She heads into her enormous closet before I can say anything else, and at that moment, the door to the sitting room opens. I peer out of the bedroom door and see the queen, dressed in a robe and slippers, striding across the sitting area with three of her handmaids and an unfamiliar woman following her. Each of the handmaids carries a dress. “Your Majesty,” I say to the queen, bowing my head in respect as she comes toward me.
“Emerson, hello.” I’ve never seen her wearing so little makeup and with her hair—black and burgundy like Roarke’s—so plain. She leans in and kisses the air on either side of my cheeks. “Ready for the big announcement tonight?”
“Yes,” I say with confidence and a wide smile, neither of which are genuine.
“Aurora, love, I’ve got the dresses,” the queen calls out, walk
