THE sun was already sinking when Oswald returned home that day, far earlier than he normally would. Everyone in the mansion had learned long ago not to expect him before dusk, but today the front doors swung open just after five, and the air in the mansion changed the instant his shoes struck the marble floor.

Queen was waiting for him. She had heard the car, the slam of the door, the clipped steps echoing in the hall. She was perched at the base of the stairs, poised like a trap set with velvet and poison.

“Back early?” she asked, her tone sugary enough to rot teeth.

Oswald didn’t look...