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

Beatriz

finds Gisella in a compromising position—her back pressed against the wall of a dimly lit corridor, her arms snaked around the neck of a handsome boy vaguely recognizes as the son of an earl.

When Gisella hears her clear her throat, she tears her mouth away from the boy’s and blinks at as if coming out of a daze. She doesn’t appear at all embarrassed by the circumstances, instead offering a bright smile, her red lip paint smeared.

immediately likes her even more.

You don’t need to like her, her mother’s voice whispers through her mind, but ignores it, just as she always tries to ignore her mother’s voice, with mixed results.

“Your Highness,” Gisella says, shoving the boy’s shoulder away and dipping into a brief curtsy.

She might not be embarrassed, but the boy is, his face turning as red as Gisella’s lips as he hastily falls into a deep bow.

“Lady Gisella,” says, trying to stifle a smirk. “Might I have a word?”

The boy bows again, stammering out an apology doesn’t pay attention to. Gisella links her arm through hers and throws the boy a brilliant smile.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Lord Elio,” she says before following down the hall.

“Your lip paint,” tells her.

“Oh,” she says, pulling a silver compact mirror from the pocket of her gown and opening it, examining her reflection and running a finger around the line of her lips, cleaning up the red smears. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, it seemed to be going well,” says. “Pas said you were looking for a husband—it looks like you found a handsome one.”

“Yes, well, if I don’t find one soon, my father will pick one for me, and I certainly don’t want that,” Gisella tells her, rolling her eyes. “Elio is wealthy enough to appease my father but young and handsome enough that it doesn’t seem like a total chore. Besides, he’s so frightened of me I doubt he would deny me my freedom. I could do a lot worse.”

It occurs to that Gisella could do a lot better than a boy who’s terrified of her, but she can’t deny there is some logic there. And she can’t even bring herself to pity the other girl her choices—she still has more than does.

“I wanted to thank you,” she tells Gisella. “For sending Lord Savelle my way. I was finally able to make his acquaintance and learn news of my sister.”

And, she doesn’t add, now that she’s made his acquaintance it has become easy to maintain it. She has taken to joining him on his morning walks in the sea garden. The first couple of mornings, it was difficult to force herself out of bed, but she quickly began to look forward to the walks. They don’t talk often, but the silence is comfortable and the conversations they do share are refreshing to after all the false friendliness of the Cellarian courtiers. He’s told her, quite honestly, about his early years in Cellaria, the adjustments he had to make, the resentment he’s felt. He’s told her about Temarin, a land she knows she might one day see, though it will look quite different under her mother’s rule by then. He’s told her about his daughter, too—little things, like her favorite color and how she had a terrible singing voice but he misses the sound of it. He’s shared himself so freely that can tell he’s been lonely, but she belatedly realizes she enjoys their morning strolls so much because she’s lonely too.

“Oh?” Gisella asks. “How is the little heretic?” must give her an alarmed look, because Gisella laughs. “That is what you called her, isn’t it? Both of them, even.”

“Yes, of course,” says, laughing as well. “She’s well. Madly in love with her new husband, apparently.”

“Don’t sound so jealous. You and Pasquale seem to be getting along well,” Gisella points out before pausing. “He can be a difficult person to know—the court has said some…unkind things—but I do think you’re good for him. He needs a little boldness.”

“Thank you,” says, though she isn’t entirely certain any of that was a compliment. “What…what has the court been saying?”

Gisella gives her an embarrassed smile. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s nothing, really. Everyone gets so bored here when winter starts to close in, they have to amuse themselves somehow, I suppose.”

“What, exactly, Gisella?” asks again. Gisella’s eyes go wide and gives her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not angry, certainly not at you. But I’d like to know what lies I have to combat—I’m sure you’d want the same in my position.”

Gisella purses her lips, considering it. “I’m sure I would,” she admits after a second. “It’s really nothing, Your Highness. Pasquale is just…so quiet. Most people don’t know the first thing about him—when a mystery is that large, speculation is bound to arise.”

“What sort of speculation?” asks, trying to smother her rising panic over what exactly they could be speculating about and how close it might hit to the truth.

