When I open the front door, I’m assaulted by the front page of a newspaper that’s lying on the mat. ARCHDUKE LEVANTER’S DAUGHTER RIDES VARGA’S OWN HORSE IN ROYAL PARK.
I groan, pick up the stack and riffle through the other papers. Aubrey and Onyx are on the front page of all the tabloids. Not as the main story, but the “can-you-believe-this” sidebar. The more serious papers put her on page three. I imagine Archduke Levanter sitting down to coffee and pastries in a few hours’ time and seeing what his daughter has done. The bollocking I gave her yesterday will probably be nothing to what her father is going to do to her. He’s the Captain of the King’s Guard, so I imagine he’s good at punishments.
I trudge through to the kitchen and shove all the newspapers on a high shelf where Muriel won’t find them. Then I make tea and toast. I’m leaning against the dishwasher and biting into a piece of granary loaf with strawberry jam when Muriel comes shuffling in.
“You’re up early, dear.”
“Got a lot on today,” I tell her.
“You’ve always got a lot on. You work too much, just like your father did.” She sits down and pours herself a cup of tea from the pot, and then glances around. “Where are the papers this morning?”
“They weren’t delivered.”
“I’ll call the corner store and have the boy send them.” She reaches for the telephone, but I slap my hand on the receiver. Muriel’s shrewd eyes study my face. “Cassian, what’s happened?”
I take a deep breath. I suppose this isn’t the worst news I’ve had to break to her. Varga’s sudden death and the fall of the People’s Republic was challenging. My father’s statue being torn down was a nightmare. She cried for hours.
It’s not the Party I miss. You know that, Cassian. But it was a comfort to me that he was out there, watching over us.
I go over to the pantry, pull today’s papers down from a high shelf and hand them to her. Muriel gasps when she sees Onyx in Royal Park.
“That’s Levanter’s daughter. The girl who rides here.”
“Did ride,” I say, through gritted teeth. I’ll load Cinnamon into a horse box this morning and drive her back to Levanter House.
Muriel goes through the papers, one by one, her face creasing in distress as she reads each headline. The words Bellerose Livery Stable and Riding School accompany just about every story. “What a foolish girl. Selfish, silly girl.”
I couldn’t agree more. This whole place is doomed, and I may as well pack it all in now.6Aubrey“Aubrey! Get down here right this second.”
Daddy’s voice reverberates through the house like Zeus booming down from Olympus.
I wince as I swing my feet out of bed. I guess Onyx and I made the papers. I barely slept last night as my phone kept buzzing with emails and DMs and calls from unknown numbers. I didn’t answer any of them, suspecting they were reporters.
It could be worse; I console myself as I walk down the marble stairs, tying my satin dressing gown on over my camisole slip. Someone could have died. Another revolution might have happened. I’m sorry that I put Cassian’s stables in jeopardy, but he’s still got me as a client. That’s something, and this will all blow over like Daddy’s scandal, which frankly was a lot worse, if you think about it. Rumors got into the paper that he left the old King and Queen to die the day Varga seized power twenty-seven years ago. It was completely untrue and all Wraye’s mother’s doing. I still haven’t forgiven Lady Rugova for that.
Daddy is standing at the breakfast table gripping a newspaper with both hands, his chair several feet behind him as if he stood up suddenly. His coffee cup has tipped over and a dark brown stain is spreading over the tablecloth. He always dresses for breakfast and looks impeccable in pressed pants and a cream-colored shirt. His thick silver hair is combed back, and his beard is neatly trimmed.
He looks up, and his glare arrows through me. When he speaks, it’s through clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? What the hell were you thinking?”
I pick up one of the newspapers. There I am riding Onyx, while onlookers take pictures of me on their phones. There’s an inset that shows me clinging to Cassian as we race back to the stables. It’s about as bad as I expected.
I put the paper down. “It was a mistake.”
Daddy levels me with a seething expression. If I was one of his soldiers, he’d be ranting and raving by now. “Do you know who that horse belonged to?”
“Yes. The Chairman. That’s not the horse’s fault.”
“And you deliberately rode him in public in broad daylight, knowing how it would look? How disrespectful that was to everyone who was persecuted or executed by Varga?”