sent to her room like a child. She’d shot Gifford a quick look—was he coming?—but Lord Dudley pulled Gifford aside to speak with him. So Jane had grabbed a book without checking what it was (it turned out to be Afterlives: The Hundred-Year Debate of E∂ians and Reincarnation), and hurled it onto the gigantic bed when she realized it was about death.
Then it had truly hit her: Edward was dead.
She would never see him again.
He was gone.
After a long, angry cry, she hadn’t been able to sleep, so as the sun lifted and somewhere (hopefully outside) Gifford turned into a horse, she explored her chambers. The decor was annoyingly opulent. Long, silk brocade drapes framed the windows, while several wardrobes lined the walls, filled with more gowns than she could imagine wearing. In the two places along the wall not occupied by wardrobes, there was a door that presumably joined the queen’s rooms with the king’s, and a vanity with a large glass mirror, just in case she wanted to look at herself and admire how very queenly she wasn’t.
No, there were circles under her eyes from last night’s journey and devastation. Her skin, previously flushed from days in the sun, now looked sallow and drawn. Her eyes were raw from crying, itchy and red and as puffy as a pastry. Not to mention all her normal flaws.
She looked nothing at all like a queen.
The worst part about her new chambers was that all these wardrobes and vanities and drapes meant there was no space—none at all—for a bookcase. Who on earth could feel comfortable enough to sleep in a room with no books?
Edward would never sleep again, she reminded herself tearfully.
He would never read a book again.
A knock sounded and she ignored it, choosing instead to flop down in the center of her bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, and compose a mental list of all the things Edward would never do again. Obvious things, like eating and breathing, she skipped. She was on number twenty-seven: scratching his dog behind the ears, and number twenty-eight: eating ridiculous amounts of blackberry pudding, when her visitor knocked again, then entered anyway.
“Good morning.” Her mother swept into the room, followed by a troop of ladies-in-waiting. At Lady Frances’s instruction, some of the ladies drew a bath, scenting the water with rose oil until the smell filled the room and Jane’s eyes watered. Others opened the vanity, selecting a frightening array of cosmetics. Still more put tray after tray of food on a table: sausages and eggs, bread drizzled with honey, and fruit with rivers of cream.
As all this activity unfolded around her, Jane remained on the bed, unmoving and unmoved.
“Well?” Lady Frances snapped her fingers at Jane, drawing startled glances from the maids. After a moment, she seemed to realize what she’d done, and softened her voice as she dropped her hand to her side. “Jane, my dear. Your Majesty. It’s time for a bath and breakfast. You must prepare to meet your people.”
Jane had met her people last night. “I’m mourning my cousin.”
“I know, my dear, but you must— That is, I think it would be wise to show yourself strong and capable immediately. Don’t wait for a crisis before you take action.”
“You think I should take action?” Jane asked.
“Indeed.” Her mother’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I think you should immediately prove yourself a capable ruler.”
Capable. Right. Jane fidgeted with the corner of a woven blanket. (Another thing Edward would never do.) “There are some issues I feel should be addressed. Minor issues.” Huge issues. When Gifford had taken her face between his hands and reminded her about their conversations in the country house, he’d made her remember the people. That was the only reason she’d agreed to take the throne. The people. The poor. She would do anything to help them.
“Good.” Lady Frances offered a hand and tugged Jane from the fortress of blankets. “Then we’ll bring those items before the Privy Council and begin solidifying your reign. You know Lord Dudley desires to aid you in the same manner he aided King Edward—may he rest in peace—as well as many others in the court. Including myself. We all want to help you become the queen you were meant to be.”
“I was never meant to be queen.”
“And yet you are.”
“Do you think I’ll make a good one?” Jane’s voice was unintentionally small. The words weren’t what she’d aimed for, either, but as soon as they were out, she was