Gisella bites her lip. “People are wondering if he’s as mad as his mother was,” she says quietly. When doesn’t speak, she hurries on. “It’s easy enough to fix, really. Bring him with you the next time you visit the sea garden, make sure he doesn’t hide in the corner at the next banquet. I love my cousin,” she says. “And I’m sure everyone else would come to love him too, if only they knew him.”

nods slowly. It doesn’t matter, really, whether anyone likes Pasquale. In a couple of months, if everything goes to plan, he won’t be the crown prince anymore. These rumors will be insignificant. It will be better, even, for Pasquale if he doesn’t have support, if ’s mother doesn’t see him as a threat. But still, it is such an easy thing. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Ladies!” A voice booms behind them, and Gisella briefly closes her eyes and gives a sharp inhale, her grip on ’s arm tightening. But then her expression clears and she pastes a broad smile on her face. manages to do the same as they turn toward the voice.

King Cesare strides toward them, a gaggle of courtiers around him, all dressed in an array of vibrant silks and jewels. barely makes out Nicolo trailing behind them, carrying the king’s wine goblet, but when he sees them, his eyebrows arch. He and Gisella seem to have a silent conversation—a realization that sends a pang of sadness through . She remembers doing the same thing with her sisters.

“Lady Gisella,” the king says. “Princess . You both look especially beautiful today, don’t they?” he says, glancing around at his entourage, who are all quick to nod and agree with him.

feels his gaze trace over her body, lingering on her breasts. Her gown isn’t particularly revealing—it might even be one of her more demure dresses—but suddenly she feels naked. It takes all her self-control not to cross her arms over her chest.

“Your Majesty,” Gisella says, dropping into a sweeping curtsy, with half a heartbeat behind her. “It’s a fine day today, isn’t it? I was just saying to Princess that we should take in the air at the sea garden. She said she had a bit of a headache—isn’t that right, Princess?”

hasn’t the slightest idea what she’s talking about, but she decides to play along. “I do,” she tells the king with a sheepish smile. “The air here in Cellaria is so much fresher than in Bessemia, but I believe I’m still adjusting to the change in altitudes.”

“Oh, no need for that,” King Cesare says, waving her words away. “You know what always cures a headache? A cup of wine. Nicolo! Give the princess some wine.”

Nicolo looks flustered. “Your Majesty, I only have your goblet and—”

“No arguments!” King Cesare barks.

Just as Nicolo steps forward, his brow furrowed, offers the king a smile. “That is very kind, Your Majesty, though I’m afraid wine seems to have the opposite effect on me,” she says, silently adding like most people.

There are a few gasps from his entourage, and one woman begins fanning herself vigorously with her silk fan. Even Gisella gives another sharp inhale.

“You refuse your king?” King Cesare asks, his voice dropping, all traces of joviality gone.

“No,” says quickly. “No, of course not, Your Majesty. It’s only that I would hate to inconvenience you.”

“Would I have offered if it inconvenienced me?” he asks, his eyes boring into her so deeply that she feels his gaze in her very bones.

has never thought of herself as someone easily intimidated. Stars, she has always been the one of her sisters who is willing to speak up against their mother. Even when the empress was at her strictest, even when she put them through grueling lessons or inflicted her most nightmarish punishments, never truly feared her mother. But there is a small part of her now that fears King Cesare. Her mother is logical if nothing else, and predictable because of it. King Cesare is neither. So accepts the goblet Nicolo offers her and takes a small, closemouthed sip, struggling not to cringe as she does. The knowledge that she’s put her mouth where his mouth has been makes her feel sick, but when she lowers the goblet, she forces a smile.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. You were right—it was very refreshing,” she says, passing the goblet back to Nicolo.

“There, you see? You must remember, Princess , your king is correct in all things. Aren’t I?” he says, and again, his entourage is quick to agree. suspects he could proclaim the sky green and they would fall all over themselves to tell him how brilliant he was. “Come, let us walk.”

Before knows what’s happening, King Cesare has her arm linked in his, his other hand resting atop that arm so that she feels well and truly trapped. She glances behind her to see Gisella looking at her with wide eyes as she falls in with the rest of the king’s entourage, but knows Gisella won’t help her—she can’t even be upset about that. After all, what help can Gisella, or anyone, give her? The king has already come close once to having her executed. She can’t tempt him into it a second time. So she forces herself to keep smiling as King Cesare escorts her down the long hallway.

“Tell me, Princess ,” he says, loudly enough that his entire entourage can hear him. “How are you finding married life? A girl like you is certainly made for it, I’m sure.”

