19. Hevva goes to a birthday party.
nineteen
Hevva goes to a birthday party.
O n the day of the prince’s birthday masquerade, Hevva tried to convince Aylin to let her lie abed again. But the maid wasn’t having it.
Then, since Hevva was the employer and Aylin the employee, the countess forced her superiority. It was a decent success; she obtained permission to stay in bed until well past luncheon. Hevva had eaten of course, beneath the covers, in naught but her chemise. Eventually, she’d dragged herself from under the plush down duvet. The countess hiked to the washroom, where she’d half considered drowning herself in the tub. But she didn’t have the energy.
“You look captivating, my lady.” Aylin grinned as she fastened the ribbons of Hevva’s domino and tucked the loose ends in amongst the silvery waves of her hair.
With the final touch on the outfit complete, she was spun from where she’d been staring dolefully at the bed to face the mirror.
“Yes?” Aylin prodded her, fishing for a compliment.
Hevva eyed herself warily, not feeling much like attending a ball, though her dread was lessened by the prospect of hiding behind a mask all night. She would just have to duck out before the disguises were removed for supper at midnight. “Yes. You have done an astonishing job, as usual Aylin.” She forced her mouth to smile for the maid, the domino hiding the fact that the display didn’t reach her eyes.
She did look wonderful, that wasn’t a lie. Her gown was pure white, but in no way plain—one of the new ones her mother had insisted she purchase. The contrasting textures of its flowing silk and puffing organza were tied together by artfully arranged shimmering pearls and sparkling diamonds from her mines. The blinding effect of the dress was softened by the hundreds of snowy feathers covering Hevva’s skirts. They fluffed out like a cloud when she twirled. She hadn’t done that yet while at Kirce, but would be sure to, regardless of how horrid and hollow she felt inside.
The balm that Aylin had applied to Hevva’s lips shimmered pearlescent, and she found herself angling her head up and down in the mirror, observing the way the gloss sparkled in the candlelight. As always, her maid had made the perfect choice. The makeup matched the twinkling pearls, diamonds, and enhancing feathers of her mask—which in turn matched her dress—to perfection.
She couldn’t help the tiny flickering question that sparked in her mind. What will Ehmet have to say?
That small ember of excitement was promptly doused by a rushing wave of nausea that roiled her belly. Hevva drew back her shoulders, steadied her chin, steeled herself, and went down to face the crush.
The masquerade was the midpoint of the house party, a grand ball in honor of the Prince of Selwas and Duke of Serkath, the disreputable Nekash Hethtar. Kirce’s expansive ballroom was even more packed than it had been during that first night. The masquerade had at least an additional fifty or so guests in attendance. Ridiculous. She rolled her eyes behind her mask, grateful for the obscuring accessory.
Yes, she’d made it to the event, but that didn’t mean Lady Hevva had any interest in taking part in the dancing. Skirting the sidelines, she helped herself to a flute of champagne as she wound around the room. She greeted the Baron of Napivol and the Duke of Rohapavol, then stepped between the two of them to carry on her way. Though masked in simple black dominos, both men were recognizable due to their unmistakable rotund belly and insubstantial height, respectively.
Prince Nekash was also easily identified in his blood red velvet jacket and buff breeches. He’d donned a mask that matched his tailcoat, accented with scarlet feathers that flowed away from his face. They reminded her of flames. He’d spotted Hevva as well, and from the avaricious look he tossed her way, he liked what he saw.
She shivered.
The birthday lecher was speaking with Sir Peros, the brother of the Countess of Midlake. Hevva hoped to pass by with little more than a polite nod, but Nekash quite rudely ended his conversation with the man mid-sentence and fell into step beside her.
“Later then, Sir!” the prince called out an odd sort of apology to the startled knight.
Hevva drained her champagne and traded her glass for a new one. She had no desire to repeat her experience at the first ball of the house party, but she also knew she didn’t want to deal with Nekash stone sober. He wasn’t all that delightful to be around.
“You don’t feel like dancing?” The prince tilted his head toward the busy floor. “I haven’t seen you out there during this set.”
“Not this evening, no. If you’ll excuse me.” Hevva veered right, away from the crowd and toward the rear balcony.
“Walk with me.” Nekash ignored her attempt at a departure and instead offered his arm.
Hevva turned to decline, politely of course, when she spied Ehmet by the north wall. The king approached a woman, Miss Tarcadu, kissed her hand, and then moved to escort her onto the dance floor.
Hevva accepted Nekash’s escort. “Let’s go outside.”
“That sounds charming.” He steered them toward the open doorway, pausing only twice to accept birthday wishes. Then they were out of the stifling, bright room, and into the cooler evening air.
“Look at us.” With his free hand he tweaked a feather on his mask, and then one on hers. “Two little birds out for a nighttime flight of fancy.”
She chuckled darkly.
The prince escorted her down the length of the long balcony before they turned back toward the ballroom. But by that time the first set had ended, and the balcony was full of carousing revelers hoping to catch a breath of air before the second began.
“Would you like to return? Or, perhaps, find something more interesting to do?”
She cocked an eyebrow at the prince, even though he couldn’t see it behind her mask. With his pale brown hair and eyes, slim build, and pleasing face, he wasn’t the worst looking man by any means. It was too bad he was so unlikeable. “And what did you have in mind that would be more interesting than your birthday ball?”
