The Queen (3 page)

M
ARTHA BRUSHED THE KNOTS OUT
of my hair. Even with it shorter, it was still a serious task considering how thick it was. I secretly hoped she would take her time. This was one of the few things that reminded me of home. If I closed my eyes and held my breath, it could have been Adele pulling the comb.

As I was picturing the slight gray tinge of home, hearing Mama hum over the constant sounds of delivery vans, someone knocked and I was pulled back to the present.

Cindly ran to the door, and the second after she opened it, she dropped into a curtsy. “Your Highness.”

I stood and immediately crossed my arms over my chest, feeling incredibly vulnerable. The nightgowns were so thin.

“Martha,” I whispered urgently. She peeked up from her curtsy. “My robe. Please.”

She rushed to get it as I turned to face Prince Clarkson. “Your Highness. How kind of you to visit.” I curtsied quickly, then moved my arms back to my chest.

“I was wondering if you might join me for a late dessert.”

A date? He was here for a date?

And I was in my nightgown, makeup stripped, hair half brushed. “Umm, should I . . . change?”

Martha handed me my robe, and I swooped it on.

“No, you’re fine as you are,” he insisted, walking into my room as if he owned it. Which, I guessed, he did. Behind his back, Emon and Cindly scurried out of the room. Martha looked at me for instruction, and after I gave her a quick nod, she left.

“Are you happy with your room?” Clarkson asked. “It’s rather small.”

I laughed. “I suppose if you’ve grown up in a palace it would seem that way. I like it, though.”

He walked over to the window. “Not much of a view.”

“But I like the sound of the fountain. And when anyone drives up, I hear the crunch of the gravel. I’m used to a lot of noise.”

He made a face. “What kind of noise?”

“Music being played on loudspeakers. I didn’t realize that didn’t happen in every town until I got here. And engines from trucks or motorbikes. Oh, and dogs. I’m used to barking.”

“Quite the lullaby,” he remarked, walking back to me. “Are you ready?”

I discreetly searched for my slippers, spotted them by my bed, and went to put them on. “Yes.”

He strode over to the door, then looked at me and extended his arm. I bit at my smile as I went to join him.

He didn’t seem to particularly like being touched. I noticed that he almost always walked with his hands behind his back and kept a brisk pace. Even now, as we made our way through the halls, he wasn’t exactly taking his time.

Considering that, I felt a thrill all over again at how he teased me with my letter the other day, and that he allowed me to be near him at all right now.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s an exceptionally nice lounge on the third floor. Excellent view of the gardens.”

“Do you like the gardens?”

“I like to
look
at them.”

I laughed, but he was completely serious.

We came to a set of open doors, and even from the hallway I could feel the fresh air. The room was lit by nothing but candles, and I thought my heart might explode from pure happiness. I actually had to touch my chest to make sure everything was still intact.

Three huge windows were open, leaving their billowy curtains tiptoeing in the breeze. In front of the middle window sat a small table with a lovely floral centerpiece and two chairs. Beside it was a cart holding at least eight different types of desserts.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing to the cart.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I approached. We were alone. He’d done this for me. It was every dream I’d had as a girl coming true.

I tried to focus on what was in front of me. I saw chocolates, but they were all shaped differently, so I couldn’t guess what was inside. Miniature pies with whipped cream that smelled lemony were piled in the back, while right in front of me were puffed pastries that had something drizzled over them.

“I don’t know how to choose,” I confessed.

“Then don’t,” he said, picking up a plate and putting one of everything on it. He set it on the table and pulled out the chair. I walked over, sat down, and let him push the chair in for me, and I waited for him to fix his own plate.

When he did, I found myself laughing again.

“Did you get enough?” I teased.

“I like strawberry tarts,” he defended. He probably had about five piled in front of him. “So, you’re a Four. What do you do?” He carved off a piece of one of his desserts and chewed.

“I farm.” I toyed with a chocolate.

“You mean, you own a farm.”

“Kind of.”

He put down his fork and studied me.

