The Golden Queen (#5 in the GOLDEN series) ✔

•T H I R T Y - S E V E N•

Their tranquility was soon interrupted when Henry blasted in, clutching the seamstress at the elbow. Another man seized her other arm, yet she didn't struggle or complain. But the glaze in her eyes and her slight limp proved she wasn't all too pleased about being mishandled.

They threw her at Marguerite's feet.

Henry heaved himself onto the platform, standing between Marguerite and Sébastien. "Her Majesty, Queen regent Marguerite, recognizes Angélique of Libérec." He glared down at the woman in her tattered seamstress gown, stained brown, red, and green, torn at the hem. "Use your manners." His tone was so unrecognizable, so angry, it sent chills down Marguerite's spine.

The woman's hair fell in messy swirls around her pallid complexion, and her lips were chapped, thin, and tinted blue. Scrapes lined her lower arms, and she had a bruise on her left temple.

"Majesty," she grumbled, bowing in reverence. Marguerite heard contempt in every letter, and saw fury spreading over her face in the form of a snarl.

I will not stoop to her level by being violent.

"Rise," she said, squinting at the fraud who'd stolen her secrets.

The ex-seamstress' legs were wobbly, and her greasy strands slid over her features like a curtain of disdain and rage.

"You are being held for questioning, for your allegiance with Cornelius Schwartz, Duke of Terter, who seeks to snatch Her Majesty's crown." Sébastien sneered at her. "You hail from the Marquessate of Tegrary, a region known for working with him. Do you deny your connection to him?"

"No," said Angélique, not once lifting her gaze to the Prince.

"No, Your Highness." Henry looked ready to jump down and shove his boot in her nose.

"Your Grace," Marguerite tutted at her cousin, "calm yourself."

"Are you directly involved in the Duke's schemes?" Sébastien's nostrils flared, but he kept his cool.

"Yes, Highness." Angélique's voice was raspy, dry as if she'd lacked water for days.

An ounce of pity prowled into Marguerite's heart. "Fetch the girl a drink." She glimpsed Angélique, the corners of her lips tugging downward. "You demanded to speak with me, so speak."

After three goblets of water and a drop of wine, Angélique talked. She confessed that months before Marguerite arrived at court, Cornelius smuggled her into the castle, where she posed as a seamstress apprentice. She lied about her origins—as a bastard daughter of the Lord of Libérec, a main resource of Terter's, she was sworn to secrecy about upcoming projects. But she claimed to be essential during the attack. Without shame, she admitted she helped spread panic, brought in forbidden supplies to make poison, preparing for alternatives in case the fire didn't hit its targets.

"We had no clue Her Highness had snuck out to meet with her Totresian friends. We expected her to barge out the front door." She shifted her weight, her chains clanking with her every move. "With the Dowager hard to pinpoint, we needed to take action. So I provided the toxin to slip into her drink. Sarah offered to deliver it."

Marguerite's throat burned as she tried to swallow.

Sensing her distress, Sébastien took over. "Sarah allied with your lot from the beginning?"

"After the King scorned her." Angélique smirked, mischief brewing in her eyes. "He lay with her, then discarded her, refused to consider her an option for marriage. She was a nobleman's daughter, after all, but he chose a Totresian over her, and that was the final straw. She caught me plotting, about a month ago, and begged to join in. More so since she had no love for the Dowager, and less so for the Totresian-raised Princess."