Castles in Their Bones (Castles in Their Bones #1)

Beatriz

The evening and Pasquale are meant to dine with Lord Savelle, finds Pasquale in bed, clinging to an empty water basin with a sweat-sheened green pallor to his face. She pauses in the doorway and wonders whether she might have overdone it with the ravelroot in his afternoon tea—she wanted him too sick to attend dinner, not at death’s door. But then, she’s never had Daphne’s gift for poisons.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, trying to ignore the guilt nagging at her. He looks miserable, and she did that to him. She needs time alone with Lord Savelle, she reminds herself. Still, the guilt doesn’t recede completely.

“Oh, a little better, I think,” Pasquale says, his voice hoarse. “I don’t think I’ve vomited in the last quarter hour, so that’s an improvement.”

She lets out a small sigh of relief—if she’d gone too far with the ravelroot, he’d be vomiting more as time went on, not less.

“I feel terrible, abandoning you for the evening. Are you sure you don’t mind if I go to dinner without you?”

He waves her concern away. “No, I know you wanted to hear more about Temarin and Sophronia—will you ask after Leopold as well? We’ve lost touch over the last couple of years, but he is my cousin.”

“Of course,” says before biting her lip. “Would you like me to ask the servants for anything? Some bread, perhaps, now that your stomach’s calmed?”

He nods slowly, though his grip on the basin tightens slightly at the mention of food. “Maybe in another hour or so? I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“Of course,” she says, lingering by the door. Part of her wants to comfort him, the way he comforted her after she faced down his father in the throne room, but she isn’t sure where to begin. Whenever she or her sisters were sick, her mother always kept them isolated, even from one another, to keep the disease from spreading. The isolation was usually worse than the illness itself. Should she approach his bedside? Rub his back, like he did for her? A small, foreign part of her wants to kiss his forehead for some reason she can’t understand. Instead of doing any of those things, she stays by the door, her hand on the doorknob.

“Feel better,” she says, with a small, strained smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

—

Though dinner is set up in the smaller dining room attached to and Pasquale’s rooms, smaller is a relative description. The table could hold at least a dozen people comfortably, and when enters, she finds three places set at the far side, with Lord Savelle already seated to the left of the head. When he sees her enter, he rises to his feet and bows.

She waits for his gaze to sweep over her, and especially over the bare shoulders and décolletage her gown shows off so splendidly. She knows the rich violet color sets off her auburn hair, and she’s carefully applied an arsenal of powders and creams to best complement her features. But Lord Savelle’s eyes don’t linger or leer the way other men’s have. Stars, even when she’s wearing her most demure dress, she can feel the king’s lecherous gaze, watching her every move. Why is it, she wonders, that the two men she needs to ensnare are the two who don’t show her the least bit of interest?

Well, she failed with Pasquale, there is no hope for that, but she refuses to fail here as well.

“Your Highness,” Lord Savelle says. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Thank you for joining us…” She pauses. “Well, me, at any rate. I’m afraid Prince Pasquale is a bit indisposed at the moment, but he sends his regrets and says we should carry on without him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lord Savelle says. When takes the seat opposite him, he sits down as well. “I haven’t been to this part of the palace before—it’s stunning.”

“You haven’t?” asks, frowning like she’s surprised at that, when she actually could have guessed as much. From what she’s heard, no one at court makes an effort to extend invitations to Lord Savelle, least of all the royal family. Pasquale seems to like him well enough, but then Pasquale isn’t exactly known for hosting dinners or parties. If she hadn’t suggested this dinner, it never would have occurred to him. “Well, I’m very glad you made it.” She gestures for a servant standing near the door to bring wine, and once their glasses are full, she lifts hers and offers him her most beguiling smile.

“To you, Lord Savelle,” she says. “And to the blossoming of new friendships.”

A touch of color graces his cheeks, but he lifts his glass toward hers, sending a clink echoing through the otherwise quiet room.

“You flatter me, Your Highness, but thank you,” he says before taking a sip of his wine. “I confess—I was surprised by your invitation.”

“Oh?” asks, raising an eyebrow. Idly, she traces a finger down the length of her neck while meeting his gaze—a trick she learned from a Bessemian courtesan who claimed it could lure a man to her from across a crowded ballroom. But if Lord Savelle takes any notice of the curve of her neck or the flirtatious look in her eyes, he gives no sign of it.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sure you haven’t had the opportunity to notice yet, but I’m not very popular here at court.”

“I can’t imagine why,” says with another bright smile. “I see nothing about you that I don’t like, Lord Savelle.”

“Again, you are too kind, Your Highness—”

“Oh, you must call me ,” she says, reaching across the table to place a hand on his arm. Lord Savelle doesn’t jerk away from her, but he doesn’t lean into the touch, either.

“Very well, ,” he says, looking only slightly nonplussed. “But as I was saying, people have long memories. There are many here who haven’t forgotten their…troubles with Temarin, who still see me as the enemy.”

“That’s silly,” says, retrieving her hand and masking her mounting frustration by taking another sip of wine. “The war has been over longer than I’ve been alive—surely no one holds a grudge that long.”

“You are very young, Your—, I mean,” he says, shaking his head. He looks at her again, and this time it’s plain that there is no attraction in his gaze. is beginning to suspect that she could walk through the room stark naked and he would barely blink. The knowledge grates on her. This is what she was raised for—her beauty is supposed to be her best asset—and yet it has done her no good. “You remind me of someone, actually,” he says, tilting his head to one side slightly as he watches her. “My daughter.”

“Oh?” asks, frowning as she sifts through everything she knows about Lord Savelle. “I didn’t know you had any children.”

