“No.”
Wraye peers up at me, perplexed. “No? What do you mean, no?”
I shake my head. “That’s not possible. There’s no way that anyone could buy their way into the Court. I don’t believe it.”
Wraye gives me a sad look and backs away toward the door. “I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t tell Aubrey about us. I won’t speak a word to anyone. You have my promise, for what it’s worth, coming from a Rugova. You’ll never have to see my face again, and neither will she.”
“Come back here. I didn’t say you could leave.”
Wraye sinks into a curtsy. “Goodbye, Your Grace. Again, I’m so sorry.”
I follow her out into the hall. Aubrey’s sitting on the stairs, and she springs to her feet. When she takes Wraye’s hand, Wraye shakes her head and pulls away. Without another word, she hurries to the front door, opens it, and is gone.
Aubrey looks down the hall at me. “What was all that about?”
“I don’t know,” I manage hoarsely. “She said she was sorry.”
“Daddy? I don’t understand. What does Wraye have to be sorry about?”Chapter EighteenWrayeI can barely look at Mama when I walk through the front door. She’s sitting at the kitchen table and stands up, hopefully, when she sees me.
“Wraye, are you going to come and eat something?” Mama calls.
“Are you going to retract those lies you told the newspaper?”
“I can’t do that. We’ll be on our own. No money and no hope for anything more than this.”
I come into the room. Mama steps back, half a pace, at the wild expression that must be burning in my eyes. “Yes, you can, it’s easy. You pick up the phone and call your contact, and you say, “I lied. Please print a retraction.”“
Mama raises her chin, her lips thin with defiance. “I don’t lie, young lady. In this case, I passed on information that was circulating at Court, which is in the public interest.”
She’s actually deluded herself into thinking she performed a public service. “You repeated rumors, and the paper printed them as fact! Don’t you see the problem with that?”
“It’s not in my control how a reporter chooses to—”
I run from the room and slam my bedroom door in her face. I’ll be sick, if I listen to her excuses any longer.
I curl up into a ball on my bed and start to cry. By now, Devrim will understand what I was saying to him, and he’ll hate me. Aubrey will hate me, too, for what my family has done to them. The only shred of comfort I have is that she doesn’t know that I was sleeping with her father.
I curl up, even tighter, moaning in pain and regret. I slept with her father. I’m a horrible human being.
If Devrim hadn’t reassured me that a treason charge was out of the question, I’d call the newspaper, myself, and tell them they’d printed lies. I imagine the dots a wily reporter might connect, if I talked to them, along with the story they would print.ARCHDUKE’S LOVER FLIES TO HIS DEFENSE.Lady Wraye Rugova, who wasn’t yet been born when Archduke Levanter, fifty-three, captained the King’s Guard to disaster, twenty-seven years ago, yesterday made a tearful plea in the Archduke’s defense.
“I love him!” wept the twenty-one-year-old. “These rumors are tearing me apart.”Shuddering, I get up and go to the window and look out onto the empty, cobbled alleyway. I close my eyes, remembering the glow that warms his hazel ones, when he’s gazing down at me. I’ll never feel his strong arms again. Never see his gentle smile.
I move through the house like a ghost over the following days, turning away whenever Mama tries to speak to me. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for what she’s done. I don’t even know what my future holds.
The papers make an effort to keep Devrim in the headlines, but as there are no new revelations to print, three days later, he’s been replaced by a gut-wrenching story of orphans who were neglected under the People’s Republic. The King didn’t speak out about Devrim, but he put out a statement saying that the children are now being cared for, and there will be a royal commission into all children’s homes and care institutions.
There should be more news like this in the papers. Good things that are happening because of King Anson and the things he’s putting right. Less gossip and fawning over dresses and uniforms, and more things that actually matter. Even the sight of one of Mama’s tabloids is enough to make me feel sick.
Mama and I are sitting in prickly silence over breakfast when there’s a knock at the door. She goes to answer it as I crane my neck, trying to see who it is. Is that a flash of burgundy palace livery I see? At our front door?