In Leopold’s absence, Queen Eugenia has taken Sophronia under her wing, bringing her to afternoon teas, evening musicales, and daily strolls in the garden during what the dowager queen likes to call the gossip hour.
Sophronia finds that her first impression of Queen Eugenia as unimpressive isn’t entirely accurate. Eugenia wields her power differently than Sophronia’s mother did, more quietly. She never raises her voice or loses her smile, and most of her battles are waged politely over tea, but they are battles she always wins. It’s true that the majority of the court doesn’t like her—Sophronia has seen the glares and heard a few whispers even in just the last few days—but they rely on her goodwill and everyone seems to know it.
Queen Eugenia has no trouble keeping the court operating smoothly even without Leopold. Many of the luncheons and teas they attend are thin excuses for the lords and ladies hosting them to ask favors that Sophronia suspects should be handled by the king. The Earl and Countess of Campary require a loan from the crown to rebuild the earl’s summer home after it was set on fire by ruffians from a nearby village. Lord Nieves and Lord Treval need a judgment on where the line between their lands sits. Lady Whittem would like her husband’s mistress banished from court.
No matter how large or small the grievance is, Queen Eugenia handles the matter, usually by throwing money at it.
Sophronia is curious to see what Duchess Bruna will ask of the dowager when they sit down for tea, and she’s even more curious about how Queen Eugenia will handle it.
“Tell me, Your Majesty, how are you adjusting to life here in Temarin?” Duchess Bruna asks Sophronia, settling back in her chair as her maid—Violie, the girl from Bessemia—pours tea into three delicate porcelain cups painted with gold suns, the sigil of the Temarin royal family. Duchess Bruna is the late king’s sister, a fact she enjoys reminding people of at every opportunity.
“Oh, quite well, I think,” Sophronia tells her, lifting her cup to take a sip of tea. “Because I was betrothed to Leopold from infancy, my mother ensured I was raised in Temarinian customs as well as Bessemian ones. In a strange way, coming here almost feels like coming home. And please, you must call me Sophie. We are family now, aren’t we?” she asks, offering Duchess Bruna a smile that could be called guileless if she hadn’t spent countless hours before a mirror practicing it.
Duchess Bruna leans across the table to pat Sophronia’s hand. “What a sweet girl you are, Sophie,” she says. “And you must call me Aunt Bruna, just as Leopold does. You don’t have any aunts or uncles in Bessemia, do you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Sophronia says. “Both of my parents were only children.”
“Well,” Duchess Bruna says with a smirk, leaning back and glancing at Queen Eugenia. “So your mother says, though from what I’ve heard, no one even knows who her parents were. She could have siblings all over the continent and be none the wiser.”
“Don’t be beastly, Bruna,” Queen Eugenia says. “Empress Margaraux is Sophronia’s mother and the grandmother of my future grandchildren. I won’t tolerate any rude remarks.”
Duchess Bruna rolls her eyes and Queen Eugenia pretends not to notice, instead offering Sophronia a reassuring smile. Sophronia has heard far worse things about her mother over the years, but she’s touched by the dowager queen’s effort to protect her from them. She remembers what Queen Eugenia told her at the wedding—that when she was a young queen bride in a strange court, people had been cruel. Now she is ensuring that Sophronia has an easier time of it.
In sowing tensions, start with her. The empress’s words come back to Sophronia, accompanied by a stab of guilt that she quickly pushes aside. Queen Eugenia has been kind to her, yes, but Sophronia’s loyalty is to Bessemia alone.
“These cakes look wonderful, Aunt Bruna,” Sophronia says. She picks up one of the thimble-sized cakes from the painted porcelain plate, holding it up to examine. It is delicately frosted to resemble a pink rose midbloom. When she takes a bite, it tastes like rose as well, along with a hint of something else. Pistachio, perhaps? She stops that train of thought. As her mother said whenever she found Sophronia hiding away in the kitchens with the pastry chef, baking is not a proper pastime for a princess. Even less so for a queen, she imagines.
“I had a letter from my sister Beatriz,” Sophronia continues, thinking back on the letter she hasn’t yet decoded, looking at Queen Eugenia. “She says the cakes in Cellaria are absolutely decadent. Are they like these?”
“Not at all,” Queen Eugenia says without missing a beat. “Everything in Temarin is far superior to what one finds in Cellaria.”
Duchess Bruna laughs. “And besides, the Cellarians treat using stardust as the gravest sin, so I’m not inclined to trust their expertise on decadence.”
Queen Eugenia laughs as well, but Sophronia notices a flicker of tension in her mouth.
“Aunt Bruna and I had quite the adventure on our way into the city,” Sophronia says, changing the subject. “We were set upon by a band of thieves.”
“Yes, I heard,” Queen Eugenia says with a heavy sigh. “Sadly not an uncommon occurrence these days.”
“Ruffians,” Duchess Bruna scoffs. “Luckily, we were near enough to the meeting point that Leopold heard the commotion and came right away to have those horrid creatures taken away to prison.”
“He did,” Sophronia says, and though she doesn’t mean to, her eyes dart to the side of the room where the servants stand and find Violie, only to see her own ambivalence mirrored in the maid’s expression. She forces her gaze back to the dowager queen.
“I urged Leopold to show them mercy,” she says carefully. “When the masks came off, they were only boys—around Gideon’s and Reid’s ages.”
“You’re very sweet, but they were thieves, Sophie,” Queen Eugenia says.
Sophronia smiles softly. “Yes, that is what Leopold said as well. I’m sure you’re right. I’m just so new to these things,” she says, biting her lip before making her strike. “It does seem a bit…Cellarian, don’t you think? To jail children over something so trivial? No one was hurt, after all. You could practically view it as a badly thought-out prank, if you were so inclined.” She says it breezily, popping another tiny cake into her mouth and pretending not to notice the way Queen Eugenia’s neck flushes or the way Duchess Bruna’s eyes glint with gleeful malice. Sophronia would bet that by lunch the entire palace will be whispering that Queen Eugenia’s policies are a bit Cellarian, aren’t they?
“I’m sure you had thieves in Bessemia, Sophie,” Queen Eugenia says, barely managing to hold on to her smile. “What is done with them there?”
Sophronia has to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying that in Bessemia, they keep their taxes low enough that no thieves would be so desperate as to attack a royal carriage. Instead, she shrugs. “It depends entirely on the circumstances,” she says, which isn’t strictly true, but she doubts the other women know that. “And if the victim of the crime does not wish to press charges, the matter is dropped.”