Page 95 of The Queen's Box

“Severine?” Willow said timidly.

Breathing hard, Severine sat back and pressed both hands flat against her thighs. She smoothed her skirts. She composed herself. Then she rose, looked at Willow with hard eyes, and said, “You disappoint me.”

Willow swallowed but didn’t look away.

Wind stirred the pond’s edge, lifting a strand of Willow’s hair and brushing it against her lips.

Severine turned on her heel. She strode away from the pond and back toward the palace grounds, Aesra falling in behind her.

Not Willow. Not yet. Her heart thudded, and from deep within, something rose up. Fragile. Barely formed. But hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

SHE DIDN’T REMEMBER walking back. One minute, she was at the edge of the pond, staring into dark water that reflected nothing. The next, she was passing beneath the silent archways of the palace, trailing mud across the inlaid floors.

Her hand hovered over the latch to her bedchamber. She should go inside. Clean herself up. Sleep. Or pretend to. Tomorrow—the ceremony—was nearly here.

From within her room, she heard humming. It was Poppy—dear, sweet, silly Poppy. Willow burst into the room and into tears.

Poppy dropped the folded robe she’d been carrying. “Oh, miss,” she said, rushing forward. “Oh no, no, no. Come here, come here.”

Willow let herself be folded into her friend’s arms, her face pressed against linen that smelled of mint and chamomile and the strange flower-polish used on the windows.

Poppy rocked her, not unlike a mother might. “There now. These are big feelings, aren’t they? And you’re just a mortal! It’s perfectly normal to be scared.”

Willow let out a small, hiccuping laugh.

Then Poppy sniffed. She pressed her nose right up to Willow’s neck and sniffed again. She reared back, her eyes watering. “Stixie pix, miss! You stink worse than a sowbelly’s droppings.”

Willow wiped her nose on her sleeve and said thickly, “It’s just mud.”

Something loosened in her chest as she said it, and the memory came fast—that first ride in Cole’s truck, how he’d reeked and how she’d recoiled. How he’d huffed and said,It’s just mud.

Tears welled up all over again, spilling down her cheeks.

“No, no, no,” Poppy said. “Absolutely not. No more crying. You don’t want to be all puffy for tomorrow! Come on now, miss. Come on with me.”

Willow allowed herself to be steered toward the bath chamber, dazed by the warmth, the routine of it. The rose-scented water was already drawn, steam curling like silk above the surface. Poppy peeled her out of her muddy gown and helped her into the tub, her motions gentle but firm, like someone tending a wounded bird.

When Willow emerged, clean and pink-skinned, Poppy was waiting with a towel the size of a small sail and a kitten-blue nightgown edged with silver thread.

“There, now,” Poppy said, brushing a strand of hair from Willow’s face. “Isn’t that better than thrice-spun foglace?”

Willow smiled. She couldn’t help it. “Yes, Poppy. It is.”

They moved back into the bedchamber, where the fireflies in the quilted coverlet blinked lazily, as if half-asleep themselves. Jace wasn’t there with hot chocolate, but Poppy made tea, and it was... acceptable.

“Poppy?” she said once they were settled in front of the fire.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“I disappointed the queen.”

“Oh no!” Poppy exclaimed. “How, miss? What did you do?”

“She asked for...” Willow hesitated. “Well. I couldn’t do it. That’s all that matters.”

“I see,” Poppy said, her brow furrowed.

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