Silence boomed through the hall following his words. Pierre turned slowly, meeting the eyes of those around us. I remained where I was, observing him. You would think he was a master musician, conducting a symphony to go along with this great farce of a play.
This was all just a show to him.
A moment later whispers burst across the room. Fans rose to cover mouths as they spoke and eyes darted from me to Pierre to Jourdon. The scandal. The brashness. What would my mother think of me now?
I didn't know. I wasn't sure I was going to find out, either.
I tried to right myself but one of the black-masked men moved forward, pushing me back down. I put my hands out to keep my head from smacking the floor. Pain shot through my arms. My hair loosened from its pins, falling in red ringlets around my face.
Pierre paused to look at us, a smirk flitting across his lips before his grave expression returned.
King Gilroy had been silent up til then, watching me and his two sons. A slow smile rose to his lips, delight catching in his eyes. "Oh? Please do tell us more. I'm curious about what the little princess has been up to."
The king's gaze caught Pierre's, something passing between them. I glanced at the king's side, but the Marquise was, for once, nowhere to be found.
Pierre took another step pacing between me and the courtiers. The man behind me lingered, an unspoken warning to not make another move.
"I know this is improper, but you all must know the truth. I'm afraid I'm not completely innocent myself. She tried to seduce me—came to my chambers almost every evening. She tried to kiss me, but I was careful to deny all her advances. Even if I was tempted by her beauty, she belonged to my dear brother." Pierre paused to throw a guilty look towards Jourdon like he actually felt remorse for all he did.
"Liar," I spat, glaring up at him. Pierre ignored me, continuing to address the crowd.
"But it was not until our dear late queen's passing—may she rest well and peaceful—that things changed. In my grief, I could no longer deny her advances. We started an affair that night, one that I have come to regret very much." Pierre pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
Nausea gathered in my stomach. The crowd had gone silent, the courtiers all watching Pierre with a mixture of shock and pity.
It was all just one big horrendous lie. Couldn't they see how Pierre was acting? He hadn't shed one tear over Queen Caressa's passing. He hadn't resisted me, but I had resisted him.
He had seduced me.
I closed my eyes, unable to watch, unable to say what I wanted to, to scream about how he lied. How had I believed him? It had all been lies, his touch, his words...that look in his eyes. The one that had filled me with lightness and air. The one that had made me forget. The look that said he wanted me, saw me, needed me.
That was the worse lie of all.
I sucked in a slow breath and opened my eyes to look at Jourdon. The guardsman still held him, but no longer had a knife to his throat. His jaw was set, his usually expressive eyes unreadable. There was no way to know if he believed Pierre or not.
"Please, Jourdon," I urged. "That's not what really happened."
Jourdon didn't look at me, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
My heart sank.
I looked around for Darren, but he was nowhere in sight. Where was Sabine? Could they even save me now?
Pierre sighed, looking down at me. "Stop lying, Ophelia. I admit to our affair. You can stop hiding what you really are. Have you not hurt us all enough?"
I glared back at him. "You are the one lying, Pierre. You seduced me."
Pierre tilted his head, unblinking. "So, you deny coming to me the night of Queen Caressa's death?"
I pressed my lips together. Even if Pierre was twisting the truth in his favor, that was what had happened. The truly horrid nature of what I had done weighed down on me, tears springing to my eyes.
At my silence, Pierre nodded solemnly. "Yes, it is the truth. But it wasn't until I recently I realized just how far she had gone. How much she had betrayed me, my brother—all of us." He gave a quick nod to one of his men standing behind me.
A moment later a scuffle broke out, the sound of metal clanging. Before I saw her, I knew who it was.
A dark figure in a bloodstained cloak fell to the ground next to me. Her curls were matted, her lips swollen and split. Chains bound her wrists together. A gasp rose from the crowd.
"Sabine," I whispered, shaking my head. Horror rocked through me.
He knew. I had told him that day out in the garden. I may as well have written the command for our deaths myself. While Pierre had been playing my lover, not one bit of information I had fed him had gone unheard.
I wanted to cry—to sob. I wanted to beg Jourdon for forgiveness, but I swallowed it all down.
Shame and anger pooled inside me, lighting a fire I had long been shoving down. Burning heat spread across my shoulders as whispers spread through the room, drowning out the voices of the people gathered around me.
I glared up at Pierre. One day, if I survived this. If by some miracle I lived, I would see to it I had Pierre's head. I would do everything in my power to make sure he paid for this. I vowed it.
"I trusted you," I said. It wasn't a whisper or a murmur, but a softly spoken threat.
A quick curl of his mouth, then a shake of his head. He dismissed me as he turned to his audience.
"Who is this girl, son?" asked the king.
Pierre paused for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was so full of false hurt it grated along every one of my nerves.
"Her spy," he whispered. "She was hiding in plain sight among the princess's handmaids."
I couldn't even dispute this, not that it would matter. It was the truth. Pierre wasn't lying anymore. He didn't have to. If there had been even a small sliver of doubt I could have used to my advantage, any chance of getting a fair trial, it was destroyed now. Pierre had made sure of that.
I had made sure of that. Whether I had intended it or not.
The king's expression twisted. He glared down at Sabine. "I knew this was a farce from the very beginning. You've been sending information back to the Witch Queen, haven't you, girl?"