The courtiers erupt into giggles. keeps her eyes trained straight ahead, but she can feel King Cesare’s gaze focused down the front of her dress. Bile rises up in her throat, but she forces it down.

“Oh yes,” she says as pleasantly as she can manage. “Prince Pasquale and I are very happy. I’m so grateful to Your Majesty and my own mother for arranging the marriage. He is truly everything a girl could hope for in a husband—you must be so proud of him.”

hopes that by talking about Pasquale, she will remind him that she is his daughter now and he should stop ogling her breasts, but it seems to have the opposite effect. If anything, his leer intensifies.

“Of course you would think so, having never been with a real man,” King Cesare says, to more laughter from his entourage. never knew she could find the sound of laughter so grating, but it’s beginning to make the headache Gisella made up feel all too real. “Should you be so inclined, we can always remedy that, . I’m sure Pasquale wouldn’t mind.” He slides his hand over her arm, a gesture that seems to leave a trail of slime in its wake. She could take a dozen baths and still feel it on her.

“Oh, I don’t…” She trails off. She’s always been an excellent flirt, better than Daphne or Sophronia, but suddenly she feels like she’s been thrown into some new game she doesn’t understand, one with life-and-death stakes where she has to balance on the thinnest tightrope.

Something bumps into her back, and suddenly she feels liquid soaking through her skirt.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” Nicolo says.

glances behind her to find that he’s spilled wine on her gown, making a deep red stain against the aquamarine silk. She’s so relieved she wants to sob—she’ll have to go back to her rooms to change now. A quick glance at Nicolo tells her that he knows this as well, that he spilled wine on her intentionally.

“You bumbling fool!” King Cesare roars, snatching the goblet off the floor and hurling it at Nicolo’s head. The gilded rim glances off his temple and his hand flies up to cover it, but not before sees the trickle of blood.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Nicolo says, bowing deeply. “Allow me to fetch you a new goblet of wine—and I can escort the princess back to her rooms so she can change into something clean.”

“Yes, do,” the king snaps, letting go of ’s arm. She’s so glad to be rid of his hands on her that she stumbles as she walks toward Nicolo, and he puts a hand on her elbow to steady her. “I’ll see you again soon, Princess,” the king calls after her as she and Nicolo make their way down the hallway, Gisella hurrying behind them.

“Thank you,” says to Nicolo when they round the corner and are out of sight and earshot of King Cesare and his entourage. Gisella has managed to catch up with them and now falls in on ’s other side.

“He’s gotten worse lately,” Gisella says, keeping her voice to a whisper even though they’re the only ones in the hallway. can’t blame her for being paranoid—any word against the king could translate to treason. “He’s always…liked younger women,” she says carefully.

“Children, really,” Nicolo points out. “Lady Emilia’s handmaiden was only fourteen. Still, I’d have thought his son’s wife would be off-limits.”

thought as much as well, even after he groped her on their first meeting. She thought he was all bawdy talk and inappropriate comments. Even after he’d leered at her while inspecting her bedsheets after her wedding—she’d felt uncomfortable, certainly, but never unsafe. She felt unsafe today, despite being surrounded by people who could have spoken up, could have helped her. But only Nicolo had, and paid a high cost for it.

“Let me see your head,” says, stopping in the middle of the hallway and pulling Nicolo to a stop besideher.

“Trust me, it isn’t the first time he’s thrown something at me,” Nicolo says, trying out a laugh that rings false.

“His temper’s been getting worse as well,” Gisella says, peering over ’s shoulder as she eyes the wound on Nicolo’s temple. It’s a shallow cut, and it should heal with only a bandage. In Bessemia, an injury like that wouldn’t even warrant the use of stardust to heal it.

“I’m sure we can find bandages in my chambers,” tells him, tearing one of several ruffles off the sleeve of her gown. She presses it to the wound, then brings his hand up to hold it in place. “Keep that on it until we get there, unless you want to stain your shirt.”

“Instead of just ruin your gown?” he asks, though he does as she says.

snorts. “Please. If my maids can remove a wine stain, they can mend a sleeve,” she says before hesitating. “You keep saying he’s getting worse,” she says. “What do you mean?”

Nicolo and Gisella exchange another look, have another wordless conversation, though this one can surmise the gist of well enough.

“If you think I would betray your confidence—” she begins.

