Her guards would make good friends in the palace.
Accepting that, if nothing else, Mina said, “Please lead the way.”
Moustafa and d’Tierrza turned, and Mina followed them out of the chapel.
The hallways they took her through were dim and quiet, clearly not open to the public. Low-wattage bulbs provided just enough light throughout, and beneath them the marble floors sparkled.
“These are the residential corridors. You’ll eventually figure them all out,” d’Tierrza said after the they’d taken a third turn. “They’re the fastest way to travel the palace and the grounds and are well guarded and surveilled.”
Mina almost laughed. It would be some time before the security of the premises became a concern of hers. She was a scientist, not a dignitary. Or she had been.
After a long walk, they finally stopped in front of another wooden door and Mina flinched. Her day at the palace had become a nightmare of Monty Hall problems.
So what monstrosity lurks behind door number three?she wondered as she pushed it open.
Only this time is wasn’t a nightmare. It was a paradise.
The room was all wide-open ivory walls and floors and creamy marble. There were several open archways leading into other spaces, all of which encircled a large sunken sitting room that was comfortably appointed with plush furniture. The upholstery was smooth buff suede, and there were pillows and throw blankets everywhere one might want to reach for one.
As Mina entered, d’Tierrza stopped her with a hand on the shoulder. “For the Queen’s Ball, call Roz Chastain. She’ll take you because you’re new. Let her have her way on everything.”
She took out a pen and paper and scribbled a number down.
Mina nodded, a sense of relief penetrating her for the first time since she had learned she had landed the Parliament interview months ago.
“Thank you.”
D’Tierrza grinned. “My money is on you. I’ve never seen anyone affect him like you do. He completely lost his cool—and that can only be good for him.”
With those enigmatic words, she gently nudged Mina inside before taking her position outside the door.
Moustafa took her position as well, leaving Mina to wander in and out of each room.
The wing included a bedroom, a bathroom suite with a tiled hot tub, a large-windowed office with a stunning view, and an enormous balcony overlooking the sea.
The bed was lush, and freshly made with bright linens and fluffy pillows. The towels were the thickest she had ever felt, and a gorgeous robe and slipper set was hanging outside the double-headed waterfall shower.
Interestingly, while the suite was stunning—indeed, the most elegant accommodation Mina had ever been in—there were signs that the wing had not been updated in at least a few decades. Rotary phones graced the side tables in the bedroom and the sitting room, three nineteen-fifties era television sets that Mina was sure would not connect to Cyrano’s digital cable network rested on sideboards in multiple places, and there wasn’t a computer in sight.
All it needed was a laptop and decent Wi-Fi signal, though, and it would make the perfect location for a research sabbatical.
Not for her, of course.
After the fiasco of her arrest and then her firing, her career was ruined. Academia was quick to condemn and slow to forgive. The only thing for her to do was fade into the shadows quietly.
A feat that would be more challenging now that she was apparently Queen.
Her academic reputation was tarnished.
She was Queen of Cyrano.
It was her wedding day.
She was alone.
Walking into the bedroom, weary in a way she never imagined she could be, she collapsed on the bed without taking her clothes off or loosening her braid. The SWAT team had done a good enough job of that last bit.
She hadn’t harbored many of the fantasies common to young girls. Weddings, babies—none of that—but she had still vaguely imagined that she’d marry. Probably not until the autumn of her life, and likely only then to a warmly regarded colleague. But she’d pictured it. Even in that tame picture, though, she hadn’t gone to bed alone on her wedding night.