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

Beatriz

The morning drags by with and Pasquale locked in their rooms. Meals are delivered every few hours; maids tidy up the rooms and empty the chamber pots; a servant boy comes to tend a fire in the fireplace. They are still treated with respect and dignity, still given every luxury available. There is no sign at all that they are under arrest except, of course, the fact that they aren’t allowed to leave.

Just as they are preparing for lunch, there is a rap at the main door. They exchange looks across the room, him lounging on the freshly made bed with a book in hand, her at the desk, composing a letter to Sophronia she doubts will ever make its way out of the castle.

Before either of them can answer, the door swings open and Gisella slips in, crossing through the sitting room and through the open door to their bedroom, wearing a gown finer than any has seen her in before—a day dress of pale blue silk, with a bodice embroidered with hundreds of seed pearls and dramatically voluminous sleeves that end above her elbows. Her pale blond hair is curled and coiled away from her face in an elaborate updo topped by a tiara of gold and sapphires that looks strangely familiar to .

“Is that…are you wearing one of my tiaras, Gigi?” she asks, trying to keep her voice calm as she regards her former friend with a cold gaze.

Gisella ignores the acid in her voice, instead flashing a blinding smile. “Technically, it was never your tiara. It belongs to Cellaria and the royal family, of which the two of you are no longer a part.”

“Good riddance to that,” Pasquale says under his breath.

“Careful, Pas,” Gisella says. “Your father may be dead, but you won’t be doing yourself any favors by speaking ill of him.”

“I doubt you’re here to dole out wisdom, Gisella,” says. “Did you come to beg forgiveness like your brother did? I can’t imagine you intend to propose marriage to me as well?”

Gisella’s eyebrows arch. “Did he really?” she asks, sounding more tired than surprised. “I’m not sure who was the bigger fool—him for offering or you for refusing.”

“In my view, the biggest fool is you,” says, leaning back in her chair, her eyes darting up to the tiara again. “Do you think you’re a princess now? That after all your scheming and betrayals, you are somehow safe? Above reproach? Untouchable? You aren’t, you know. All you are is alone.”

The words are daggers, and can’t help but feel like her mother’s daughter for wielding them so expertly, for finding Gisella’s insecurities and hitting them, for reveling in the look of naked fear that flickers over the girl’s face.

“I’m not alone,” Gisella says, lifting her chin. “I have Nico, and we have power. There is no one to control our destinies anymore, no one who will force me to marry an ancient stranger or push him to grovel before an ungrateful king.”

Remembering how Nicolo looked last night, how quick he was to blame his sister, wonders if Gisella really has him at all.

“At what cost?” Pasquale asks quietly.

Gisella shakes her head. “Do you think I celebrate bringing you low?” she asks. “I don’t. But I won’t apologize for seizing the only opportunity I was likely to get to climb.”

wants to launch out of her chair and slap Gisella across the face, she wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything. But such an action would make her feel better only for a moment. In the long run, it would make their situation worse. So she grips the arms of her chair and fixes Gisella with a cool look.

“You were kind enough to offer us advice, so allow me to return the favor,” she says, each word sharp enough to cut through stone. “You think you are safe because you have power? You’ll never be safe, Gigi, no matter how many tiaras you wear, how close you are to the throne. Power is an illusion, and the more of it people think you have, the more determined they will be to tear you down. You should know that better than anyone, having been on the other side. How long do you think it will be before another you arrives with schemes and plots? You’ve climbed far, but that only means the fall will kill you.”

“You’re wrong,” Gisella says. “Nico is king now. Who would go against him?”

laughs, but the sound is cruel. “Who wouldn’t?” she asks. “And you seem to forget that you are not king. You are not even a princess. You are the king’s sister and you have no power at all. Nico already resents you for your scheming—”

“I made him king!”

“—how long will it be before he turns on you as well? Before you are entirely alone?”

Gisella fixes with a glare strong enough to bend steel, but holds her gaze, matching her hate for hate.

“I wish you all the happiness you deserve, Gigi,” says with a cold smile. “I think you can show yourself out.”

Gisella holds her ground, eyes locked on and jaw clenched. “I didn’t come to fight with you. I came to let you know that the two of you will be leaving the palace in an hour, heading to the Fraternia and Sororia of the Alder Mountains.”

“I’d rather die than become a Sister,” tells her.

Gisella lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m sure that could be arranged,” she says. “But I believe the words you’re looking for are thank you. ”

laughs. “Oh, I know I would rather die than say that.”

“Thank you, Gisella,” Pasquale says a beat later, his expression unreadable. “And pass our thanks along to the king, would you?”

Gisella looks at Pasquale, confusion etched into her expression, but nods. “Of course.”

She turns to go, but gets to her feet.

“Wait, there is one more thing—I have a letter I’d like sent to my mother.”

Gisella turns and raises a single eyebrow. “You think I’ll help you plunge us into another war?” she asks.

fetches the coded letter she wrote her mother and presses it into Gigi’s hand. “Go on, read it yourself.”

Gisella frowns, scanning the short letter and letting out a laugh. “You expect me to believe this? That you are asking your mother not to help you?”

