“The crowd pulled him away from me,” she says, panicked tears stinging at her eyes. “He’s gone!”
Leopold lets out a curse and lets go of her, turning away to summon the guards.
“Find him,” he says, his voice cracking. “Now.”
The guards draw their swords and slip back into the angry crowd.
“Leopold,” Eugenia says, hurrying toward him, her eyes red with tears. “Where is he? What happened?” she demands. “I saw him just seconds ago and then…” She swings her gaze to Sophronia. “You.”
“The crowd,” Sophronia says weakly, the guilt of it already outweighing any kind of logic. “They grabbed him—I tried to hold on but—”
“This was your idea,” Eugenia seethes, stepping toward Sophronia until they are inches apart. She expects Eugenia to strike her, but before she can, Leopold shoulders his way between them.
“Enough,” he says, his voice firm. “If you’re giving blame, I’ll take the lion’s share,” he tells his mother, running a hand through his hair that comes away streaked with blood.
“Your Majesty,” a guard says, approaching. “You’re wounded—Queen Sophronia is too. You should be looked at.”
“I’m fine,” Leopold snaps. “But take Sophie, and my mother, and Gideon.”
For the first time, Sophronia glances at Leopold’s other brother. Gideon looks to be unharmed, but his face is pale and his eyes wide. He looks so much younger than his fourteen years.
“I’ll stay,” Sophronia says, slipping her hand into Leopold’s. “I’m fine too.”
It’s only partly true—the back of her head is throbbing and should likely be looked at—but she’s certainly as fine as Leopold is. If he isn’t getting help, she isn’t either.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” a voice at the gates cries, and after a second, the guards part enough that Sophronia can see Reid, frightened but unharmed, with a stranger’s hands on his shoulders. Or rather, not entirely a stranger. Sophronia recognizes him as the boy Violie was speaking with earlier, with the scar across his cheek. “I have him, he’s not been hurt.”
The guards open the gate and both Reid and the boy come through, Reid immediately running into Eugenia’s arms, sobbing.
“You have my gratitude,” Leopold says to the stranger, holding a hand out. “I was afraid…” He shakes his head. “Thank you…what’s your name?”
“Ansel, Your Majesty,” the boy says, bowing his head and taking hold of Leopold’s hand, shaking it. “And no thanks is necessary—anyone would have done the same.”
Leopold glances behind him, at the gates where the angry crowd can still be seen and heard. “I don’t believe that’s true,” he says.
“Tell me, Ansel,” Sophronia says, finding her voice. “I thought I saw you with my maid, Violie. Is she safe?”
“I believe so, Your Majesty,” he says. “I saw her and some of the other palace maids slip back through the gates just before everything went sideways. From what I gathered, about half the crowd came armed and ready for a fight. I told Violie to get the others safe and then tried to warn the guards, but it was too late.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, if I’d been faster—”
“No apologies necessary, Ansel,” Leopold says. “You did all you could and more. My brother is alive because of you. You must dine with us, please, so we can show our thanks. Next week? I’ll have someone give you details.”
Ansel smiles and bows again. “If you insist, Your Majesty, I would be honored.”
As the guards usher Sophronia and Leopold toward the palace, she glances back at Ansel, who simply waves, but it does little to assuage her gnawing suspicion. If she can’t trust Violie, she certainly doesn’t trust him. She isn’t sure she can truly trust anyone.
* * *
—
It’s nearly an hour before Sophronia gets back to her rooms, her muscles aching and her whole body exhausted, though any physical wounds have been mended with a few pinches of stardust from the court empyrea. She wanted to stay while he tended to Leopold’s head injury, but Leopold, the empyrea, and the royal physician all insisted she needed rest.
Though as soon as she sees Violie sitting by the roaring fire, she knows rest will have to wait awhile longer.
“You’re back,” Sophronia says as she toes off her slippers and removes her gloves. “I heard you made it back safely, but I’m glad to see it with my own eyes.”
Sophronia realizes as she says the words that they aren’t a lie. Maybe she’s a fool for it—her mother would certainly say so—but no matter who Violie really is, who she is reporting to, Sophronia is glad she’s safe.
Violie shakes her head. “I was never in any real danger,” she says. “How are you?”
Sophronia can still feel the dull ache from where the stone struck the back of her head. The doctor said she would be fine, but the shock remains. Someone hit her. Someone, some stranger, hates her so much that they want her dead. Many someones, she supposes, if the jeers of the crowd were anything to go by. The thought of it makes her sick, but she forces a smile.
“I’ll live,” she says. “Leopold’s wound was worse—he’s still being looked at.” She pauses. “Reid went missing, swept away by the crowd.”
Violie’s eyes widen. “He’s just a child—is he all right?”
“He is,” Sophronia says, watching her expression carefully. “All thanks to your friend.”
Violie frowns, her brow furrowing. “My friend?” she asks.
“Ansel, I believe his name was,” Sophronia says. “I saw you speaking with him just a moment before the riot broke out.”
A faint spark of recognition flickers in Violie’s eyes. “Oh, him,” she says. “I’d never met him before; he just started talking to me—flirting, more like. I wasn’t interested and told him as much. That’s all.”
Sophronia tilts her head, choosing her next words carefully. It won’t do to let Violie know of her suspicions, but she’d like some answers. “He said he told you and the other palace servants that the riot was about to happen, that you should hurry back here.”
Violie hesitates just long enough that Sophronia can see her reshaping her story—it’s subtle, a flicker behind the eyes, something Sophronia wouldn’t know to look for if she didn’t know how to do it herself.
“Of course he said that,” Violie says with a light laugh. “Some boys, Sophie, enjoy playing the role of hero—saving the prince wasn’t enough praise for him, I suppose. He had to claim to save a gaggle of servant girls as well.”