He Chose the Wrong Sister novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: The Fever Draught

I crept along the back of the hedge until I was close enough to hear.

The yew was thick and black, and I stood behind it with my hand over my own mouth.

"It's three weeks," Rosalind said. "Three weeks, and then the Queen, and then I'm standing in a chapel in front of him."

"You're not going to stand in that chapel," the man said.

He had a quiet, steady voice, and it was not the voice of anyone I had met.

"Mother says the prince will check the story twice. Imogen asked for a hearing. She never would have, before."

"Before?"

"Before she came back from the north with a husband." Rosalind pulled away from him and wiped her face. "She used to be so quiet. She doesn't look at me like she used to."

"Does it matter?"

"It matters because she might win."

"And if she did?"

"Then I'd be free." She laughed, and it cracked in the middle. "Do you know how long I've wanted someone to take the story out of my hands?"

I stood very still.

"I've told it so many times," she said. "I say the mill, and the thread, and the song, and every time I say it I'm saying it in her voice. I can hear it. I never wanted him. I never wanted any of it."

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