The room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that made one's mind chase its own tail.
I had been reading for hours, eyes dragging over the same page thrice before it stuck. Isla had lent me the book earlier that evening, some romantic fiction she swore would "help me sleep."
But sleep was the last thing I wanted.
I wanted to stay awake.
If my hunch was right, the Queen would come tonight. She always came after an uproar—whenever I stirred the nest too much. She had her ways of appearing uninvited, wrapped in light and secrets.
Still, the book was a good distraction. I traced my finger over a line that was supposed to be romantic, and instead snorted. The heroine in the story had fainted because her lover smiled. Fainted. I couldn't even imagine it.
My lips twitched. I could still see Claire's face from dinner—red, flustered, caught between rage and humiliation. I chuckled, closing my eyes for a moment to savor it. Isla and I had played our parts too well.
