The three of us sat, their legs close to mine, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I had hurt them, and I hated myself for it.

“How are you feeling, Ann—I mean, Clem,” Olivette asked, flustered. “I should probably call you Your Grace, actually, shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, and nudged her. “Call me Clem.”

An awkward lull encompassed us.

“What comes next for the two of you?”

Nura glanced at Olivette. “Should we tell her, Oli?”

“Tell me what?” I demanded.

“We should,” Olivette agreed with a wily grin. “Phelan asked us to be part of your new court.”

The news was a pleasant surprise, one that buoyed my spirits, but Olivette gave me no time to respond.

“I’m not sure what we will be yet,” she continued. “Perhaps your advisor?”

“Or your spymistress?” Nura added.

“Or even the mistress of coin?”

“Or your guard?”

“All of this to say . . . we want to join you in the restoration,” Olivette concluded. “If you will have us.”

I laughed, which drummed up the ache in my chest, and slipped my arms around them. “You can both be whatever you desire. I’m thrilled you’re staying.” I fell silent for a moment, and then added, “And I’m sorry, for deceiving you both for so long.”

“We have questions,” Nura said. “We want to know why and how you did what you did.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Ah, where do I even begin?”

Olivette leaned closer to me. “Begin at the beginning.”

My mind wandered back to that moment in Hereswith when I sat in Mazarine’s library, drawing her twelfth portrait by candlelight.

And so that was where I began.

It took me most of the day to tell them the story. We shared a pot of tea and a tray of cold cuts and cheese and fruit in the afternoon before Mazarine called me back to rest in bed.

I heeded her, because only a fool wouldn’t.

My slumber was deep, full of flashes of dreams that I struggled to remember when I woke. My room was dark, lit by the fire in my hearth and a few candles. I slipped from my bed and gingerly reached for a robe and my boots, walking to the door.

Mazarine was in the corridor, on guard. But she allowed me to walk, and she followed me to the courtyard doors. She stood watch as I walked the gardens alone, savoring the quiet splendor of night, how the snow crunched beneath my steps, how the world looked different beneath the moon and stars.

I found a bench and sat, shivering and cold and feeling more alive than I ever had before.

I don’t know how long I was there before he came. But I soon heard his quiet tread on the snow, and I felt his presence draw near.

“Her Grace looks well rested,” said Phelan.