“It isn’t that,” Gisella says, shaking her head. “But it’s a difficult question to answer. He’s always been…temperamental.”

nods—that much she knew. Reports of King Cesare’s volatile moods were common when she was in Bessemia; she expected them. But they’re worse than she’d thought. It almost seems as though King Cesare has no inhibitions whatsoever—perhaps unsurprising given that he always seems to have a goblet of wine nearby. When says as much to Nicolo and Gigi, they exchange another look.

“I may have started diluting his wine, along with the other cupbearers,” Nicolo admits. “We started off a little at a time so he wouldn’t notice, but by now his wine is roughly half grape juice.”

“When did you start diluting the wine?” asks, frowning.

Nicolo shrugs. “It must have been about six months ago? I suppose his behavior started becoming more erratic just before then.”

Which would have been in the spring. thinks back to the reports her mother received from her Cellarian spies around then—she remembers the usual scandals, affairs with younger women, a temper tantrum or two. She remembers a story about King Cesare stripping off his shirt in the middle of his birthday banquet because he proclaimed the room too hot. From someone else it would have been alarming behavior, but from King Cesare, it was more of the same.

But it’s possible some of the king’s behavior went unreported, tells herself, before another thought occurs to her. It’s also possible that her mother didn’t share those reports with her. It’s a ridiculous thought— might have plenty of her own reservations about her mother, but keeping that information from wouldn’t help either of them. Yet her mother also hadn’t told her about Lord Savelle’s daughter, even though the information would have helped her. It’s possible her mother didn’t know about that, either, though it’s doubtful. The empress is playing her own game, knows this better than her sisters, and there must be a reason for it.

They come to a stop outside the door to her chambers. “Come in, I’ll look at your wound.”

Nicolo nods before glancing down at the empty goblet he carries. Gisella follows his gaze.

“I’ll go down to the kitchens to refill it,” she says, taking the goblet from him. “We don’t want to risk the king’s temper if you dawdle.”

—

leads Nicolo into the small parlor off the entrance to her rooms, where she finds a maid cleaning the fireplace. The maid stands up when they enter and drops to a curtsy.

“Daniella,” says. “Lord Nicolo tripped up the stairs and cut his face. Will you send for a physician?”

Daniella’s eyes dart to Nicolo, to the cut he’s covering with the scrap of lace. “Of course, Your Highness,” she says, bobbing another quick curtsy before hurrying out the door.

Nicolo fixes with a glare. “I don’t need a physician,” he grumbles. “And if I’m not back with more wine soon, the king will have my head.”

isn’t entirely sure that’s an exaggeration. “I know,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But how else was I supposed to explain bringing a boy, alone, back to my rooms when my husband is not home, if not by a medical emergency?” she asks.

Nicolo clears his throat, glancing away from her. “Fair enough, but I can’t stay and wait for a physician,” he says.

“I know, ” she says again, gesturing to a high-backed chair next to the fire. “Sit there, I’ll be right back.”

He follows her direction and she slips from the parlor into the bedroom, returning a moment later with a clean strip of linen torn from one of Pasquale’s nightshirts, a bowl of water, and a clean washcloth. She feels Nicolo’s eyes on her as she approaches him, wary but curious.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks her. When she glares at him, he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m only saying, I wouldn’t expect a princess to know how to treat a wound. Besides, back in Bessemia, don’t you have vials of stardust lying around, ready to heal every splinter and scratch?”

gives a snort as she dips the washcloth into the water and brings it up to the gash on Nicolo’s temple. “I never used stardust, remember?”

“Ah yes, because you were horrified by Bessemia’s sacrilegious ways,” he says, amusement coloring his voice.

“Besides,” she interrupts. “I know how to clean a wound because my sister Sophronia can be clumsy and our mother would always give her the worst lectures whenever she hurt herself. It was easier for me to take care of things.”

It’s a half-truth—the wounds were usually caused during their training. Sophronia was hopeless with a dagger and stabbed herself a handful of times while practicing. But the empress’s ire was real enough, though it would often go further than lectures. Once, when Sophronia dropped her dagger mid–sparring match, the empress made her stand out in the snow barefoot for half an hour.

“Sophronia’s the one in Temarin?” Nicolo asks.

nods. “It’s a funny thing, with the three of us. I love my sisters equally, but I think I like Sophronia more. Daphne is so much like our mother, in good ways and bad. But Sophronia’s softer. She has always needed me.”

