All the while, she’d been aware of the days lifting off the calendar like ravens, one by one, swooping away and forming a black, jeering cloud on the horizon. They’d mocked her for loving him despite his lack of commitment. For waiting so patiently for words of love that were never going to come.
Did she regret trying to make their marriage work? No. But failing despite leaving her heart wide open was liable to kill her.
Shaking, she pressed a fresh tissue to her closed eyes, soaking up the leak through her lashes, taking a slow breath and consciously softening her shoulders.
Uno naranjo, dos naranjos...
It struck her what she was doing. Oh, no.
She pressed the tissue harder into her eyes, becoming aware of the sensations pinging to life in her. A roiling stomach, a creep of foreboding down her spine. Cold specters began to float in her periphery, voicing the ugliest of thoughts. Why would he want you? You’re the broken one. You’re soiled.
“No,” she whispered, certain that being susceptible to these attacks proved how unworthy she was of love. Was that the ghouls talking? Or the unvarnished truth?
“Dama?” Her maid knocked, making her heart leap. Adona entered. “The Private Secretary is here. Her Majesty wishes to see you.”
Not now. She couldn’t. Not with a spell coming on. All of her went rigid while her blood moved like acid in her arteries.
Why did the Queen even want to see her? Her mind raced, trying to think of an excuse, but what could she say?
“Please give me a moment to dress.” Uno naranjo, dos naranjos...
She chose the dress she’d worn to the christening, since its red and gold were Elazar’s national colors and quietly proclaimed her station as the mother of a future monarch. Adona gave her hair a twist while Trella dabbed on light makeup, even though it didn’t matter if she put on clown pants or a G-string with water wings. She was going to the guillotine.
As if that were true, the flutters deep in the pit of her belly grew worse. Mario’s dour face made his silent escort that much more ominous. Her feet felt like they didn’t belong to her. She couldn’t make her throat swallow.
The ghouls chuckled as they stuck to her clammy skin, following her into a stately room of powder blue and white striped wallpaper.
The Queen wore a dark green sweater set and a severe expression. She was seated and Trella was not invited to do so.
Trella ordered her fists to loosen and clasped them in front of her. She took measured breaths, nodded in greeting as the door behind her closed, shutting her in with what she had long suspected was an enemy.
“I’m a woman of well-cultivated patience, but mine has run out,” Queen Julia stated. “It would benefit all if you went to Spain for Christmas and did not come back.”
Her nails dug into her palm beneath the cover of her other hand. “Xavier suggested the same thing.”
Surprise flickered in the Queen’s face before she blinked it away. She nodded. “Good. He’s finally showing sense.”
“I said I’d go if Tyrol came with me.” She wanted that so badly, she would buckle into the carpet if the Queen agreed.
The older woman hardened before Trella’s eyes. “No. But allow me to lend my voice to my grandson’s. You do more damage than good by lingering.”
The words hit so hard, Trella had to press into her toes to stay on her feet. Still, her inherent streak of bellicosity reared its head. Another woman would have taken this chance to make a good impression and reason with the woman. She wouldn’t pour gasoline over the one bridge open to her and light a match.
“Is that what you said to his mother when you exiled her?”
The Queen’s eyes were so much like Xavier’s, it was sheer agony to look into the contempt they held.
“I was told you have a predilection for dramatics.” She was like a cat that knew its prey’s weakest spots, but took her time piercing them, preferring to terrorize before putting a creature out of its misery. “Xavier’s mother has always had access to him. He chose not to pursue a deeper relationship.”
“Because you didn’t approve of one. Did you? And he couldn’t afford to alienate you. He didn’t have anyone left.” She showed the Queen how she had won more staring contests than she’d lost.
After a moment, the Queen reached very casually to polish her glasses, then perched them back on her nose. “My relationship with my grandson is not up for discussion. But if he’s asked you to leave, yours with him is clearly over.”
Breathe. Uno naranjo, dos naranjos...
“Xavier has been conditioned to believe that people who love him leave and don’t come back. I plan to show him that’s not true.” Would it work? She couldn’t think about that right now.