Every servant in the corridor was going to tell this story tonight. By dinner, the kitchen would have it. By morning, the stables. By lunch tomorrow, every wolf in Drakenfell would know that the Crown Princess had told the Queen to fuck off.
Whether that killed the Queen was still to be determined.
She stood there. Twenty feet away. Breathing hard. Eyes red. Heart hammering. She had just delivered the most honest, the most overdue, the most cathartic speech of her entire life, every wound, every insult, every humiliation laid bare in a public corridor, and the woman she had delivered it to had responded by fainting.
The one goddamn time. The one goddamn time she stood up for herself and let Bellatrix have every last word she had been choking on for months, and the woman dropped like a stone in front of witnesses.
Serena closed the distance.
"Is she dead?"
