with his large hands around my waist.
"Send the doctor to him as well," Thao snapped.
I nodded but couldn't find my tongue to voice my agreement. There was a grumble of assent from beyond Owen's chest, and I only leaned forward to press myself into his warmth. Everything was wrong. Everything was crooked and ugly here in the castle, smothered under a glistening facade, and I wanted desperately to find my way back to the north as if it might rewind or erase the problems we'd tangled ourselves into.
"Your Highness," Head Guard Amos said, standing from his chair.
I pushed against Owen, and he turned us slightly, refusing to pull away from me.
"My vows are to the crown and to Kimmery."
"To the queen," I said, nodding.
He nodded slowly, eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. "I cannot… I would not…"
"I want no secrecy, Head Guard Amos. I don't trust my sister, I don't want her to take the crown from my mother, and I will act openly in that regard," I said, adding after a moment, "Lawfully."
Wendell sat forward at that. "If it is possible, I would like to examine any record or written word of this measure that allows for secret executions. If there's any way to allow for their testimony to be used against Princess Camellia, it could be very valuable."
Amos blinked at that. "A criminal trial against a member of the queen's line?" I held my breath as he seemed to consider the idea. That broad flat face was almost unreadable, just the faintest flickering of thought. "I won't deny you any information that would help build a case."
I let out a whoosh of air, and Owen hauled me back to the couch, fitting himself between the others with me on his lap.
"My mother will have to know," I said softly.
"Is that wise?" Thao asked.
"I requested she join us, but was informed that she found Lady Amelia's departure too distressing," Head Guard Amos said quietly.
My hands clenched to fists in my lap, and I twisted to face Thao, shaking my head. "I don't know."
It took two days and my grandmother's demand before the queen would leave her chambers.
She arrived to my grandmother's bedchamber nearly an hour late and with three of her Chosen surrounding her.
"Peony," my grandmother snapped, but her voice was growing wearier by the day. "We said this would be private."
My mother blinked and cocked her head, and it took her several moments before she turned and glanced at the men at her side. "Oh. But surely you didn't mean—"
"Surely I did," Grandmother said, eyeing her daughter impatiently.
"Her Majesty has been greatly aggrieved since her lady-in-waiting left her service," one of the men said.
Grandmother growled but fell into coughing, and I frowned at my mother, waiting for her to meet my gaze. "You mean since the Goddards ordered their maid to try and stab me to death?"
It had been days, and there'd been not one word of concern from my mother after the attack. I knew she'd been assured of my safety, but I'd expected…anything, any tiny show of her worry.
"Oh, we don't know that, Bryony," my mother gasped, striding forward. "That girl might say anything to place the blame elsewhere."
I opened my mouth to say I'd forced the truth out of the girl, Lily, and then snapped it shut again with a glance at my mother's Chosen. I wasn't sure I wanted them to know how I'd used the Hunger. Camellia seemed to misunderstand her power, my grandmother had and so surely my mother did too, which meant so might anyone else.
"Wait outside," my grandmother said to the men after clearing her creaking throat. "Vincent will entertain you, I'm sure."
My mother gasped in dismay, turning to watch her Chosen leave the room, clearly bereft. "You know I trust them implicitly," my mother said, frowning at us.
"I don't. I find myself less and less trusting by the hour," Grandmother muttered.
My mother huffed and rolled her eyes, glancing at me with something in her expression that said 'isn't she ridiculous?' I only turned away. I'd never expected to be aligned with my grandmother's strict and demanding personality. I'd always considered myself like my mother. Kindly and sweet. I was learning that my mother was sympathetic but not empathetic. She pitied those who were unhappy, but she didn't feel with them.
She crossed to us, sitting on the bed at my grandmother's side, her knees bumping against mine. She reached for my hands, and I had a fleeting impulse to pull