Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Aurelia
“ W hat are you doing poking around in the flowers, wife? Have you decided to become a gardener as well?”
The sound of Marclinus’s exuberant voice brings my head snapping up from where I’m crouched next to one of the flowerbeds. I slip the blossom I’ve just plucked into the pouch at my hip and push upright as he saunters through the falling dusk to meet me.
Thankfully I have an explanation close at hand. “There are a few teas and tinctures that ease the symptoms of pregnancy. I thought it’d be wise to ensure I have all the ingredients I might need while we’re traveling.”
We’re meant to set off for Rione tomorrow, and in truth, there are a great many potions I’d like to be prepared to make, most of which my husband wouldn’t approve of at all.
I guessed from his tone and demeanor that I’m facing the man who’s supposedly Linus at the moment. The slight narrowing of his eyes at the mention of my condition confirms it.
When he’s Marc, he’s only ever been pleased to think about the child I’m carrying.
“Well, finish up, then,” he demands, folding his arms over his chest. “This is our last ball with the full court before we’re reduced to a few scraps and whatever the outer territories can provide for company for months on end. We shouldn’t deny our most devoted supporters our presence.”
I doubt the nobles care all that much about seeing me dance, but I’d rather keep my husband in a good temper—especially when he’s in his more frenetic state.
I bob my head obligingly and motion to a shrub farther down the path. “I just need to pick a handful of leaves from that bush and then I’ll have everything I hoped to gather.”
I pluck the leaves as swiftly as I can, aware of Marclinus’s gaze on me and the impatient tapping of his foot. As much as I’d prefer to drop off my collected materials in my room before joining the revelry, it’s clear I’d better not try his patience.
That impression only grows as I let him escort me to the ballroom. Before we’ve even reached the enormous space with its glinting chandeliers and enchanted paintings that frolic with magic, he’s slid his hand from my waist to paw at my thigh.
We step into the midst of the court at the start of a new song. Marclinus pulls me to him and spins us around, his grin so fierce it’s just shy of a grimace.
He whirls and whoops as if to draw as much attention as possible—and in the closer moments gropes my ass while pressing himself up against me. My smile stays frozen in place, revulsion curdling in my gut.
All this fanfare combined with his overtly lustful intentions feels like a claiming. What else does he have in store for me—and whoever he’s feeling he needs to claim me from —tonight?
Or could this be more deliberate provocation—testing whether I’ll betray the secret his twin revealed to me with my reactions? Whether he can push me to agreeing to an assassination?
He’s been in an even more unnerving mood than usual whenever he’s been around me these past several days, whatever the cause might be.
Marclinus keeps up his attentions for three songs in a row, not offering the honor of a dance to any of the other ladies, as much as I might prefer to share the privilege. At the end of the third song, he lifts our joined hands in the air and pitches his voice to carry throughout the vast room.
“Stop the music! Everyone’s attention, please!”
He all but drags me to the head of the room, forcing me to jog to keep up with his brisk strides. There, he lifts me up with him onto one of the padded benches before joining me so we can look out over the entire gathered court.
Marclinus raises our clasped hands again. “We wanted you all to know that we leave those of you who aren’t joining us on our tour with excellent news. My wife has determined that she is pregnant! The next in my esteemed imperial line is on the way. I’m sure my heir will do me every bit as much credit as I did my father.”
At the wave of applause, I make myself beam for our audience. He might have said “we,” but I had no idea he intended to make this announcement tonight. I suppose the choice isn’t unreasonable.
I have to think there’s more to it than him wanting his court to celebrate with us, though.
Next to me, Marclinus’s gaze sweeps over the crowd. His smile has turned even sharper. What is he looking for?
I spot Bastien’s auburn hair and pale face nearby, and Lorenzo and Raul watching from farther back, but I don’t linger on either of them.
Marclinus hops down from the bench abruptly. As I follow him, my pulse lurches.
But he doesn’t head toward any of my lovers. Instead, he strides over to one of the older marchions—one of the nobles who’s been a little cold to me since my triumph in the trials, though I hadn’t thought my husband had noticed. It’s never happened in front of him.
Marclinus prods the man on the chest. “You don’t look as happy as I’d hope at such a joyful announcement, Syrus. Is something bothering you?”
Marchion Syrus’s stance goes rigid. The noblemen he was chatting with ease away from him as if afraid of being tainted by his sudden ill-favor.
He manages a beseeching smile. “No, not at all, Your Imperial Majesty. It’s wonderful news. I congratulate both you and your lovely wife. May the empire’s grandeur continue forever!”
My husband sets his hand on my ass with a pat firm enough to bring an embarrassed flush prickling up my neck. “She is quite lovely, isn’t she? I’m not sure I’m convinced that you appreciate our marriage properly. I won’t have anyone dampening the mood on our travels. Why don’t you go back to your estate in Porcia instead and rally some of the locals to take another stab at conquering Icar, hmm?”
The marchion’s mouth tightens at the realization that he’s lost the honor of being part of the traveling court—and that his emperor has just assigned him with a duty I can only imagine will be unpleasant, even if he doesn’t have to join the fighting himself.
All the same, he bows his head. “Whatever serves you best, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Exactly.” Marclinus draws me away without a backward glance.
