“Your Majesty,” he said. “May I introduce you to Madeleine Wolff?”
“Your Majesty.” She sank into a perfect curtsy. “It is so wonderful to meet you. I am sorry I missed your coronation. I so wished to be here, but my estate is a day-and-a-half’s journey away, and by the time I learned of it, it was too late to attend. But I hurried here as soon as I learned the news.”
“Thank you.” It felt like the wrong thing to say, it didn’t really make sense, but I had to say something. My heart had started pounding again, like Madeleine was about to attack me. But she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. I needed to stop panicking. I needed to stop.
“Young Madeleine just arrived,” Holt said. “I told her she should rest, but she wished to see you immediately.”
Madeleine did not look like someone who had stumbled from a carriage after a day and a half on the road. She looked flawless.
“Her Majesty mentioned to me that you had never met,” Holt added to Madeleine, “but I am sure you will get on wonderfully. Madeleine is an artist, Your Majesty. A very talented one.”
“You are too kind,” Madeleine said. “I paint, yes. But I would not call myself an artist.”
“What do you paint?”
“Landscapes, usually. The kingdom. The things I see from the window. The things I wish I saw.” She smiled. “Do you paint, Your Majesty?”
I shook my head. “I’m not very artistic.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case. That’s the wonderful thing about art, I find. You can always create something, and it’s certain to have worth if you look at it with the proper eye.”
Her words sounded like the usual court babble, but she didn’t seem to be mocking me. She rested her fingers on my forearm as she spoke, like we were the best of friends already, and I couldn’t resist leaning closer, too.
“Your Majesty.” My father strode toward us. “Do you not wish to sit?”
“I am sure the queen will sit when she wishes, Titus,” Holt said. There was a note of warning in his voice. “She is getting to know Madeleine Wolff here.”
“I should sit,” I said quickly. That had been the rule. I needed to look powerful. I needed to make people come to me.
But it felt so unnatural to stumble through the room and take the largest chair, facing the lingering court. Conversation had picked up again, the remaining people clinging together in twos and threes. People glanced at me, but no one approached. They seemed happy to analyze from a distance. My eyes met William Fitzroy’s from across the room. He stared back at me, but I couldn’t read his expression.
I shifted on the chair, an itch running down my legs. I couldn’t remember how to place them.
Madeleine Wolff followed me and sank into an elegant curtsy. “May I sit, Your Majesty?”
I nodded, and she slipped into the chair beside me. She glanced around the room, taking in the surviving faces. “It is so strange,” she said. “To be back. I was close to so many people here, so many who are gone. The queen. Rosaline Hayes—did you know Rosaline? I have never met a sweeter person, or a meaner one. Oh, she was so kind to her friends, but if you crossed her, she would strike you down so cleverly and succinctly that it would take you a week to realize she had mocked you.”
Yes, I remembered Rosaline. She had clearly never considered me worthy of whatever kindness she possessed. She usually just raised her eyebrows and laughed whenever I was near.
“Oh, you did not like her?” Madeleine said. “I can tell by your expression. She was difficult to like, I suppose, if she did not want you to like her. But I would prefer to think everyone has something worthwhile in them, if only you take the chance to look.”
This was not what I’d expected from Madeleine Wolff, popular court figure and new heir. She seemed so . . . genuine. It didn’t fit, that someone at the center of court could be genuine, even kind, that she could actually like anyone, no matter how evil or how sweet.
But she could easily have been manipulating me. I couldn’t let myself be won over too easily. I needed to change the conversation, flip it back onto her. She was suspicious, a potential suspect in the murders, and I needed to take the opportunity to speak to her, not marvel at how elegant she was.
“It is strange to be back,” Madeleine continued, “after being away for so long. And to have everything changed—”
“You were away because you were unwell?” The words came out too fast, too blunt.
“Yes,” Madeleine said. If she noticed my rudeness, she was skilled enough to hide it. “For several months. The doctors thought the country air would do me good. And it did, I suppose. I had a lot of time to think, a lot of time to paint. It is a shame you do not enjoy it, Your Majesty. I find it so fulfilling. But it was lonely. Too much rest can be as damaging as not enough, don’t you agree? We have to have something to keep us busy.”
If she had been ill for months, she probably hadn’t left the palace to avoid the poison. And it was hard to believe she would have poisoned all her friends.
Her lips were very pink, like dewy rose petals. She looked like a queen. And that made her dangerous, even if she were innocent.
“Are you all right to be here?” I said. “If you weren’t well enough to attend the king’s birthday—”
“I was sorry to miss it. Perhaps I could have gone. But the doctor thought the stress of it would make me unwell again. Obviously he was mistaken—I feel perfectly all right. Perhaps it is the distraction of this grief. Or perhaps I really am getting better. Either way, I am glad to be back. I missed this city, and everyone here.” She paused, then shook her head, like she was shaking the words away.
“Were you alone, in the country?”
“My aunt was there. And the servants, of course. My aunt likes the peace of life in the country, but it did not suit me so well. I find I like to be around people, to see them, to get to know them. I must admit, I went against the doctor’s orders many times. When I felt well enough, I took many walks.”
“I thought doctors liked walks.”
“Not when they are to the villages to meet people. A country stroll, with the birds and the trees . . . that is ‘restoring,’ they say. But going to the village, or even a town, meeting with people, going to shops, going to chapels, talking to commoners, bringing them gifts and supplies . . . oh, that could never do. My aunt would not have liked it. But of course, my aunt did not know.” Her smile was decidedly mischievous now.