind her. “You have another reason for lurking outside my door?”
Something about the princess’s tone broke through Clare’s nerves. She straightened her spine. “I just stepped out of the bedroom. I wasn’t spying on you.”
The princess rolled her eyes and pulled a key from her pocket. She fit it into the lock and twisted, once again sealing her study. Curiosity pricked Clare; what was she hiding in there?
“I trust you’ve recovered from your first poisoning?” Serene asked.
Clare pulled her eyes from the door. “What?”
The princess turned and pocketed the slim key. “Well, at least your wits don’t seem any more dulled than before. That must be a relief.”
Clare’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no need to be cruel.”
Serene shifted away from the closed door. “Perhaps you’re right. I should throw myself at your feet and sob my thanks continually to you for stealing my life.”
Clare bristled, but kept her voice smooth. “The Night Sigh was actually quite relaxing. Maybe you should order some for yourself.”
Serene snorted. “The kitchen maid has found a backbone. Fates help us all.” She picked her way across the sitting room, halting near the suite’s main door. She glanced over her shoulder. “I suppose I should thank you.”
Clare’s mouth tightened, her fingernails cutting into her palms. “Oh?”
The princess’s eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to be sincere.”
Clare huffed a short laugh. “Really?”
“Yes.” A muscle thrummed along her jaw. “That night in the hallway, before you became my decoy, you did save my life—even if you threw me into the wall.”
Clare stared at her. “What are you saying?”
Serene exhaled, irritation lining the sound. “I’m thanking you.”
Surprise flared. “You are?”
The princess folded her arms. “Yes. But of course that same night you were blinded by my father’s promises and conspired with him to be my imposter, so that mars your record.”
Clare kept her tone mild. “You haven’t actually said thank you.”
Serene rolled her eyes, arms dropping as she pulled open the door and stepped into the hall.
Vera and Ivonne exited the dressing room, carrying dresses to mend. They seemed oblivious to Serene’s visit to the suite and continued chatting with each other as they settled on the settee and began their work.
Clare would have preferred to join them in their simple task, especially since irritation still pricked her after her interaction with Serene, but a thick book on Mortisian culture waited on an end table. All she’d really learned was they had a celebration for everything—even funerals held traditions of feasting, dancing, music, and brightly colored clothes. She didn’t really want to read it, but Ramus would be testing her tomorrow.
Clare plucked up the book and sat in an armchair, grateful for the background noise of the sisters’ easy conversation. It was much better than studying in silence. It reminded her of home.
A quarter hour passed before there was a knock on the suite door. Clare rose before either of the maids could; she needed an excuse to stretch her legs. She pulled open the door and came face to face with Gavril Lank, the stable master’s son. The burns trailing over the side of his face and down his neck caught her eye first, but she lifted her gaze to meet his and offered a smile. Gavril was often stationed outside the princess’s room, especially since Bennick had increased the guard after the Night Sigh attack.
He tipped his head. “Miss Ellington.”
“Please, call me Clare.” She’d asked him before, but he seemed determined to be formal.
Gavril lifted a hand, brandishing a small stack of letters. “These arrived for you.”
Clare knew they were from home—no one else would have written to her. Her hand trembled as she reached for the letters and when she flipped them over and saw Thomas’s familiar handwriting, warmth spread through her chest. “I didn’t know I could receive letters,” she whispered.
Gavril frowned. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”
Clare swallowed, unable to answer. She tightened her hold on the letters and tears stung her eyes as she met Gavril’s gaze. “Thank you.”
The fervency in her voice seemed to take him off-guard. He shuffled his feet, eyebrows pulling downward. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You brought me news from home.” She reached out her free hand and caught his fingers, squeezing gently. “Thank you, Gavril.”
He tensed, a muscle in his jaw flexing. But he didn’t pull away. “I hope it’s good news.”
Clare grinned and released his hand, closing the door when Gavril retreated. Twisting back toward the sitting room, she rifled through the letters. There