It seems safest not to remark on his unexpected animosity. It fits my purposes to have one of my critics sent away from court rather than potentially murmuring in my husband’s ear, after all.
I can’t say I feel much sympathy for the man who complained enough to get his daughter dragged into the trials and holds some grudge against me for her death. If he and his fellow nobles had accepted my arrival in the first place, there wouldn’t have been any trials at all.
The man who I presume is Linus sweeps and gropes me through another couple of dances before finally deciding he owes at least a few other ladies a little attention. I drift over to obtain a pastry from one of the passing servers, hoping that he’ll leave me be for at least as long as I’m eating.
The nobles I pass pause their dancing and conversations to bow and offer their own congratulations. It’s easier to accept their approval knowing the life growing inside me has no connection at all to the imperial family.
This child is mine— mine and my princes’. I’ve won one victory without anyone I could consider an enemy being the wiser.
The sugary dough of the flaky roll melts like butter on my tongue. As I nibble on it, Vicerine Bianca glides over. She looks me up and down, but for once I don’t feel as if my figure is the slightest bit inadequate compared to her more voluptuous form.
“Many congratulations are in order,” she says. “You really have been an ideal wife in all ways.”
Her typical arch tone comes out softer than usual, enough so that I don’t think there’s any rancor in her observation. She’s already told me that she doesn’t resent my role in Marclinus’s life, and I’ve never interfered with hers as his mistress, however much she enjoys those duties—or doesn’t.
I keep my own voice warm in return. “I’m glad to add to the success of Marclinus’s reign however I can.”
“I suppose it’s not surprising it happened so quickly, given how… attentive he’s been.” A note of wryness creeps into Bianca’s words. She pauses, considering me with a more thoughtful expression. “Thank you for allowing me to join the traveling court. I’d much rather be surrounded by friends than at home tending to our estate.”
She assumes I simply didn’t argue with Marclinus’s preferences. A brief laugh slips out of me. “I was the one who suggested you—although of course my husband was happy to agree.”
Bianca’s eyebrows twitch upward before she catches her reaction. “Oh. Well—thank you all the more, in that case. I wouldn’t have expected…”
As she trails off, I touch her arm in an attempt at reassurance. “We’ve had our differences and our conflicts, but you’ve proven that we can set that behind us. I’d like to consider you one of my friends as well.”
If one I’ll be watching very closely.
Bianca brightens more than I would have expected when as far as I know, she only sees me as a means to an end. Is it feigned happiness to further win me over, or does my opinion actually matter to her beyond the favors I might offer as empress?
“It’s my honor to call you such,” she says with a respectful bob.
Before we can talk more, the music falls into a lull between songs, and Marclinus appears in front of me. He doesn’t even glance at his often-time lover, his gaze totally fixed on me.
He motions to the puff I’ve only eaten half of. “Finish that up. I need another dance with my wife.”
So much for that strategy of avoidance.
I pop the last tidbit into my mouth and follow him, stepping into the circle of his arms.
My husband’s interest isn’t totally unwelcome this once. It seems late enough in the night now that I might be able to speed matters along to suit my own ends rather than his.
As we dance, I stroke my thumb along the side of his neck. When he turns me, I trail my hand across his chest.
Heat flares in Marclinus’s eyes. It has a possessive glint to it that I’m not fond of, but I can tolerate it for now.
After one more dance, he slides his arm right around my waist. “What do you say we enjoy your bed one more time before we’re reduced to waystations, wife?”
I lower my eyelids coyly. “I can think of nothing I’d like better.”
In my bedroom, I waste no time releasing the hidden needle in my ring and tapping it against my husband’s neck while he kisses me as if he means to mash my lips right off my face. I giggle and simper through his fondling and his eager stripping of my gown.
When the drug sinks in and he lies back on the bed in its hallucinogenic stupor, I peel off my undergarments so he has all the visuals he needs for this imagined encounter. I coo a few encouraging words until he reaches his release on his own and drifts into total unconsciousness.
After I’ve cleaned him up, I go to my trunk where I keep my brewing supplies. I had a chance to prepare one very simple formula to use when the opportunity arose.
The steeped laelia petals create a ruddy liquid that turns pinkish on the skin. It blends into a person’s coloring to look as if it’s a natural flush. And it’s a permanent stain unless you have the right counter-solution to wash it away.
I’ve heard some courtesans use it to darken their eyelids, cheeks, and lips without having to worry about the effect being smudged during their work. My intention is much simpler.
Back at the bed, I tip Marclinus’s head to one side on the pillow. With the corner of a sponge, I dab a small spot of the dye right on the crease at the back of his left ear.
The darker pink splotch looks like only a random variation of his skin. It’s hidden enough that I doubt anyone will notice it in the first place, and if anyone does, they wouldn’t imagine it’s purposeful.
Certainly he’ll never see it in any mirror.
I clean up the supplies, dose the lantern, and tuck myself into the bed to wait out the sputter of his snores. It won’t be long before I can confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt whether the man beside me and the one Raul has sensed tucked away in the emperor’s apartment are two identical sides of the same coin.
Whether the greatest threat to my life and everything I care about has doubled in size.