Scrabbling up, I darted for the wardrobe and hurried to get dressed.
Someone – the Sage, whoever that is – has made a mistake and a mistake is what my father needs.
I inhaled, paused, and stared at the wooden floor of the corridor for a moment, allowing the tiny bead of hope I had buried deep in my chest to grow bigger and bigger, bursting as I contemplated the idea that I could be getting out of here soon.
And he’s coming here, to Varnley, to tell the King what I already know.
The house seemed hushed when I reached the stairs and I hovered on the top step, unnerved by the sound of the ticking clock – in fact it was the only sound, apart from my breathing which I noticed was speeding up.
The cloaked figure kills people, I reminded myself with a shiver. He doesn’t think twice about it either. I’d lost count of the number of people he’d killed in my dreams.
I needed to find someone, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I couldn’t tell them I had dreams – in a way, I wanted to guard them: despite the horrors they showed me, the dreams offered me information I wasn’t getting from the Varns. Information like the fact that my father was still trying to find a way to get to me.
The click of a door closing snapped me from my thoughts. Kaspar had stepped from his father’s study, breaking out into a smirk when he noticed me. In my chest, the bubble of hope shrank. He had passed me before he spoke, turning and pointing in my direction.
‘Girly, almost forgot. Father wants to see you. He said wait in his study, he’ll be there in a minute.’
My eyes bulged. ‘See me? About what?’
He raised his arms at his side in an exaggerated shrug. ‘You tell me.’ With that he stuffed his hands into his pockets, carrying on towards the entrance hall.
I watched him go, feeling very sick all of a sudden. Behind me, the whitewashed, panelled doors to the King’s study looked ominous. See me? The King never requested to talk to me – we more ran into each other, normally when I really didn’t want to see him.
My stomach knotted. I couldn’t help but feel this might have something to do with the cloaked figure and I was tempted to scuttle away and hide in the basement kitchens.
No. I wasn’t a coward, and besides, I was intrigued to know what the King had to say. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the door.
I was greeted by a manservant, who bowed. ‘Please, Miss Lee, have a seat.’ He gestured towards a high-backed wooden chair placed in front the King’s generous-sized desk, today piled high with papers. I had heard the others mention he had a whole hoard of secretaries and assistants to help deal with the paperwork, but it still looked daunting.
‘His Majesty is currently engaged with business, but I will inform him that you are waiting. Please, enjoy the refreshments.’ He pointed towards a small side table, two separate jugs of water and blood placed beside several glasses and a plate of biscuits. He bowed again and disappeared through a door squeezed in-between two of the huge bookshelves that dominated the walls.
I gazed around, standing up to try one of the tempting looking biscuits, which filled the room with the smell of baking. The room was actually rather pleasant, the curtains thrown open, bathing the room in daylight and the occasional ray of sun as it edged from around the clouds – though not enough to burn.
Business. With a strange thrill, I contemplated the possibility that right at that very moment, the cloaked figure could be talking with the King. But that would mean they would know that my father would come soon (I couldn’t face using the word ‘attack’). And if they were ready for him – it didn’t even bear thinking about.
I took a bite of the biscuit and almost spat it back out, it was so bitter. It was like eating over-spiced gingerbread with grapefruit and lemon thrown in. Reluctantly, I chewed, searching around the desk for a bin to place the rest in.
Instead, my eyes landed on a partly folded letter on the desk, tucked below today’s newspaper. But what really caught my attention was the signature at the bottom.
H.M. Queen Carmen.
My heart stopped. I placed the rest of my biscuit back on the plate, ignoring my voice who complained it was impolite to leave half-eaten food. Glancing back at the door, full of curiosity, I pinched a corner and slid it out, surprised at how thick and textured the paper was. I knew I should not read it and that the King could appear at any moment, yet I was unable to stop my eyes from moving from left to right.
Dear sweet Beryl,
First, I must ask how you and Joseph are? It truly has been far too long since we last met; I do believe I have not enjoyed the pleasure of your company since the turn of the new year, and that was months ago now. Therefore, you simply must come over for dinner soon! I’m sure the children would like to see Marie-Claire and Rose again, and I know last time we met that Jag found John to be good company.
And you know, my dear friend that I am a prying creature, so I must ask how Marie and John are? From what Kaspar and Jag tell me, they have been courting for a year and a half now. I must congratulate them and you on such a union. It is not often that humans so seamlessly become integrated with the Kingdom.
Enough of me asking of you; perhaps you would be relieved if I babbled on about Varnley. Other than the usual happenings, I can’t say I have much gossip to enrich your day with. Perhaps the only news worth reporting is the increasing appearance of Charity Faunder at the most unsociable hours. Whilst I am pleased Kaspar has come to his senses enough to move on from the vile von Hefner girls, I cannot help but feel that Charity is not suitable female company for him. I know I can’t stop him, for he is not a child any more, but his superficial inclinations when it comes to the opposite sex do not exactly speak of the maturity I know he possesses. I know you had similar problems with Rose. Sometimes I think the way we were raised was far more appropriate. But then what can we do about this ever-changing world?
What else? I was thinking of perhaps going back to Spain soon, to show the children where I grew up. I am considering commissioning Flohr for another painting of the family too. We haven’t had one done since Kaspar was young and I would really like one to include Cain and Thyme – now she is two years old I think we might be able to entice her to sit for long enough.
But that must wait until I return from Romania. It is just a day until I leave now, and the preparations do not seem to even be near to a conclusion. Vladimir has also been suggesting that I take Kaspar, but I refuse to entertain such an idea. The entourage is quite big enough and Kaspar’s quick temper is too like his father’s, which Pierre will not like. In truth, however, I do not want my son and heir to be placed in the path of danger, which there will doubtless be, although I have neglected to mention this particular reason to my husband.