Chapter 2

Evelyn spent the entire night on the cloak.

White fox fur, lined and edged with fine embroidery—warm enough for the coldest month and handsome enough for an empress.

At first light she carried it to Aurelia Palace herself.

Rosalind was seated before her mirror while her attendants dressed her hair. When she saw who had come in, her eyes cooled.

“What brings you here, Evelyn?”

“I've come to pay my respects, Your Majesty.” Evelyn bowed. “His Majesty ordered me to make you a cloak. It's finished. I wanted to bring it myself.”

An attendant took the cloak and carried it across.

Rosalind ran her fingers over the fur.

Then her face changed.

“Kneel.”

Evelyn didn't move.

“I said kneel.” Rosalind's voice went flat and cold. “What is it? A few days as Imperial Consort and you've forgotten how this palace works?”

Evelyn was silent for a moment. Then she knelt.

Rosalind came and stood over her, looking down.

“Evelyn. You made this too well. Was that the idea? That His Majesty would see the stitching, think of your hands, and start finding reasons to visit Silverleaf Palace?”

She laughed, without any warmth in it.

“Let me tell you something. You're dreaming. Lucien has loved me from the beginning and he loves me now. You know how he was with me—you watched it for years. He married you to keep me out of the line of fire, nothing else. The hour he took the throne, he made me empress and left you a consort. If that hasn't told you what you are, I'll tell you myself.”

Evelyn kept her head down. “I wouldn't presume, Your Majesty.”

“Wouldn't you?” Rosalind caught her chin and tilted her face up. “I think you presume constantly.”

She let go and turned to the room.

“Guards. The Imperial Consort has shown contempt for her empress. She is resentful, and her intentions are not good. Hold her down. Twenty strokes—let it be an example.”

The servants glanced at one another and didn't move.

His Majesty had crowned the empress, yes. But whatever he felt toward the Imperial Consort, it clearly wasn't nothing, and if they actually laid hands on her—

“What is this?” Rosalind's voice cut through the room. “Does the word of your empress mean nothing now? Think very carefully about who His Majesty loves. Are you certain you want to cross me for her sake?”

The threat sat in the air where everyone could see it. The servants went cold, stopped hesitating, and came forward to take hold of Evelyn.

“My lady!” Maeve cried out and tried to reach her, but two of the other maids caught her and held on.

They forced Evelyn facedown against the cold floor tiles. The rod came down, and the dull heavy sound of it landing on flesh carried clearly through the wide, empty hall.

The first strike drove the breath out of her. She bit down on her lip.

The second. The third. The pain stacked on itself, and sweat broke out along her hairline, and the color went out of her face.

She stared at the grain of the stone under her cheek and held on to one thought.

Five more days. Just endure five more days.

Julian—five more days, and I'm coming.

Her vision started to go. The sound of the rod and the sound of Maeve screaming both began to slide away from her.

She was nearly gone when a voice cracked across the hall from the doorway.

“Stop!”

Fast footsteps followed it.

A sweep of imperial gold came into the blur at the edge of her sight.

Lucien.

He crossed the hall in a few strides, took in what was happening, and went white with fury.

“What is going on here?”

He shoved the man with the rod out of the way and bent to lift her—and his hand came away warm and slick. Blood. It had already soaked through the thin silk of her robe.

“Evelyn!” There was something in his voice he didn't hear himself. “Who gave you leave to touch her? Who?”

Evelyn couldn't answer. She managed to lift her eyelids and that was all.

And then Rosalind covered her face and began to sob.

“Your Majesty! It was my order!”

Lucien's head came up sharply.

Rosalind's eyes were streaming. She pointed at the cloak lying on the floor.

“My sister—my sister couldn't bear that I'd been made empress. She sewed needles into the lining. She meant to hurt me. My maid was careful enough to find them first, or by now I'd—” Her voice broke and she pushed on. “I didn't want to make anything of it. But I'm the empress. I answer for the whole inner court. If I let something like this pass without consequence, who will ever obey me again? How am I supposed to govern anything?”

Needles in the lining?

Lucien's brows drew together. He looked at the beautiful cloak on the floor.

Then his expression darkened, and he looked down at the woman in his arms.

“Is that true?”

Maeve finally tore free of the maids holding her and threw herself down beside her mistress.

“Your Majesty, no! It isn't true! My lady sat up the whole night making that cloak—we checked every seam twice, there couldn't have been a needle in it! The empress wanted a reason. She wanted to find something wrong with my lady, that's all—”

“Maeve, stop.” Evelyn tried to say it.

She was too late.

Lucien looked at Rosalind's wet, ruined face. He looked at the bloodless one in his arms.

Something moved behind his eyes, several times over.

In the end, he let go of Evelyn.

“A servant dares to accuse the empress of conspiracy?” His voice had ice in it now. “Take her out.

“Beat her to death.”