Page 85 of The Royal Art of Revenge

And they’ll eat it all up.

I already know. Since everything was set in motion, I’ve been schooled. I’ve listened. I’ve learnt. I know I will become an overnight sensation. The Sinclairs’ misfortune of a missing daughter that sent the wife to grief-stricken deathbed will be a story that’ll resurrect itself in mere hours, and the thought of that is what keeps me standing right now.

That my mother’s name will once again be mentioned.

That my father won’t be able to escape her.

And it’ll all be because of me. Because Lady Luck herself looked down on me that day in the park and led me to Finn—or him to me, however you think of it. Because I was bold enough to risk everything when I came to the palace.

The name William Sinclair tries so desperately to erase will haunt him, everywhere he goes. No matter where he eats, sleeps, or breathes, Francesca Sinclair will follow him and remind him of his sins.

Tonight, I will curse three lives.

Curse my father to remember my mother.

Curse his wife to remember who she really is.

Curse their daughter to remember her place.

Beneath me.

As it always should have been.

As it always will be from this day onwards.

I will curse them with the reminder of who I really am.

Harriet Sinclair. Daughter of Francesca Sinclair. The Queen’s choice for Crown Princess. The Crown Prince’s choice for his wife.

Not the scapegoat for their golden child. Not their dirty little secret who lives behind a fake name.

I won’t just curse them.

I will be their curse. Their nightmare. Their poison.

Something for which there is no cure, no antidote, no escape.

And this is only the beginning.

Three strong knocks sound at the doors. “Her Majesty the Queen and His Royal Highness The Prince Louis have arrived,” Rowan announces from the hallway.

I nod, and the young maid standing guard inside the doors opens one, bowing her head as the Queen sweeps into the room.

Her gown is a simple, navy A-line number. A light cape hangs over her shoulders, adding decoration to the otherwise plain dress, and the only sparkle she brings is that of her diamond tiara and necklace.

She stops when she sees me. “My goodness, Hattie. If only tradition didn’t dictate that you must wait until the wedding for a tiara, then you’d look every part a true princess.”

I raise my hand to the elaborate hair ornaments and lightly brush my fingers over the diamonds. “These are more than enough for me, Your Majesty.” I dip into a small curtsey as tradition dictates—it’s my first time seeing her today, and even if she wants to tell me off for my formality, I know she won’t in front of the attendants.

If the way she purses her lips in mock annoyance is anything to go by, I’m correct.

“You look beautiful,” Prince Louis, Finn’s dad, says. “Red really is your colour.”

“Thank you.” My cheeks flush, so it’s a damn good thing red is my colour. I’m not used to these compliments.

Beatrix walks over to me and takes my hand. “You said you had something you wanted to discuss before we make our way to the ball. What is it?”

“Oh, yes.” I turn back to look at the attendants. “Would you all mind waiting outside for a moment, please?”