The duchess’ sitting chamber was a mess. Upended chairs and toppled cups littered the floor. In the corner was an openchest full of rustled clothes and jewelry. A guard hurriedly brushed clean a cushioned armchair. Anais glided into it.
She took a moment to smooth her dress and settle her sword on her lap. From the basket of fruit on a table beside her, she selected an apple. Then she beckoned with two fingers.
An inner door flung open. Two guards dragged out an indignant lady. Duchess Isabel shook them off with a huff, her posture stiffening upon encountering the Queen.
She bowed in a hurry. “Highness. I’m so glad to see you well.”
Anais spun the apple, polished its red skin on the sleeve of her dress, and spun it again. She gestured with it toward the chest. “I do hope you weren’t trying to leave my hospitality prematurely.”
Isabel eyed the guards. Uncertainty flickered across her brows, but her chin lifted. “The other ambassadors have already departed. Why have we been detained?”
Not quite true, but it was good to know their information was limited. The Queen slid the apple along the edge of her sword, making a clean slice. She shrugged. “Surely, you expected some… special treatment when you arrived.”
The lady’s gaze followed the blade’s edge. “We were invited and are here under the truce of the Consort Tournament. If you break the truce–”
“The tournament was cancelled. And I think you know precisely why.” Another cut, and she loosened a paper-thin sliver of apple to place on her tongue.
Isabel frowned. “We had nothing to do with that.”
Anais leaned forward. “To do with what?”
The duchess paled. “I… We were told you fell ill. Poisoned. It wasn’t us.”
“Not personally. But you know who is responsible.”
“Why would I–”
The Queen lifted her apple to eye level, spinning it slowly. “Did you participate in torturing my Escort?”
A flash of something – surprise, guilt, fear – occupied the duchess’ eyes for a moment too long. She cleared her throat and said, “I don't know what you mean. I've never even seen one of your Escorts before this disastrous visit.”
The statement sounded practiced, with just the right amount of affront and a touch of confusion.
“Really,” the Queen purred. “I heard Yelena paraded my pet in her court like her own personal lapdog. You must have at least heard the stories. By all accounts, she enjoyed his company. Did you… enjoy my pet, too?”
Isabel's pretentious mask cracked. She bit her lip, controlled her expression, then glanced at the guards before once more straightening her shoulders. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I insist on my rights under the truce. We would like to depart immediately.”
The Queen smiled.
“Denied. Your delegation has been detained under suspicion of collusion to instigate war and an attempted royal assassination. Take her to the dungeons.”
The two guards behind the duchess stepped forward, their heavy boots thumping against the ground.
Isabel flinched. “Wait! Yes! Yes, I saw your Escort at the Queen’s castle. Castien, isn't that his name? But I never hurt him! I never even touched him.”
The Queen lifted a finger. The guards backed away. “And neither did you help him.”
“I couldn't. Queen Yelena didn't let anyone else near him. I… wanted to help, truly, but…”
Her voice faded, and dreadful silence thickened the air. A minute passed. The lady fidgeted once, then stilled like a rabbit beneath the eyes of a wolf.
The Queen shifted her grip on her sword. Just a flick of her wrist and there would be one less Nadraken coward in the world. Such a small motion to end a life.
She stabbed the apple into the table. “Tell me everything you know.”
The woman spun a tale of Queen Yelena’s attempt to win the games permanently. Castien’s torture had been a disguise. It helped wear down his mind, but Yelena hadn't wanted to break him. She had tried to turn him into a weapon.
The duchess twisted her fingers together. “My Queen went on and on about how one of your esteemed Escorts would be the end of you. I don't know what she did, but he seemed… docile the few weeks before he left.”
