I hear the entire conversation from the bedroom, but I still don’t come out until the maid has gone again.

Justine turns to look at me. “I guess our little plan isn’t going very well.”

I sigh. “I should have known it would be impossible to pull one over on my mother. But I guess we should go hear what she has to say.”

We quickly make ourselves presentable, then make our way through the palace to my mother’s suite. I consider suggesting to Justine that we head there separately—no need to give up the entire plan because my mother has caught on—but I’m not sure that will go over well.

When we arrive, a couple of servants are just finishing setting up breakfast. My mother has ordered quite a spread for us—fruit, scones, eggs, sausage, and a number of shiny pastries.

My mother is already pouring tea, one cup for each of us. She glances up when we enter, her mouth turning up in a smile.

“Thank you for joining me,” she says cheerfully. “I know this was late notice, but we haven’t had a chance to sit down and have a proper talk, just the three of us.”

“Good morning, Mother,” I say brightly. “Thank you for having us.”

The servants finish setting up the food, bow, and make their exit. I lead Justine over to one of the cushioned chairs around the low table and then sit down in the one across the table from her. I’m not sure what my mother’s game is yet, but I don’t plan to give anything up until I know her motives. My mother is a loving, generous woman, and I know she means well, but I’m also not entirely sure she understands what Justine and I are going through right now.

I lean over and pluck a pastry from the basket on the table. It’s dripping with sticky icing, just the way I like them. God, I miss being able to have one of these whenever I want. It’s good to be home.

My mother passes each of us a cup of tea, and I don’t miss the way her scrutinizing gaze passes over each of us in turn. Finally, she sits down in her own chair and picks up the plate of scones.

“It’s good to see you two here,” she says, offering the scones to Justine. “I didn’t think it would be so hard to have my son in a different country. Do you know how long you’re planning to stay?”

I drop a couple of sugar cubes in my tea and glance over at Justine. “We haven’t decided yet.”

“You must know you’re welcome here for as long as you wish,” my mother continues. “Justine, if there’s anything at all we can do to make you feel more welcome here, please let me know. I want to make sure all of our guests feel comfortable.”

“Of course,” Justine says. “Thank you.”

My mother offers the sausages next. “I’m so sorry about dinner the other night. If I’d known about your allergy, I’d have arranged for a different menu. Now that you’ve recovered, I hope you’ll join us for our meals again. I hope you don’t feel unwelcome.” She shoots a look at me, and I hastily take a sip of my tea, burning my tongue in the process.

“I…I don’t feel unwelcome,” Justine says, taking a sausage from the plate. When I lower my cup, I find her looking desperately at me, probably wondering what the hell we’re supposed to do in this situation.

My mother doesn’t miss the look that passes between us. She casually sets down the sausages and settles back in her chair. “Would one of you like to tell me what’s going on here?” When neither of us immediately answers, she continues casually, “There are plenty of oblivious people in this family, but I’m not one of them. A mother knows how to read her own son. Now, I understand that the two of you are still getting to know each other, still learning how you fit together, but I think I’m witnessing something a little more than that.” Her gaze shifts between us again, assessing. “In spite of the odds, you two actually seem quite suited to each other. I might even venture you’ve started to build some affection between you. And yet…” She purses her lips. “And yet, you seem to be actively pulling away from each other.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Mother—”

“Oh, I know you don’t want any parental advice,” she says. “Young people rarely do, especially when it’s about relationships. But I’m going to offer some anyway.” She picks up the basket of pastries and offers them to us. Justine takes one, and I take three more.

“Marriage isn’t easy,” she says. “It never is, even when you love the person with your entire heart. No matter what your circumstances, it takes hard work, and patience, and understanding. You’ll learn more about yourself in those first few years of marriage than you will doing anything else in life—except perhaps having your first child. You learn a lot about yourself then, too. My point is, accept the work. Accept your partner for who he or she is. Accept that there will be challenges—running from them or resisting them won’t accomplish anything. And you’ll miss all the good parts of what you have.”

She thinks we’re having an actual marriage spat, I realize, biting into my second pastry. I guess our plan is working after all. But the slight thrill of victory is tempered quickly by shame. My mother is legitimately trying to help us, and we’re lying to her.

I sigh, glancing at Justine. This whole plan was her idea—and as I told her this morning, I still believe it’s our best shot at finding out what her father is up to—but I hate misleading my mother, especially when it’s clear she only wants our happiness.

“We aren’t…” I begin, then shake my head and begin again. “Things aren’t exactly as they might seem, Mother. You’re right, Justine and I are still learning how to live with each other, but for the time being, it’s…advantageous that we appear to be at odds.” I’m not sure how much she knows about King Maximilian’s business here, and I don’t know how much we should involve her in this deception.

She’s frowning at me. “Why would it be advantageous for you to be fighting?” Her eyes shifts to Justine, and she appears to put some of the pieces together. “This is about Maximilian, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t he want his own daughter to be happy? He’s the one who orchestrated this whole marriage in the first place.”

“It’s complicated,” I say. “King Max—Justine’s entire family, really—has no respect for her. And even less for us Montovians. And—”

“I think I’d like to hear from Justine herself, if she wants to share,” my mother says. She smiles warmly at Justine, leaning over and placing her hand on top of my wife’s. “Please, dear. Why do you feel the need to hide your happiness from your father?”

Justine doesn’t look at me, but I can see the gears turning in her head as she debates how much she should say.

“My father and I have a very complicated relationship,” she says finally. “But I know he never intended for my marriage to William to last very long. In fact, I was in on that part of his plan.” Her cheeks redden. “But now… He’s planning something else. I don’t know what, but William and I intend to find out. But he won’t tell me anything if he thinks I…if he believes I would take William’s side over his.”

My mother’s frown has deepened, and she keeps looking between the two of us. “What exactly do you believe Maximilian has planned?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” I say. “But whatever it is, it’s bigger than this marriage. His grudge toward this country and our family runs deep.”

“Then the best course of action is to tell your father,” my mother says. “There’s no reason for you to maintain this ridiculous charade.”

“You think King Max will come out and tell Father everything just because he asks?” I say. “The only chance we have of figuring out his true plan is through someone in his family. But he won’t tell Justine anything unless he believes she finds this family as distasteful as he does.”

“Still, this is a little extreme,” my mother says. “Have you two really thought about—?”

A knock on the door interrupts her. “Your Majesty?”

“Yes, come in,” my mother calls.

A servant opens the door, and she bows. “Forgive me for the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you’d like to know as soon as possible about the arrival of our guest.”

Another guest? I think, shoving the last bit of my pastry into my mouth. Who now?

“King Maximilian has requested that his son be placed in a guest room near his own,” the servant said. “I’ve already started the arrangements, but I wanted to double-check everything with you.”

“That sounds fine,” my mother says, though she doesn’t look particularly pleased.

I turn and look at Justine. Her brother is here, and that can only spell trouble. She seems to realize it, too—she’s gripping the arms of her chair a little too tightly, and her mouth is a hard line.

If King Max is bringing Reginald here, maybe this plan is moving faster than we expected, I think. And that means Justine and I have to move our plan faster, too. I know my mother doesn’t approve, but this is Montovia we’re talking about—and it’s clear we’re running out of time.