Nekash seemed to have dropped his oft lecherous demeanor, and his offer to do “something more interesting” lacked its usual sexual overtures.
“Billiards? Have a drink—something stronger than the blasted champagne—and get away from the crowd.”
She didn’t like the man one bit, but Hevva had to admit the diversion sounded lovely. So, she allowed him to escort her into a darkened breakfast room.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “A little light please?”
He chuckled and called up a flame for their passage through the chamber.
They walked quietly through the palace, weaving from one half-lit corridor to another, and only passing the occasional member of the staff. The night was too young for partygoers to be pairing off and seeking refuge in darkened corners and unused salons. Being that they entered near the northeast corner of Kirce, and the billiards room was in the southwest, it took them some time to meander through the almost peaceful halls.
It would be a better diversion if the man on my arm were a different Hethtar. The thought smacked her on the head and had her stumbling over her slippers. Nekash covered her hand with his own, steadying her.
“Are you well, Lady Hevva?” he inquired.
“Quite, thank you.” But she wasn’t well, not at all. The night with Ehmet in the guest room had gone from euphoria to nightmare in the blink of an eye, and she wasn’t sure she’d fully woken up.
A caustic pit settled in the base of Hevva’s stomach following the king’s casual words about the unimportance of love, and she hadn’t been able to drink or eat or sleep it away in days. Perhaps a game of billiards with the unpleasant prince would at least ease some of the burn in her belly. Perhaps he’d piss her off enough to target her confused ire into something cohesive.
“Come along, little bird,” Nekash drawled when they reached the entrance to the billiards room.
She blinked slowly, rather than roll her eyes at his comment, and stopped beside him.
The prince pushed open the doors, and as they stepped in, someone shrieked. A shuffle of fabric, a whirling body, and Nekash fired up a flame that illuminated King Hethtar standing with his backside against the billiards table. Lady Tahereh Nathari stood between his widened legs, a hand on his broad thigh and another pressed firmly to her own bosom. One of Ehmet’s palms was splayed across the lady’s hip, Hevva saw it there before he abruptly pulled it away.
The pit in her stomach pulsed with fury and she nearly vomited on the carpeted floor.
“Light the bloody candles,” the king boomed.
Nekash must have followed through, as flames flickered to life around her, around all of them. But she was already pushing through the double doors on the far side of the room that she knew led into the salon she’d discovered a few nights before.
“Nice to see you have a type, brother,” Nekash intoned.
Hevva slammed the doors. Just like Gamil. Just like him. Only he’d been in a closet pressing his cousin against an armoire. Unscrupulous, unconscionable aristocrats!
When she was halfway across the salon, the doors creaked open behind her and footsteps followed. The steps were not heavy enough to be the king’s, so she rushed onward, past the hearth, and toward the door she knew led to the library—no one would be studying at this time of night. She needed to get away, to find somewhere suitable to hide and collect herself.
She barreled in, stopping in the middle of the book-filled room. A few stray candles offered meager light in the vast space. Eyes bleary, Hevva slapped her palms against the surface of a table, rattling an unlit candelabra. Common boys don’t do these things, she lied to herself, because it felt better than accepting some men were simply terrible. Through a haze of unshed tears, she replayed those flashing images of Ehmet with his arms around Lady Tahereh of Appven, the way she leaned into him, her bottom pressed against his groin. The way her hand laid upon his leg, and his upon her hip was repulsive. A spat of bile rose up into Hevva’s mouth, and she swallowed it down while frantically blinking back tears.
A warm brightness flashed through the library, and she squeezed her eyes against the abrupt change in the room. Squinting for a moment until she adjusted, Hevva realized what had been done. Each and every candle in the enormous library was lit in tandem, a sweeping and triumphant show of magic that basked the room in a cozy flickering glow. The effect was lovely, though she was too enraged to care.
Turning, she found that Prince Nekash had joined her, which wasn’t a surprise, given the theatrics.
“Countess.” He started forward, nasally voice pitched low.
Are you fucking kidding me?
When he reached her, the prince raised a lanky arm and trailed a flicker of tepid flame from her shoulder to wrist.
Hevva dropped her chin and pursed her lips at him.
The man was rapacious. He brought a second set of flames to tease the slope of her shoulder, languidly trailing them down her other arm. “What do you say, Lady Hevva? You have not yet given me a birthday gift . . .?”
Hevva smirked at the prince and stepped forward with a sway of her hips. Gulping, he eyed her bosom and licked his lips.
Her wind up was quick. Before he knew what was coming, she slapped him crisply across the cheek.
Nekash’s head snapped to the side and his hand flew up to protect himself from further injury. But Hevva was gone, pushing past the overstepping man and back into the small hallway. She set her magic off to thump and rattle the wooden staircase so it would sound as though she were ascending. Then she shoved open the door to the future queen’s office and locked it.
Stumbling across the space, drunk on nothing more than despair, she flung herself out onto a silent balcony. Leaning over the edge, Hevva upturned the contents of her stomach.
After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stepped back into the empty office and crumpled on the floor in a billowing mass of tulle and feathers.
She sobbed.