My eyes follow them as they turn over everything in my bedroom before moving on to the dressing room and bathroom.
The sound of fabric shuffling around and shoe boxes being opened comes from one door, while quieter scrutiny happens in the other. By the time they all come filing back out, I’m simmering in both irritation and anxiousness, though I try not to show it. I braid my hair and keep my legs still, the forbidden book digging into my skin like the pinch of a lie.
The men are just about to leave when Scofield walks over to me. “Sorry, my lady. The chair. Could you…？”
My heart slams against my chest so hard I worry it’s going to crash right through. I grip the reins of my panic and shove them down, reminding myself that none of them have permission to physically move me.
“Scofield, do you really expect me to get up in my current state? It’s not appropriate. I’m not properly dressed,” I say with as much indignation as I can muster, my hand sweeping down my body. “Midas wouldn’t like it.”
His cheeks redden, and he immediately backs up. “I—apologies, my lady. Of course you should stay there.”
With fire in my eyes, I nod and then watch as he spins on his heel. The men do another cursory look around for any unapproved paraphernalia, checking the list every two seconds like a cook with a recipe to make sure nothing is missing.
Finally, all of them leave, Scofield unable to even look at me as he goes and shuts the door behind him. I let out a relieved breath and pull the book out from under me.
I was too careless, and that’s one thing I can’t afford to be. I need to return this book the first chance I get. I don’t know if Midas would care that I had it or not, but he’d certainly question it. He might know a lot of things about me, but being fae is one secret I’ve never told him, thank the Divine. To him, I’m just a very powerful Orean, my ancestors’ fae magic not as diluted.
This room sweep is also precisely why I can’t turn anything gold in my room and sneak it to Rissa. Everything I have, everything I use, is accounted for. Evaluated. Checked.
Midas is always making sure that not a single piece is missing, whether by my hand or someone else’s. He used to say the checks were to ensure that nothing had been stolen or broken. But really, he likes to make sure I’m not doing anything secret with the things I’ve gold-touched. As if it all belongs to him. As if it’s his power that’s made anything of worth.
I need to take another trip to the library soon, but for now, I have a dinner to get to. Spurred into action, I force myself to head into the dressing room to get ready. The evidence of the search is very apparent in here, dresses scrunched together on the hanging racks, hat and shoe boxes opened and shoved against the wall. Every drawer in the bureau is open too, gloves and undergarments in counted piles while perfume bottles lie knocked over.
With a gritted sigh, I hide the book inside one of the hanging dresses, cinching up the bodice ties to hold it in place. When I’m satisfied it won’t fall out, I strip off my robe and look through the gowns with an assessing eye so I can choose what to wear.
I’m not sure what I’m walking into in that dining room, but I know that whenever royalty is involved, there are always plots and plans. Midas will have his schemes, and I’m sure the queen will have hers.
I rack my mind, trying to remember exactly what I know about Third’s Queen. I know she’s a young widow. She married someone much older than her, and he died not long after. Since she has power and the legacy, she kept the throne, but I can’t for the life of me remember what her power is, and that leaves me feeling uneasy.
In my defense, I’ve tried blocking out everything about Third Kingdom. That land brings up memories I want no part of. I was stuck in Derfort Harbor for ten years, owned by a flesh trader whose only stake in life was acquiring wealth on the backs of children.
This queen wasn’t ruling during that time, but I’m still wary. Whenever I think of Third Kingdom, my mind irrevocably puts me right back there as the painted beggar girl. The girl who almost didn’t get away.
Shoving aside those thoughts, I shuffle through the dresses, snagging one that’s already been turned gold by my touch. The corset on this one is visible, the stiff fabric stitched around the outside.
I get dressed, harden the edge of one ribbon, then cut a short line down the back. This way, my ribbons won’t be squished uncomfortably against my spine, and the corset will stay up, but not squeeze the life out of me. Win-win.
Once I get my top secured, I have my ribbons drape around the gauzy skirt in wide hanging arcs before tucking the ends behind me in a loose bow. I grab a pair of silk slippers and gloves appropriate for dinner, and then set the task of taming my hair in a long braid that I wrap around my head like my very own version of a crown.