The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,107

to say anything. But . . . but we are planning one in your honor.”

Oh, of course. This is Montrice; there’s always another excuse to throw a party. The never-ending displays of wealth, the competition, the fake friendships and backstabbing and constant nonsense. There’s an entire world outside their door they know nothing about—I haven’t heard a single mention of the general hardship of the townspeople since we arrived at the Girt estate. I think of the destitute children I saw when we first arrived.

Why has my mother summoned me? How does she know I am here? What is she going to tell me? She is furious, I am sure.

“When are you planning to host this next ball?” Cal asks the duchess. I want to kick him in the shins. I know he’s being polite, but he doesn’t understand he’s only encouraging her.

“Next week,” she says hopefully. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but now I’ve gone and ruined it.” She stares down at the table and fixes her mouth into an exaggerated pout. Then she perks up as if something has occurred to her and leans across the table toward us, though really she’s addressing Cal. “But you understand why I had to, don’t you? We can’t exactly have a ball in your honor if you’re not there! Will you be gone long?”

“We are not sure,” I say, because I am not. I am not certain we will even be allowed to return.

“I’m sure we will make it back in time,” Cal says smoothly.

“Oh!” The duchess claps her hands. One of the dogs yelps and jumps off her lap onto the floor. “Of course! And when you return, I dare say you could stay forever if you wanted to!”

“Calm down, Aggie,” the duke says from behind his newspaper. I start, as all of us have forgotten he is at the table.

She ignores him. “Promise?” she says to Cal.

“I can’t make any promises.” He’s already burdened with too many promises.

With that, she frowns dramatically.

“But we shall do our best,” he says, ever the consummate guest, the perfect spy.

* * *

I TELL CAL THAT my mother has called for us, but has not said why. I’m irritated and upset, so instead of telling him anything of substance, I confront him about what happened at breakfast.

As soon as he opens the door, I push past him and without waiting for the usual pleasantries, I blurt, “Why do you treat her that way? Like she’s a puppy or a child to indulge.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Telling her we’ll be back. Giving her hope. Leading her on.” I pause. “I’m beginning to think you’ve maybe indulged in more than just her attentions.” The insult leaves me feeling triumphant. Why should I be afraid to say what I feel?

He looks genuinely shocked. “No!” He shakes his head. “Do you think I would . . . and then . . . never mind. You do understand it is in our best interest to maintain good relations with her in case we require her assistance in the future?”

Okay, maybe I should be afraid to say everything I’m feeling. Or at least think it over a little more before I let it fly out of my mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . why did you give in to her tantrum like that?” No matter that we have more pressing issues to discuss.

“Because I want her to want us to come back, just in case we need to. Neither one of us knows what’s going to happen. You said yourself it’s a Guild missive; it might even have come from the queen.”

My arms are crossed. “Fair enough.” I know he’s right, which embarrasses me more. I should have left well enough alone. The duchess shouldn’t even have the power to bother me right now. My mother has called for me, and she’s no doubt furious about what I’ve done.

He looks at me with his head cocked sideways. “And what makes you so certain we aren’t coming back? We haven’t finished here. We know the duke and duchess are imposters, but not who