I kept my face lowered. I hated this, sprawled out on the floor beneath them all. A speck of dirt. A smear of blood.
Rose Queens didn't bow to no one.
And yet, I wasn't one, was I? I had no throne, and I had no magic. The Angels had truly forsaken me. My lips pulled back from my lips. I watched the king's shining boots approach as he moved down from the dais.
He stopped in front of me. "Tell me, girl. Tell me what you found of note, was it the food? The entertainment?" He laughed, cold and frenzied. "The amount of wealth in our stores? Come on, really, what is there you could have exploited?" He spat on the ground next to me, only inches from my face.
I clenched my jaw, silent. Beside me, Sabine made no move.
I wanted so badly to turn to her, to apologize to her. She had been right to doubt me.
What if the king had our heads, here and now? Mother would have no decision but to go to war. If they didn't attack first, Garnette could have them surrounded before news even got to them. I had no love for my mother, but Blanche and Elliotte...what would happen to them if there was another war?
"Ah, father, but there is more," Pierre interjected as the king glowered down at me. I felt the attention in the room shift back to him. What else could he possibly have to add? Had he not already prepared the guillotine for my slaughter?
Pierre's voice was heavy with despair, sickeningly slow. "I didn't want to say, not like this, not in front of Brother." He paused, letting the crowded courtier's whisper. I closed my eyes.
I wanted this nightmare to end.
"She thought our prince—her own betrothed, to be in conspiracy with certain...nefarious organizations. She doubted him to the extent she sent her spy off to follow him. That is how she was caught, lurking out next to the palace perimeter. I had my men bring her to me, so that I could spare my brother, but I can see now that he deserves to know. We all deserve to know." Pierre's voice rose, the gathered crowd letting out shocked exclamations.
I didn't move, keeping my head down. Blood smeared one of my fingers. It had already started to dry, the red turning to a dark, crusted brown.
Behind me, Jourdon said nothing.
"Kill her," The king ordered, voice filled with ill-contained rage.
I sucked in a deep breath. There was nothing I could do. Fighting or arguing wouldn't get me anywhere.
I reached out a hand to Sabine, my fingers brushing her cloak.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, just for her.
She shifted, trying to lift her face to mine, but the guard next to her forced it back down. Her breath was ragged and wet, but she reached out a hand to mine, weaving her rough callused fingers in my own.
I didn't want Sabine to die. I clenched her hand tightly in my own, like somehow if I held on it would stop all of this.
Great Queen Mother, I prayed. Angels above, you may not look down upon this land, but if you cannot spare me, please spare her. She does not deserve to suffer for my sins.
Over and over again I chanted, begging for Sabine to be spared. Seconds turned to hours, a single moment hanging around us. Any second now I would feel cool steel at my throat, a dagger running across it. Perhaps it would come as a blade to my back, piercing through my heart. After all that had transpired, the latter felt almost fitting.
Feathers whispered down my back, a soft chilling laugh making the hairs lift on my neck. A breath warmed my ear. Long fingers traced through my tangled hair, scraping my skull. But it wasn't the guards behind me.
"We hear you princess. We are always watching you. Always watching our kin."
My eyes flew open. But no one had moved. The whispers drew back, away, silent. My skin crawled. For one brief second it appeared like everything was frozen.
I looked up to see Pierre had turned to his father, who glared down at us. There was fury in Pierre's eyes as he looked at the King.
Then he moved as if broken away from everyone else. Like a statue come to life. His eyes met mine, fury melting away to a grin. His arm moved out and everything else burst to life. The guard that was approaching us, sword in hand, halted.
"No."
The king spun, setting his furious gaze on his younger son. "What are you doing? I commanded you to kill her!"
"Your anger gets the best of you, Father," said Pierre.
The guard lowered his weapon, only a few steps away from me. The king's face had gone red, dark eyes bulging.
"How dare you intercept my direct order," the king stormed. He glared at the men in black surrounding me. "How dare you defy me. Kill her, kill both of these treacherous women right now!"
They stayed still, silent, like dark solitary shadows in in the bright room.
I tilted my head, catching Sabine's gaze through the shadows of her hood. She looked weary, tired, and beaten down. We might have been saved now, but it was just prolonging the inevitable.
"Calm down," Pierre said, addressing his father. "You have guests. They came here tonight expecting a party, and entertainment. Such a violent display would be unwise. Let our guests leave, collect themselves, and mourn what has already been revealed. The princess does not need to die, not tonight."
King Gilroy glared at Pierre. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Does your heart still feel pity for this traitor? She does not deserve our mercy."
Pierre shook his head. He took a deep breath. "No, she doesn't." Pierre's voice rose as if the thought of my torture pained him. "Let her spend a fortnight in the dungeons first." He turned as if overcome. "It is what she deserves."
The king grunted, but it was clear based on his expression he was unconvinced. He glared at his guards, looking at each of them in turn. The King did not hold any power over Aurelian's Chosen.
"Well, you heard him. Take her and her dirty spy out of my sight. Let them rot before they see the guillotine."
The guards pushed us forward. Sabine cursed. We tried to hold onto each other, but the guards tore us apart. I looked back one last time.
Pierre stood, gaze focused on me. Had I imagined that moment with the Angels? Our eyes met before the guards urged me to move, forcing me to look away. Whatever he was up to, it was not done yet.