Page 25 of The Witch Queen
“Presenting Her Royal Highness, the Princess Blodwyn!”
A footman opens the center carriage’s door. An instant later, a gloved hand emerges, then a slippered foot and swath of skirts.
Blodwyn.
For a few heartbeats, all I can do is stare at her. This is not the girl I remember from just three years ago. She’s not a girl at all. As if by some spell, Blodwyn has transformed into a young woman. Her raven-wing hair is pinned up in an elegant arrangement, set with garnet combs—the same shade as her dress, which is cut in the latest style and embroidered with delicate golden vines and flowers. A white-gold headdress, set with diamonds, sparkles on her head. It could be a crown.
“Blodwyn,” I start. “You look…”
Regal,that voice taunts.Like arealqueen.
“You look lovely,” Joan supplies for me. “So grown up.”
“Yes,” I agree, finding my tongue. “I almost don’t recognize you.”
Her ink-dark gaze settles on me. “And you, Ayleth.”
My brow furrows. What does she mean by that? Malum rumbles a warning behind my sternum. But I don’t get the chance to ask any questions. The heralds trumpet their horns again.
“Princess Margaret, the Duchess of Darryn!”
I’d been so focused on Blodwyn that I almost forgot about the duchess. She has my full attention now. Princess Margaret alights from the carriage wearing a stunning gown of gold brocade. Sunlight gleams against the rich fabric, which only serves to make the duchess’s appearance even brighter and more imposing. Ropes of pearls the size ofgrapes are strung around her neck and fat jewels glitter on her fingers. But it’s the duchess’s features that hold me in place: A sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Black hair andgrayeyes, like tempered blades as they sweep over the chattering crowd.
“She looks exactly like him,” I mutter.
“Oh yes,” Weston agrees. “Margaret is Callen’s twin.”
“Histwin?” I repeat, fighting to keep my voice low enough that it won’t carry.
Weston grants me a quizzical look. “Did I not mention?”
“No.You did not.”
Neither did Callen. A sibling was bad enough, but atwin? The Blesseds claimed that twins share a soul before leaving the womb. That there’s a special kind of magic between them.
This woman is mortal,I remind myself.Thereisno magic.
But the words carry little weight when the duchess’s steel-gray gaze lands on mine, so similar to her brother’s that the place on my ribs hums.
“Your Majesty,” Margaret says, her expansive skirts ballooning around her as she sinks into an elegant curtsy. “Or should I say,Sister?”
“No.” I answer quickly enough that nearby courtiers murmur. “I mean, that won’t be necessary. Ayleth will suffice.”
“Ayleth,” Princess Margaret repeats, reaching for me.
Her hands are gloved, but I still feel a slight jolt when she takes mine, not unlike what I used to experience with Callen. I let go as soon as I can, resisting the urge to wipe my palms on my dress to rid myself of the sensation.
“How striking you are,” Margaret continues. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. My brother always had such particular taste.”
From her tone, I can’t tell if it’s a compliment. “You’re too kind.”
“Nonsense. We’re all family now. Isn’t that right, Blodwyn?”
The princess merely nods her reply. Again, there’s something unsettling in the way she’s watching me—like I’m being weighed and found wanting. I don’t understand. Blodwyn’s letters over the years were cheerful and pleasant. Has something changed?
“Here,” I say, eager for a task. “We have gifts for you.”
I signal to Joan, who presents Margaret with a small jewelry box. The duchess undoes the golden latch and opens it, revealing a brooch nestled within the satin lining: an oval onyx stone surrounded by tear-shaped diamonds.
