was all they needed.
Agatha squeezed the pillow harder. How things change.
Now her mother was dead, Sophie was Dean of Evil at a magical school, and Agatha was marrying King Arthur’s son.
No one was more excited about the wedding than Sophie, who’d sent letter after letter from her faraway castle with sketches of dresses and cakes and china that she insisted Agatha use for her big day. (“Dear Aggie, I haven’t heard back from you about the chiffon veil swatches I sent. Or the proposed canapés. Really, darling, if you don’t want my help just tell me. …”)
Agatha could see these letters piled on the desk, coated in spidery trails of dust. Every day she told herself she would answer them, but she never did. And the worst part was she didn’t know why.
Footsteps grew louder outside her room.
Agatha’s stomach churned.
It’d been this way for six months. She felt more and more anxious while Tedros grew more and more withdrawn. Last night was the closest they’d come to speaking about what happened on coronation day and neither of them had even said a word. She knew he was embarrassed … devastated … ashamed. … But she couldn’t help him if he didn’t talk to her. And he couldn’t talk to her if he was never with her.
More voices now. More footsteps.
Mouth dry, Agatha snatched the glass of water from her night table. Empty. So was the pitcher.
Reaper slid off the bed, prowling towards the faded double doors.
She needed time alone with Tedros. Time where they weren’t living separate lives. Time where they could be honest and intimate with each other like they used to be. Time where they could be themselves again—
The doors crashed open and four maids paraded in, each wearing the same draping robe in a different shade of pastel—peach, pistachio, grapefruit, rose—as if they were a box of mixed macarons. They were led by a tall, tan woman in lavender with dark, smoky eyes, shiny red lipstick, and wild black hair barely cooped by a turban. She carried a leather-bound notebook in one hand and in the other, a feather-pen so long it looked like a whip.
“Breakfast with the wedding florist at seven in the Blue Tower Dining Room; then meetings with tailor candidates in twenty-minute intervals to decide who should stitch the wedding linens; then an interview with the Camelot Courier for their Wedding Preview Edition. At nine, you’ll visit the Camelot Zoo to pick the official wedding doves; they have several species, each a varying shade of white. …”
Agatha could barely listen, because Peach and Pistachio had hoisted her out of bed and were already scrubbing her with scalding towels, while Grapefruit shoved a toothbrush in her mouth and Rose smeared her face with an array of potions, like Sophie used to do, only without Sophie’s charisma or humor.
“Then a signing of The Tale of Sophie and Agatha at Books & Crannies to raise funds for the castle’s plumbing renovation,” the lavender woman continued in a crisp, posh accent, “followed by a lunch fundraiser at the Spansel Club, where you’ll read a storybook to children of rich patrons whose donations will repair the drawbridge …”
“Um, Lady Gremlaine? Is there time for me to see Tedros today?” muffled Agatha beneath a blue gown the women were tugging over her. “We haven’t had a meal alone in ages—”
“After lunch, you’ll begin waltz lessons to prepare for your wedding dance, then etiquette training so you don’t make a mess of yourself at the wedding feast, and finally, history class about the triumphs and disasters of royal weddings past so that yours might end in the annals of the first rather than the last,” Lady Gremlaine finished.
Agatha gritted her teeth as her maids fussed with her hair and makeup like the nymphs in the Groom Room used to. “Dancing, etiquette, history … it’s the School for Good all over again. Only at school, I actually had time with my prince.”
Lady Gremlaine raised her eyes to Agatha. She snapped her book shut so sharply a gemstone fell out of the mirror. “Well, since you have no further questions, your chambermaids here will see that you get to your breakfast on time,” she said, turning for the door. “The king needs me by his side every possible moment—”
“I’d like to see Tedros today,” Agatha insisted. “Please add it to my schedule.”
Lady Gremlaine stopped cold and turned, her lips a tight red slash. The chambermaids subtly backed away from Agatha.
“I’d say you saw more than enough of him last night. Against the rules,” said Lady Gremlaine. “A king cannot be alone in your room before the wedding.”
“Tedros should have the right to see me whenever he wishes,” said Agatha. “I am his queen.”
“Not yet, Princess,” said Lady Gremlaine coolly.
“I will be after the wedding,” Agatha challenged, “which I spend all my time planning like some brainless biddy when I’d rather be with Tedros, helping him run the kingdom of which he is now king. And seeing that you’re Chief Steward in service to the king and future queen, surely that’s something you can arrange.”
“I see,” said Lady Gremlaine, moving towards Agatha. “The castle is crumbling, your king wears a crown still in dispute, you have spies plotting to kill you, the former queen and her traitorous knight have been in hiding since the coronation, and the Royal Rot, a rogue publication intent on overthrowing the monarchy, calls you, amongst other things, ‘a gilded celebrity from an amateur fairy tale destined to bring more shame to Tedros than his own mother once did.’”
Lady Gremlaine smiled, lording over Agatha. “And here you are, still pining for your days at school and a little kissy-time in the hall with the Class Captain.”
“No. That’s not it at all. I want to help him,” Agatha retorted, enduring the onslaught of her steward’s perfume. “I’m fully aware of the problems we face, but Tedros and I are supposed to be a team—”
“Then why hasn’t he ever asked to see you?” said Lady Gremlaine.
Agatha flinched.
“In fact, except for his momentary lapse last night, which he assured me will never happen again, the king hasn’t mentioned your name once,” Lady Gremlaine added.
Agatha said nothing.
“You see, I’m afraid King Tedros has better things to do, trying to bring Camelot out of shame in time for the wedding,” Lady Gremlaine went on. “A wedding that must be so magnificent, so memorable, so inspiring that it will erase all doubts that rose from that humiliating coronation. And it is a wedding that, per thousands of years of tradition, is up to the future queen to plan. That’s your job. That’s how you can help your king.” She leaned in, her nose almost touching Agatha’s. “But if you would like me to tell King Tedros that you find your responsibilities beneath you and that you have questioned every one of our decisions, down to the colors of your wardrobe, the importance of baths, and your choice of footwear, and now, on top of that, would like him to interrupt his urgent efforts to prove his place as king so he can make you feel part of a team … then by all means, Princess. Let’s see what he has to say.”
Agatha swallowed, her neck