“No, why would you?” he asks, shaking his head, and wants to kick herself. “She was born about two years after I came here—her mother was my…” He trails off, looking at her warily. “She was my mistress,” he says after a second. “I’m not terribly proud of how she came into the world, but I did give her my last name and all the privileges I could. She was raised in my household, given the same lessons any noble child had—truthfully, I spoiled her rotten. Fidelia was her name.”

“Was?” echoes, her stomach twisting. “What happened to her?”

At that, Lord Savelle lets out a sigh. “Nearly two years ago, she was brought before the king, just as you were. I believe in the deepest part of my soul that she was as innocent as you are, , but she…lacked your charm, I suppose. King Cesare didn’t believe her.”

“Oh,” says. “That’s why you came after me, to make sure I was all right.”

Lord Savelle nods. “I thought he would kill me, too,” he admits. “That is usually the way of the king’s trials. But I suppose he didn’t want to risk angering Temarin.”

bites her bottom lip, suddenly feeling like the worst sort of fool, showing up in a revealing gown with her coquettish tricks.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “I can’t begin to imagine what that must have been like. I’m not sure how you stayed—surely King Leopold would find a replacement for you, if you asked.”

“I’m sure he would,” Lord Savelle says, smiling slightly. “But as difficult as it is to be here sometimes, the idea of living somewhere she never did is…unfathomable to me.”

nods. “I suppose I understand that,” she says. “Well, I am honored that you think I’m like her in any way. I will endeavor to earn that comparison, Lord Savelle.”

When he offers her another small smile, suddenly realizes how out of her depth she is. She knows how to play the part of the flirt, has been prepared to take that charade as far as necessary to meet her mother’s aims. But this? Lord Savelle sees her the way a father sees a daughter, and that is a relationship she has no idea how to navigate.

—

Dinner doesn’t last more than an hour, so when comes back to the room she shares with Pasquale, she brings him a few pieces of warm bread on a plate. One of the servants offered to take it to him, but insisted on doing it herself. Guilt over poisoning him—even if only slightly—still nags at her, and even though she knows the bread is a small thing, it’s as much of an apology as she can muster.

When she steps into the bedroom, though, Pasquale isn’t alone. Ambrose sits on the bottom corner of the bed, a book open in his lap, though he isn’t paying attention to it. Instead, he and Pasquale are both laughing. realizes she’s never heard Pasquale laugh, really laugh, before. It’s a nice sound.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says from the doorway.

Ambrose all but jumps off the bed, clutching the book in his hands tightly, while Pasquale sits up straighter, his cheeks turning bright red.

“Triz,” Pasquale says, running a hand through his hair. He looks better, she notes, the green tint gone from his skin. “Sorry, you startled me…startled us…. Have you met Ambrose?”

Ambrose doesn’t look at her as he takes a step in her direction, bowing low. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

“Oh, please,” says. “Call me Triz. I’ve heard so much about you from Pasquale, I feel I know you already.”

Pasquale fixes her with a glare, but Ambrose only smiles uncertainly. “I came by because the library got a new shipment of books in from Friv and I wanted to bring one to Pas, but when he said he wasn’t feeling well, I offered to read it to him.”

“Oh?” asks, crossing toward her vanity and unhooking her earbobs, then her necklace. “What book is it?”

“A volume of ghost stories collected from the highlands,” Ambrose says. “What with the Clan Wars, apparently almost every square inch of Friv is a former battlefield of some kind.”

“’s sister is in Friv,” Pasquale adds, looking from one to the other of them with wary eyes. What does he think she’s going to do, wonders, tell Ambrose that Pasquale has feelings for him? Even if she did, it’s clear to her after only minutes that those feelings aren’t as unrequited as Pasquale believes. “Daphne, right?”

“Right,” says, turning back toward them. “Though, between us, I think Daphne’s an awful lot scarier than any ghost.”

They laugh like she’s joking, though isn’t entirely certain she is. The thought sends a pang of longing through her—prickly as Daphne might be, misses her terribly.

When his laughter subsides, Ambrose glances down at the book in his hands. “Well, I just wanted to leave this. It’s getting late, so I should be going. Triz, it was a pleasure to meet you, finally. Pas, I hope you feel better.”

“Oh, I will,” Pasquale says. “If only so I can beat you in our chess match tomorrow afternoon.”

Ambrose smiles. “Until then,” he says, and departs.

When the door closes behind him, collapses on the bed beside Pasquale, still dressed in her evening gown. “I can see why you like him,” she says, glancing at Pasquale, who groans and throws an arm over his crimson face.

“Stop it,” he tells her.

smiles despite herself. For an instant, it almost feels normal—the way she felt with her sisters when they would pile together in one bed at the end of a long night of dancing, drinking, and flirting with boys they knew they could never do more than flirt with. Maybe kiss. Still, they gossiped about them, the ones they liked, the ones they thought liked them.

But it’s not normal, she reminds herself. If it were, she would tell Pasquale that she’s almost positive Ambrose is in love with him, too. But that knowledge won’t do anyone any good—if anything, she tells herself, keeping that secret is the best thing she can do for Pasquale.

She rolls over on her side, propping her head up on her elbow.

“One day,” she tells him, “we’ll live in a better world.”

It’s the truth, she realizes. When her mother seizes Cellaria, the people will be ruled by Bessemian laws. Pasquale will be stripped of his titles, but she can’t imagine he’d be much of a threat to her mother’s reign. He might not even need to be exiled. There will be nothing to stop him from being with whomever he wants then.

“One day, we’ll make one,” Pasquale adds softly.

’s chest clenches so hard she thinks her heart actually hurts. She forces a smile before rolling away from him.