“I’m not you,” Sophronia tells her.
Eugenia laughs. “No, you are not,” she agrees. “That’s just it. My husband never loved me, neither did this stars-forsaken country, but the true difference between us, Sophie, is that I never needed them to. You’re so desperate to be loved that you would slit your own throat to endear yourself to vultures.”
Sophronia is careful not to show how deep the words cut. She suspects that they hurt worse because there is some truth to them.
“Oh, you don’t need to worry for me, Genia,” Sophronia tells her with a smile she doesn’t even try to pass off as genuine. “I assure you I’m quite adept at recognizing vultures for exactly what they are.”
* * *
—
Violie helps Sophronia dress for their trip to Kavelle, the two of them debating which dress will be best suited to the occasion—nothing ostentatious, which rules out the vast majority of her wardrobe, but still something regal and strong. Finally, they settle on a plain velvet gown in a deep plum, with only the barest touch of silver embroidery on the bodice. They forgo all jewelry except a tiara, though even that is the simplest one she owns, made of thin, spindly silver and studded with pearls.
“You are quite unfashionable,” Violie proclaims, tucking the end of Sophronia’s braid up in a simple bun and securing it with a pin. “But still every inch a queen.”
Sophronia snorts. “Honestly? I prefer this,” she admits, examining her reflection in the mirror. “Can you ask the other maids to start working on the rest of my wardrobe? Strip away all the jewels and embellishments. The entire court is bound to be upset with me, and I’d like to lead by example. And…,” she says, biting her lip and thinking about the conversation she had with Eugenia. She wouldn’t be surprised if Eugenia had another card up her sleeve, and if she is getting desperate she will be all the more dangerous for it. Sophronia was sure enough of her suspicions to share them with her mother, but she needs to be ready with incontrovertible proof in case she needs to reveal Eugenia’s treason to Leopold. “Did you ever find out about the sparkling wine from the brunch? Where it came from?” she asks.
Violie blinks. “I’m afraid I’ve run into a bit of a mystery there. I asked the kitchen staff—they said it was from the Cosella vineyard in the south of Cellaria.”
“No mystery there,” Sophronia says. “The best sparkling wines come from that area.”
Violie nods, biting her lip. “But they couldn’t provide an address. Eventually, I found an address for another vineyard in the area, the one the palace usually orders sparkling wine from. They haven’t heard of any vineyard with the name Cosella.”
Sophronia frowns. “That is curious,” she says. “If they’re charging so much per bottle, one would think they had a reputation.”
“As I said, a mystery,” Violie says.
“I’ll write to my sister,” Sophronia says. “Perhaps they serve the wine at the palace there.”
“Perhaps,” Violie says before pursing her lips. “It’s an awful lot of trouble over a bottle of sparkling wine, isn’t it?”
Sophronia shakes her head, giving Violie an embarrassed smile. “A quirk of mine, I’m afraid. Once I set my mind to a mystery, I can’t rest till I see it solved. For my own edification.”
Before Violie can respond, a maid pokes her head into the room. “Your Majesty, Duchess Bruna is here to see you—”
Duchess Bruna doesn’t wait for the maid to finish, elbowing past her and into Sophronia’s dressing room, her face nearly the color of Sophronia’s purple gown.
“Aunt Bruna,” Sophronia says, offering her a pleasant smile. “I’m running late, but we can speak this evening, perhaps—”
“That Cellarian bitch cut my allowance!” Duchess Bruna erupts. “Can you believe the nerve? She has always hated me, Sophie, but this is a new low. You must put a stop to it right away.”
Sophronia glances at Violie and dismisses her with a nod before turning back to Bruna.
“Actually, Aunt Bruna,” she begins, as gently as possible, “that wasn’t Eugenia’s decision—it was mine, and Leopold’s.”
Bruna stares at Sophronia as if she’s just started speaking Frivian. “I am the sister of the late king, Sophie,” she says, her voice cold. “It is utterly thoughtless to treat me this way. That money is what I am owed.”
Sophronia lets out a long sigh, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. “Unfortunately, Aunt Bruna, Temarin’s finances are quite in shambles—you aren’t the only one being affected. The entire royal family will be cutting spending, Leopold and I more than anyone. I’m hopeful it will only need to be a temporary measure, until Temarin gets back on its feet, but it is a necessary one.”
Bruna shakes her head, her jaw clenched. “This is…illegal,” she bites out.
Sophronia has to bite her own lip to keep from laughing—that will surely upset the duchess more. “I assure you, it isn’t. We will all have to make sacrifices, Aunt Bruna. Do you need help going over your books to make the necessary adjustments?” she asks.
“Of course I do,” Duchess Bruna snaps, though Sophronia’s relieved to see that her face has returned to a more natural shade. “You took the only maid of mine with legible handwriting, you know.”
Sophronia frowns, certain she must have misunderstood. “Violie?”
“The rest of them all write like writhing chickens—how is it a Bessemian peasant girl has better Temarinian writing than those born and raised here?”
Bruna seems to be talking more to herself than Sophronia, but Sophronia turns the question over in her mind. How indeed?—especially because Violie told her she didn’t know how to read.
* * *
—
Sophronia counts twenty guards that escort their carriages from the palace entrance to the gates. A platform has been set up just on the other side. There are two carriages, the first carrying Sophronia and Leopold, the second carrying Eugenia, Gideon, and Reid.
The sound of the crowd greets them even before the carriage pulls to a stop beside the gates.
“Ready?” Sophronia asks Leopold.
He hesitates, pulling the curtains slightly aside so he can see what awaits them. “It’s a lot more people than I’ve spoken to at court,” he says.
“You’ll do fine,” she tells him. “Everyone loves good news.”
He nods, turning back toward her. “A kiss for luck?” he says with a grin.
Sophronia laughs and leans across the carriage to kiss him quickly on the lips, trying to ignore Eugenia’s words echoing in her mind: We’ll see how quickly he tires of you once you’ve actually let him between your legs. She forces a smile. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”