I watched as Clara approached our small gathering, her copper gown shimmering in the evening light. Her smile was fixed, practiced—the same one she'd worn countless times before inflicting some new cruelty. My heart pounded, but I kept my expression neutral as she drew closer.
"Duchess Thorne," Clara addressed me with exaggerated formality, dropping into a curtsy that somehow managed to seem mocking. "Might I have a word with you? In private."
I felt Helena stiffen beside me. Queen Seraphina's gaze sharpened, but she remained silent, allowing me to handle this confrontation.
"Whatever you wish to discuss, Clara, you may say it here," I replied evenly, refusing to use her title. Two could play at this game of selective formality.
Clara's smile tightened. "It concerns a family matter. Surely you wouldn't want to bore Her Majesty with such trivialities."
