Page 91 of The Witch Queen

The words have the desired effect. The woman brightens, practically falling over herself with compliments. “Yes, Majesty. That would be much appreciated.”

I grant her a gracious nod and then continue into the next room.

It’s a long and narrow space, stuffed with dozens of gowns covered with veils and pinned with slips of parchment to denote their owners. As promised, there are several at the back without such markers. As the Mistress of the Wardrobe warned, the dresses are rather plain. But they’re fine enough to pass for a noble’s. I select one that looks about Jacquetta’s size and move on to collect a mask. But another gown catches my attention.

It’s fitted to a mannequin. And it’s incredible, rivaling even my own. Deep onyx silk, studded with hundreds of glittering obsidian beadsand shimmering black pearls. I reach for the small piece of parchment hanging from the gown’s sleeve:Princess Margaret.

Of course this belongs toher.

I imagine Margaret swanning into the Great Hall wearing such finery. The courtiers flocking around her, doting on her the way they never have on me.

The true queen,that voice supplies, louder now than it’s ever been.

I would do anything to silence it. To silenceher.

Silver gleams in my peripheral vision—a pair of scissors. I pick them up, pulse humming. Perhaps there is a way to put the duchess in her place.

Shadows swirl around me in a frenzy.

Yes,they urge.Hurt her. Wound her.

Fabric rips as I plunge the scissors into the gown. With each brutal stab, I picture Margaret. That self-satisfied smirk of hers wilting once and for all. Beads and diamonds scratch at my hands and arms hard enough to break the skin. But I do not stop until I am spent and shaking and Margaret’s beautiful gown is reduced to nothing but limp, blood-streaked ribbons.

Fairest,the shadows whisper.Fairest of them all.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Blodwyn

Though I should be spending the little time remaining before the Remembrance Ball in the library, absorbing as much of Riven’s history as possible, Aunt Margaret has other ideas forme.

She arranges several engagements with influential families at court, citing my need to start strengthening my relationships with the nobility. Carve out my place here, which feels to me more like digging my own grave. But I remind myself that Aunt Margaret has my best interests at heart. Where would I be if she hadn’t welcomed me to her estate? Still, between the joust and the woman in the Great Hall, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember the Aunt Margaret from the past few years. Perhaps it’s just the trials, I reason. She’ll soften again after all this is over. Things will go back to the way they were. Deep down, though, I worry that’s not the case.

Worse, I worry what will happen if I don’t win.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow night,” Lady Elinor says as we walk together through the garden. “I’m simply dying to show off my costume.”

Lady Constance accompanies us as well. Isabel, thankfully, is excluded. After her brother lost his place in the trials, the entire family retreated to their country estate. But I’d almost prefer Isabel’s snipingand veiled insults over the current conversation, which has consisted primarily of gossip about fashion and flirtations.

“Who are you going as, Elinor?” Constance asks.

“Queen Liliana,” the other young woman replies. “Her motto was:A rose without a thorn.She was rumored to be so beautiful that several men dueled over her hand. Perhaps it will provide someinspirationamong the men.”

She laughs and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her preening.

“Do you really want men fighting over you?” I ask.

“They have to fight over something,” she reasons. “And remember, this ball isn’t just a competition for you, Highness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t listen to her,” Constance says, shaking her head. “It’s not a competition. It’s an…opportunity. The costumes are a chance to showcase our value as potential wives. For example, I’m going as Princess Agnes. Her motto was:To be useful in all that I do.Usefulness is a far better attribute for attracting a husband. Beauty does fade, you know.”

She deals Elinor a meaningful look, but the other young woman just lifts her chin. “You tell me what’s more likely to tempt a man to the altar: beauty or usefulness.”

Constance just scowls, but I am still bewildered by this conversation.

“Don’t either of you desire more than a husband?”