“I don’t need my mother’s help,” says, lifting her chin. “And I wouldn’t accept it if she offered. I’m trying to do you a favor—you think Nico’s reign can survive war? Two wars if he can’t settle things with Temarin? His own people would eat him alive under the slightest threat of that.”

Gigi’s mouth purses. “And why should I believe you?” sheasks.

“You shouldn’t,” says. “But it’s the truth. I don’t want her help.”

Gisella doesn’t look like she believes ’s bluff, but she pockets the letter anyway and sweeps out of the room without a backward glance.

When she’s gone, turns to Pasquale. “I can’t believe you thanked her. What was that about?” she asks him, derision dripping from her voice.

Pasquale shrugs. “The same thing I’d wager was behind your letter,” he says. “Let them believe we’re defeated, . Let them think we aren’t a threat. They haven’t seen the last of us, and soon enough, they’ll wish they’d killed us when they had a chance.”

—

The sun is high in the sky when and Pasquale are finally escorted from their room, through surprisingly quiet palace hallways, and out into the open air. Nicolo was likely hoping to avoid a scene, but can see the shadows of people watching from the palace windows, faces pressed up against the glass, hungry for the slightest glimpse of their discomfort or the smallest tidbit of salacious gossip.

She refuses to give it to them. She keeps her head lifted high and her arm linked tightly with Pasquale’s.

“Chin up,” she tells him under her breath. “We have an audience. Smile, like this is exactly what we want. Let them wonder what we know that they don’t.”

Pasquale follows her direction immediately, going a step further by laughing loudly, like she said something funny.

The guards beside them exchange puzzled looks, but only smiles at them and winks at one in particular, whose face flushes crimson. Ahead is a carriage—not the ornate and gilded beast of a thing arrived in, but a small one, all black and several years old, pulled by a pair of mismatched horses that look past their prime.

One of the guards opens the carriage door and the other offers a hand to to help her inside, but she ignores it, lifting her skirt so that she can step up into the carriage on her own, followed seconds later by Pasquale.

The guard shuts the door with a slam that echoes in the small, dark space, before both guards climb onto the seat at the front of the carriage. Then, with no warning at all, there’s a violent lurch and they are off.

slumps back against the worn upholstered seat, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she sees Pasquale sitting across from her, leaning as close as he can to the window, watching the palace growing smaller and smaller.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment.

He doesn’t look at her, but his brow furrows. “What do you have to be sorry about?” he asks.

“It was my idea to free Lord Savelle, and I can’t regret that, but I regret trusting Nico and Gigi.”

“I trusted Ambrose,” he points out.

“Yes, but he didn’t betray us,” she says.

“But he could have,” he says, finally looking at her. “Trusting them was a chance, but it was one we took together. I can’t regret that without regretting him.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and she reaches toward him, taking one of his hands in both of hers. “He got out safely,” she says, her voice low. “For all we know, he’s in Temarin now. If he can get to Sophie, she’ll protect him, at least until his parents can reach him.”

Pasquale nods, but the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. He looks out the window again.

“It’s a strange idea, isn’t it?” he muses. “To be in trouble and seek help from your parents? Neither of us did that.”

“I sent a letter to my mother,” she reminds him. “And you couldn’t very well run to your father—he was on his deathbed.”

He shakes his head. “I mean before that. From the very beginning, from before the beginning. I could have told my father I didn’t want to marry you and why. After you found out how I felt, you could have written to your mother about annulling the marriage.”

lets out a long breath. “I don’t think either of us would have found much help,” she says.

He laughs, but there is no mirth in it. “Exactly. But if Ambrose had been in that position, he’d have told them, and they would have done whatever they could to help him, to protect him, no matter the cost. I keep thinking about that, how ridiculous it sounds, but it’s the truth. They would do anything to secure his happiness.”

doesn’t say anything for a moment— can’t say anything. Her throat feels so tight she can scarcely breathe.

“You had your mother, though,” she points out finally. “At least for a while, you had your mother.”

He shakes his head, his mouth twisting. “I love my mother, Triz, and I know she loved me, but of the two of us, I was her protector, not the other way around. And in the end, she didn’t protect me—she couldn’t. She wanted to, but that desire didn’t outweigh her fear of my father. I know it isn’t fair, but sometimes I’m angry at her.”

bites her lip. “Sometimes I’m angry at my father,” she admits. “And all he did was die.”

Pasquale nods slowly. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m jealous of Ambrose, that he has someone in his life to love him so unconditionally, people who would lay down their lives for him. I never had that. I know you have your sisters—”

“It isn’t the same,” she says, shaking her head and remembering her last conversation with Daphne. “I protected them, but they never did the same for me. They couldn’t. Maybe I’m angry at them for that, too,” she admits softly, hating herself for saying the words, hating that they taste like truth.

But as terrible as she feels saying them, there is no judgment in Pasquale’s eyes.

“No matter what happens, Triz, I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”

holds his gaze and smiles, a small, tight-lipped smile. “And I’ll protect you,” she tells him. “No matter what.”