The Queen's words still echoed in Beatrice's ears as she walked back toward her chambers. She was turning the corner near the upper gallery, steps slow, thoughts heavier than she'd admit, when a familiar scoff halted her.
"Running back to your room like the favorite puppy, I see," came Lady Gertrude's voice.
Beatrice exhaled quietly and kept walking.
"No wonder Her Majesty asked for you. Out with the prince all afternoon, and then the Queen requests for you privately? You must think you're really pulling ahead."
Beatrice turned, arms crossed. "Is there a point to this, or are you just bored again?"
They were standing near the balustrade, the marble railing cool under Beatrice's palm.
Gertrude stepped closer, her tone light but eyes sharp.
"You know, Beatrice, I like you. You're clever. But even clever girls slip. Especially when they start to think they're safe."
"Are you threatening me?" Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
