QUEEN sat at the edge of the bed, the same bed she had dropped onto just hours ago after her vicious exchange with Oswald. The room was in a mess, her scarf thrown across the floor, her heels kicked off near the door, a glass of untouched water sweating on the nightstand. But the chaos around her felt tame compared to the chaos burning under her skin.

Her mind replayed every word she had spat at Oswald, the way he had looked at her like she was a snake in his garden, the way he had stormed off. She should have felt triumphant. She should have felt powerful. Instead, she...