“My grandpa owned a coffee plantation. He left it to my uncle, because he’s the oldest, so my dad and mom and me and my siblings all work on it,” I confessed.

He was silent for a moment.

“So . . . you do what exactly?”

I dropped the chocolate back onto my plate and put my hands in my lap. “I pick the berries, mostly. And I help roast them in our factory.”

He was quiet.

“It used to be buried in the mountains—the plantation, I mean—but there are lots of roads through there now. Which makes it easier to transport things, but it adds to the smog. My family and I live in—”

“Stop.”

I looked at my lap. I couldn’t help what I did for a living.

“You’re a Four, but you do the work of a Seven?” he asked quietly.

I nodded.

“Have you mentioned this to anyone?”

I thought over my conversations with the other girls. I tended to let them talk about themselves. I’d told stories about my siblings and really enjoyed getting into some of the TV shows the others watched, but I didn’t think I’d ever spoken about my work.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He looked to the ceiling and back to me. “You are never to tell anyone what you do. If anyone asks, your family owns a coffee plantation, and you help run it. Be vague and never, ever let on that you do manual labor. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He eyed me a moment longer, as if to reinforce the point. But his command was all I needed. I’d never not do anything he asked me to.

He went back to eating, stabbing his desserts a bit more aggressively than he had before. I was too nervous even to touch my food.

“Have I offended you, Your Highness?”

He sat up a little taller and tilted his head. “Why in the world would you think that?”

“You seem . . . upset.”

“Girls are so silly,” he muttered to himself. “No, you haven’t offended me. I like you. Why do you think we’re here?”

“So you can measure me against the Twos and Threes and validate your choice to send me home.” I didn’t mean to let that all come out. It was as if my biggest worries were battling for space in my head, and one finally escaped. I ducked my head again.

“Amberly,” he murmured. I looked up at him from under my lashes. There was a half smile on his face as he reached across the table. Cautiously, as if the bubble would burst the second he touched my coarse skin, I placed my hand in his. “I’m not sending you home. Not today.”

My eyes watered, but I blinked away the tears.

“I’m in a very unique position,” he explained. “I’m just trying to understand the pros and cons of each of my options.”

“Me doing the work of a Seven is a con, I suppose?”

“Absolutely,” he answered, but with no trace of malice in his tone. “So, for my sake, that stays between us.” I gave a tiny nod. “Any other secrets you want to share?”

He pulled back his hand slowly and started cutting into
his food again. I tried to do the same.

“Well, you already know I get sick from time to time.”

He paused. “Yes. What’s that all about, exactly?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always had a problem with headaches, and sometimes I get tired. The conditions in Honduragua aren’t the best.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow after breakfast, instead of going to the Women’s Room, go to the hospital wing. I want Dr. Mission to give you a physical. If you need anything at all, I’m sure he’ll be able to help.”

“Of course.” I finally managed to take a bite of the puffed pastry and wanted to sigh it tasted so good. Dessert was a rarity at home.

“And you have siblings?”

“Yes, one older brother and two older sisters.”

He made a face. “That sounds . . . crowded.”

I laughed. “Sometimes. I shared a bed with Adele at home. She’s two years older than me. It’s been so strange sleeping without her, I sometimes pile a bunch of pillows beside me to trick myself.”

He shook his head. “But you have all that space to yourself now.”

“Yes, but I’m not used to it. I’m not used to any of this. The food is strange. The clothes are strange. It even smells different here, but I can’t quite pinpoint what it is.”

He set down his utensils. “Are you saying my home stinks?”

For a second I worried I’d offended him, but there was a
tiny, joking spark in his eyes.

“Not at all! But it’s still different. Sort of like the old books and the grass and whatever cleaner the maids use all mixes together. I wish I could bottle it somehow to keep the smell with me always.”

“Of all the souvenirs, that’s by far the most peculiar one I’ve heard,” he commented lightly.

“Would you like one from Honduragua? We have some excellent dirt.”

He tried to press away his smile again, still seeming afraid of letting himself laugh.