He nods slowly, meeting her gaze. “It’s always easier to love people who need us than people we need, I think. Being needed makes one powerful. Needing, though, makes one vulnerable.”

considers this as she dabs at his wound with the cloth, making sure to clean it thoroughly. “I suppose I see some truth to that,” she says before pausing. “Thank you, for helping me get away from him.”

She doesn’t have to specify which him she means. Nicolo’s frown deepens.

“You should try to avoid him if you aren’t with Pasquale,” he says.

has to laugh. “I’m his daughter now,” she says, though she still feels King Cesare’s hand on her arm, feels his gaze burning a hole in her gown, as if he were looking right through it. “He might say some things, but he would never go further, surely.”

“He has a tendency to fixate on girls,” Nicolo says, dropping his voice. “And when he does, he becomes…single-minded in the pursuit. He took a liking to Lord Enzo’s daughter a few months back—Lord Enzo sent her to a Sisterhood in the mountains to keep her away from him. A few days later, the king had her back at court. A few days after that, she was in his bed.”

’s stomach plummets. “Willingly?” she asks.

Nicolo fixes her with a level look. “You’ve seen what he does to those who refuse him,” he says. “I think it depends on your definition of willing. ”

swallows. “I appreciate the warning,” she says, feeling nauseated, though she isn’t quite sure why. She’s been raised for this, hasn’t she? Brought up to be aware of how men view her, how to use their interest in her against them. Trained to flirt with and seduce powerful men to serve her purposes.

Pasquale doesn’t want her. Neither does Lord Savelle. What does it matter if King Cesare does? She knows that if she wrote to her mother about his attentions, the empress would tell her to encourage them, to use them to sow more chaos in the Cellarian court. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? To use his attraction to her to make him look even more unstable, to be able to whisper in his ear and drive him to war with Temarin when the time comes?

Yes, she knows exactly what her mother would tell her to do, if she were here. But she isn’t, and knows that this is a line she cannot cross, a part of herself she cannot give up.

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” Nicolo says softly.

“You didn’t,” she says, forcing a smile. “I can handle myself, I promise.”

“I believe that,” he says slowly, looking up at her.

lowers the washcloth, his gaze catching hers and holding it.

There, she thinks. That is the way she hoped Pasquale would look at her—it’s the way she expected Lord Savelle to look at her. It isn’t, however, the way King Cesare looks at her. Nicolo doesn’t look at her like she’s a thing to possess, but rather simply like she’s a girl he desires. It occurs to then that there is nothing simple about it.

She quickly covers his wound with the dry cloth, applying pressure to it and trying to ignore the fluttering in her belly.

Shameless, Daphne’s voice whispers through her mind, though she tries to ignore it. Inconvenient as it is, she has to admit that the feeling is a pleasant one. She isn’t foolish enough to act on it, but she can appreciate it at least. Doesn’t she deserve that?

The door to the parlor opens and Gisella comes in, holding a fresh goblet of wine. Her eyes dart from to Nicolo for a moment, though if she’s alarmed at their closeness, she doesn’t show it.

“Here, keep pressure on it,” tells him, bringing his left hand up to cover the cloth. “The bleeding isn’t too bad—give it a few minutes and I’m sure it’ll stop.”

Nicolo clears his throat. “Yes, thank you,” he says, getting back to his feet. “And thanks, Gigi,” he adds hastily, grabbing the goblet of wine from her and hurrying out the door.

When he’s gone, Gisella looks at with raised eyebrows. “What did you do to him, threaten to set him on fire?” she asks. “I’ve never seen him move that fast before.”

“I think it’s the threat of the king’s temper,” points out, though she isn’t convinced.

Gisella rolls her eyes. “He’s been the king’s cupbearer for almost a full year now—here’s hoping not for much longer. The one he replaced now sits on the king’s council, you know.”

“It seems a dangerous ladder to try to climb,” says.

Gisella shrugs. “Perhaps, but that’s what makes it so fun,” she says with a grin. “Oh! Before I forget—I intercepted a messenger on my way here. There was a letter for you.”

Gisella reaches into the pocket of her gown and pulls out a cream envelope, sealed with yellow wax dotted with violet.

’s stomach sours even as she reaches out to take it. The letter is from her mother.