Dionne
"Where's my daughter?"
"She's in the common room with Beth and the other children." Violet studied my face with concern. "Are you sure you're alright? You look really shaken up."
"I'm fine." Another lie. They were coming easier now, sliding off my tongue like poison. "I just need to splash some water on my face. Clear my head."
Violet nodded slowly, clearly not believing me but not pushing either. "Okay. I'll be here if you need to talk."
I fled to the washroom, grateful to be alone. The face staring back at me from the cracked mirror looked haunted. My eyes were red and swollen, my skin pale, my hair escaping from its bun in wild curls around my face.
I splashed cold water on my cheeks, but it did nothing to calm the panic thundering through my veins. What was I going to do? I could try to run, take Nora and disappear into the night. But we'd tried that before, and look where it had gotten us. Captured, nearly sold, and now trapped in the Mad King's fortress.
Running wasn't an option. Not really.
So what, then? Wait for him to discover the damage and face his wrath? Watch those gold eyes turn on me again, this time with nothing holding him back?
If he killed me, what would happen to her? Would they send her away? Keep her here as a servant? Or would his rage extend to her too?
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
I needed to do something, anything, to quiet the panic screaming through my veins. Maybe taking a bath would help. Maybe the cold water would shock some sense into me.
I pushed open the door to one of the shower stalls and I had only just slipped out of my dress when I heard the door open and voices fill the washroom.
"I'm telling you, tonight's perfect." I recognized the voice belonged to one of the younger servants, a girl named Marie who worked in the kitchens. "He left the castle already, and won't be back until well after midnight."
"How do you know?" Another voice, older, more cautious.
"Overheard Silas talking to the guards. Something about meeting with the northern border patrol. He'll be gone for hours."
My heart stopped beating. Were they talking about the King?
"So you want to sneak out to meet the guards?" The older voice carried clear disapproval. "That's a terrible idea, Marie. If Margaret catches you—"
"Margaret's going to be asleep, and the guards change shifts at ten. We could slip out to the training grounds, be back before anyone notices." Marie's voice turned pleading. "Come on, it's been months since we've had any fun. When's the next time we'll get a chance like this?"
"I don't know…"
"The King's gone, Margaret would be asleep, and most of the senior staff are off duty. It's the perfect opportunity."
Their voices began to fade as they moved toward the exit, still debating the merits of Marie's plan. I stood frozen, holding my dress to my naked body as their voices replayed in my head over and over.
He was gone. For hours.
The realization crashed over me like a wave, and with it came a desperate, reckless idea.
I could go back. I could return to his chambers now that he was away, find the portrait, and somehow fix this mess before he ever discovered what I'd done.
Before I could second-guess myself, before terror could paralyze me completely, I was moving. I slipped on my dress once more, forgetting about my shower.
The key to his chambers was still in my pocket. Hannah had never collected it after my disastrous tea service. My fingers closed around the cold metal, and I felt my resolve crystallize into something hard and desperate.
I would go back. I would find the portrait. And somehow, some way, I would fix this.
It was a foolish plan. Reckless even. But it was the only option I could see that didn't end with me either confessing or running, and both of those roads led to death.
The corridors were mostly empty as I made my way toward the main castle. Most servants had finished their duties and retired for the day. The few I passed were too busy to give me more than a fleeting glance, their hands full with linens or trays as I slipped past.
Each step felt like walking toward my own execution. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, in every breath that burned through my lungs.
The King's chambers loomed ahead, those imposing oak doors that had seemed so grand this morning now looked like the entrance to a tomb. My hands shook so badly I could barely fit the key into the lock, had to try three times before the mechanism finally turned with a heavy click.
I slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me. The scent of pine and leather wrapped around me, so strong it made my head swim.
I moved quickly across the room toward the study, my slippers silent on the stone floor. Margaret must have assigned someone else to finish the cleaning, because the cleaning supplies that I left behind had been taken away.
The portrait was exactly where I'd left it, tucked between those two leather volumes on the shelf. I pulled it out with trembling hands, and in the dim light, the crack looked even worse than I remembered.
The fracture ran diagonally across the glass, bisecting the woman's beautiful face. Her warm amber eyes seemed to stare at me accusingly through the damaged glass.
Who was she? And what would the King do when he saw what I'd done to her?
My fingers traced the crack, searching for some way to repair it. Maybe if I could just remove the glass carefully, I could replace it somehow…
But I had no tools, no replacement glass, no idea what I was doing. This was hopeless.
A sound from the outer chamber made every muscle in my body lock up.
Heavy footsteps. Moving through the sitting room. Heading directly toward the study.
No. No, no, no. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. The servants had said midnight at the earliest.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. I had seconds to decide. Hide, or face him with the evidence of my crime clutched in my hands.
But where could I hide in a study this size? Behind the desk? In the corner? He'd find me immediately, and wouldn't that be so much worse?
The study door swung open before the thought could finish forming.
The King stood in the doorway, backlit by the dim light from the sitting room. His eyes locked onto me immediately, then dropped to the portrait I was holding, and I watched as recognition flashed across his face.
I saw the exact moment he registered the crack running across the glass.