“Very generous,” he commented. “Am I being rude, asking all these questions? Is there anything you want to know about me?”

My eyes widened. “Everything! What do you like most about your job? Where have you been in the world? Have you actually helped make any laws? What’s your favorite color?”

He shook his head and gave me another one of those heart-crushing half smiles. “Blue, navy blue. And you can basically name any country on the planet, and I’ve seen it. My father wants me to have a very wide cultural education. Illéa is a great nation but a young one, all things considered. The next step in securing our position globally is making alliances with more-established countries.” He chuckled darkly to himself. “Sometimes I think my father wishes I’d been a girl so he could marry me off to secure those ties.”

“Too late for your parents to try again, I suppose?”

His grin faltered. “I think it’s been past that for a while.”

There was something more to that statement, but I didn’t want to pry.

“My favorite thing about my job is the structure. There is order to it. Someone places a problem in front of me, I find a way to solve it. I don’t like things left open or undone, though that’s not typically an issue for me. I’m the prince, and one day I will be king. My word is law.”

His eyes sparkled with delight at his speech. It was the first time I’d seen him impassioned like that. And I could understand it. Though I didn’t long for power myself, I was aware of the appeal.

He continued to stare at me, and I felt something warm trickle through my veins. Maybe it was because we were alone, or because he seemed so sure of himself, but I was suddenly very aware of him. It felt as if every nerve in my body was attached to every nerve in his, and as we sat there, a strange electricity began filling the room. Clarkson circled his finger on the table, refusing to look away. My breathing sped up, and when I let my eyes drop to his chest, it looked as if his had, too.

I watched his hands move. They looked determined, curious, sensual, nervous . . . a list went on in my head as I stared at the little paths he drew on the table.

I’d dreamed of him kissing me, of course, but a kiss was rarely only that. Certainly he’d hold my hands or my waist or my chin. I thought of my fingers, still rough from years of labor, and worried what he would think if I touched him
again. At the moment, I desperately wanted to.

He cleared his throat and looked away, breaking the spell. “I should probably escort you back to your room. It’s late.”

I pressed my lips together and looked away. I’d watch the sunrise with him if he asked me.

He stood, and I followed him into the main hall. I wasn’t sure what to make of our late, brief date. It felt more like an interview, if I was honest. The thought made me giggle, and he looked at me.

“What’s so funny?”

I debated saying that it was nothing. I wanted him to know me, and that would eventually mean me getting past my nerves.

“Well . . .” I hesitated.
This is how you learn about each other, Amberly. You speak.
“You said you liked me . . . but you know nothing about me. Is that how you usually act with girls you like? Do you interrogate them?”

He rolled his eyes, not angrily but as if I should already understand. “You forget. Until very recently, I’d never—”

The sound of a door crashing open startled us out of our conversation. I recognized the queen instantly. I started to curtsy, but Clarkson pushed me sideways into another hallway.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” The king’s voice boomed across the floor.

“I refuse to talk to you when you’re like this,” the queen replied, her speech faintly slurred.

Clarkson put his arms around me, shielding me even more. But I suspected he needed the embrace more than I did.

“Your spending this month is outrageous!” the king roared. “You can’t go on like this. It’s that kind of behavior that sends this country into the hands of the rebels!”

“Oh, no, dear husband,” she replied, her voice drenched in fake sweetness. “It will send
you
into the hands of the rebels. And believe me—no one will miss you when it does.”

“Get back here, you conniving bitch!”

“Porter, let me go!”

“If you think you can bring me down with a handful of overpriced gowns, you are mistaken.”

There was the sound of one of them striking the other. Instantly, Clarkson let me go. He grabbed one of the door handles and turned, but it was locked. He moved to the other, and it opened. He grabbed my arm and forced me inside, shutting the door behind us.

He started pacing, gripping his hair with his hands as if he was tempted to rip it all out. He moved to the couch, grabbed a pillow, and tore it to threads. When he’d finished with that one, he moved on to a second.