The Stepsister Scheme

her.”
    “I’ll try,” said Snow. She took the broken stool leg and turned back to the mirror.
    Danielle stared at the gold wedding band on her finger. Simple and modest. Armand had wanted to give her a heavy, diamond-encrusted monstrosity as a memento of their love, but Danielle had insisted. This thin ring was a duplicate of the one she remembered seeing on her mother’s finger.
    Beatrice touched her shoulder. Danielle turned, and the fear and pain on the queen’s face were a match for her own. “We will find Armand.”
    Danielle’s throat tightened.
    “South,” said Snow. “Charlotte fled south.”
    “We’re on the northern edge of an island nation,” Talia said. “Do you think you could narrow it down a tad?”
    “I can’t. She’s hidden from the mirror, the same as Armand.”
    Danielle cleared her throat. “My house... I mean, my father’s house is south of here.”
    Talia shook her head. “Charlotte knows we’ll be hunting her. To hide in such an obvious place would be the height of stupidity.”
    Danielle folded her arms. “Charlotte let her mother cut off part of her heel because she believed that would be enough to convince Armand she was me.”
    “Good point.” Talia snorted. “Come on, Snow. Let’s go visit the de Glas house.”
    “I’m going, too,” said Danielle.
    “Charlotte already tried to murder you once today,” said Talia. “If we find her, she—”
    “I lived with Charlotte and Stacia for most of my life,” said Danielle. “I know them. I can help.”
    Talia turned to the queen. “Bea, I’ll have my hands full keeping this one out of trouble.” She jerked a thumb at Snow, who rolled her eyes. “I can’t be a nursemaid to both.”
    Danielle folded her arms. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your son is also my husband. My own stepsister may have taken him. The question isn’t whether or not I’m going after her, it’s whether or not these two are coming with me.”
    The queen studied her for a long time, until Danielle began to think she had overstepped herself. “Three extraordinary girls,” she whispered, with another of those soft, sad smiles. “I can see why Armand was drawn to you.”
    “Your Majesty—” Talia began.
    Beatrice raised one hand. “My dear Talia, this is the girl who snuck from her house for three nights to attend the winter ball, under the very noses of her stepsisters and stepmother. When they discovered the truth, they locked her away. Yet when Armand appeared, she again escaped her prison to find him. Would you have me lock Princess Danielle in the dungeons to prevent her from doing what she believes is right? Do you think even that would stop her?”
    “ I could stop her,” Talia muttered under her breath.
    “That’s enough.” Beatrice leaned forward to kiss Danielle’s forehead, then did the same to Talia and Snow. “Danielle must be a part of this. I feel it in my heart.”
    Talia shook her head. “I hope your heart doesn’t get us knifed in ours.” With a sigh, she turned back toward the doorway. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you ready.”
    “Find my son,” Beatrice said, turning back to the mirror. “And stay safe.”

    CHAPTER 3
    Climbing up from the secret chambers beneath the palace was less disconcerting than the descent, but by the time they reached the top, Danielle’s hands had cramped into claws. Years of servitude had given her strength, but climbing used different muscles than cleaning. Beneath her, Talia muttered impatiently as she waited for Danielle to open the hidden panel.
    Danielle started to step into her room, but Talia moved past her. She searched the room, then dropped to the floor to check beneath the bed.
    “What now?” Danielle asked, once Talia waved for her to follow. The pillow Talia had stuffed into the window frame blocked the sunlight, giving the room a cold, evening feel. She moved the pigeon to the center of the bed, then bent to retrieve a chunk of bread from the floor. Everything was as it had been, from the scattered mess of her meal to the bloody dove staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
    Danielle picked up the dove, moving him to the desk next to the books. She took off the scarf she had used for the pigeon and wrapped it around the dove’s body to make a crude shroud. Once they returned, she would see about giving the bird a decent burial, perhaps by the bakery, given how the dove had taken to swooping down to swipe whatever fresh-baked goods he could get his claws