A Game of Veils (The Royal Spares #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Aurelia

T he carriage has just crested the last low hill before the imperial capital when the spring breeze sours with the stink of rotting flesh.

Our driver exhales sharply and clucks at the horses to pick up the pace. My stomach knots.

The sight beyond the window can only be disturbing, but I need to face everything that lies ahead of me.

As I reach for the curtain, Cici makes a soft noise of protest where she’s sitting on the opposite bench. When I tug at the fabric regardless, she simply closes her eyes.

At first, the narrow view shows only scattered farmhouses amid golden fields beneath the clear blue sky.

Then a post comes into view next to the road.

A corpse dangles, limp feet hovering over the ground, a head with blood-caked hair sagging. What skin I can see is purpled and torn by the beaks and teeth of scavengers .

The largest gouge was clearly made by a sword. Someone carved open this man’s front from throat to groin to let his innards spill out in a gruesome display.

It’s a reminder from Emperor Tarquin of what happens to those he believes threaten his empire.

Whatever the man’s crimes, he wasn’t alone in them. More posts stand in a row with his, each holding a body ripped apart in the same way.

The one beside him wears the remains of a dress. His wife? After her, another in trousers, and finally?—

A form barely half the height of the others, tiny hands with mangled fingers, a crimson-splattered ribbon unraveling from pale hair.

I shut my own eyes then, clenching my hand against the urge to clamp it to my mouth. Willing down the surge of nausea that roils in my gut.

Cici won’t judge me for my horror, but I’ll be surrounded by those who will soon enough.

When I’m sure my arm won’t shake, I tap three fingers to my forehead, heart, and belly in acknowledgment of the nine godlen who watch over us. Those lesser gods are the only divine power we can appeal to.

I finish the gesture of the divinities with a clasp of my hand over my sternum, where my skin beneath the bodice of my dress is branded with the sigil of the one godlen I specifically dedicated myself to.

Elox , I think in a silent prayer, may their souls be at rest and let me bring healing to this place.

Whatever that family did, I can’t accept that a child deserved such brutal punishment.

The godlen of medicine and peace doesn’t respond, but then, I’ve never met anyone the gods have spoken to directly. That isn’t how they work .

A tendril of calm unfurls inside me as if in a gentle caress. My shoulders straighten in response.

I will not be shaken from my purpose.

When I open my eyes, the butchery beyond the window has passed behind us. The putrid stench is fading away.

Cici shoots me a tight smile, her sallow face looking slightly greenish. “His son could be different.”

I allow myself what might be my last fully honest comment before the imperial palace swallows me and my maid up. “Let’s hope so.”

Should a woman be happier than this on her way to her wedding? In some ways, I am pleased.

I’ve spent twenty-one years standing on the sidelines, watching my country suffocate under the empire’s thumb. Knowing it’s my older sister who’ll rule after our parents—as much as anyone in our family rules with the limited authority our conquerors allow us to keep—and that my primary value is in the loyalties my marriage can strengthen. All I could do was wait and find out what man I’d end up tied to.

For the first time, I’m contributing something to our kingdom, to my people. And it’s more than I ever could have dreamed possible.

Somehow my parents arranged a betrothal to the most powerful bachelor in the continent: the heir to the entire empire.

Given Emperor Tarquin’s reputation, agreeing to their proposition must have been an entirely strategic move on his part. He’s tying my distant country more deeply into the empire, enforcing my parents’ and my sister’s loyalty for decades to come.

Gods only know what other factors motivated him to accept the offer. This is a man who thinks stringing up mutilated children is a reasonable law enforcement tactic.

But his son, Marclinus, is a separate person. He isn’t the one enforcing the laws… yet.

I’ll keep an open mind. Find the best in the situation I’ve been presented with.

If the imperial heir will listen to me, I could give every citizen of Accasy a better future.

I fold my hands together on my lap, my thumb sliding over the rippled gold of the ring on my left forefinger. The impression rises up of Mother squeezing my hands when we stood in the castle courtyard just before I left.

You are wanted, she said, and that is a kind of power. Don’t let them strip away who you are. Trust in your gift.

When she hugged me, the tremor that ran through her slim frame contradicted the confidence in her words.

The halt of the carriage tells me we’ve reached one of the gates into Dariu’s massive capital city. When the driver produces his papers with their official seals and announces that he’s escorting Princess Aurelia of Accasy, the guards wave us onward.

One aims a leering glance through the window as the wheels rattle by. I pretend I’m too distracted by the looming buildings to notice.

I’ve heard that over a hundred thousand people reside within Vivencia’s walls. It’s hard to wrap my head around that number when Accasy’s largest city contains less than a third of that number.

Plenty of the citizens are going about their business on the stone-paved streets. They stroll past tenement buildings, duck in and out of shops, and lean on their window ledges to bask in the mid-day sun.

Everyone I see looks contented enough. I suppose as long as their actions don’t clash with the emperor’s plans, he treats the people of his own country benevolently.

Why order them into back-breaking labor or let his soldiers run wild among them when he can exploit those he’s conquered instead?

As we weave between the tall buildings, the breeze dwindles. The spring warmth turns to mugginess within the confines of the carriage.

I swipe at the long brown waves of my hair in an attempt to cool the perspiration beading on my neck. Cici tuts at me and leans over to tidy a few particularly errant strands.

Back home, I’d have had my hair pulled back in clips or braids to keep them out of my way. Why does a country with a significantly hotter climate make a fashion of unmarried women keeping their hair loose?

When I left Accasy, the air still held the crisp freshness that arrives with the spring leaves. I could have walked into the dense woods beyond the castle if I was seeking a deeper cool relief.

The homesickness wells up inside me so abruptly I nearly choke on it.

It’s a long trek north. I can’t imagine my future husband will be all that enthusiastic about regular visits.

A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.

It doesn’t matter. I’m entering this marriage to free my people from the worst of the tyranny, even if I’m not there to see them thrive.

I still have my memories to hold on to, whatever else happens.

Cici peers outside with wide eyes. “The city’s so big . I wonder how far it is to the palace?”

The maps I studied swim up through my memories. “The imperial compound is at the south end, by the river. We’ll have to pass through a lot of Vivencia to get there.”

“I guess that gives us some time to take a look at the place.” She offers me another smile, this one softer around the edges.

I return it with a pang of gratitude. We’re both venturing into unknown territory. The uncertainty is easier to bear with a companion on the journey.

Cici came on as my maid just four years ago. She’s always kept a certain respectful distance, but she’s gamely aided when I’m working on a concoction and never grumbled about how many hours I spend outside like my childhood maid used to.

Maybe once we’re caught up in the imperial court together, we can become something more like friends.

The buildings on either side of the broad road grow taller and more sprawling. We pass an expansive park of grassy fields, flower beds, and fountains amid only a few stately trees. Men and women in flowing jackets and dresses meander along the paths or ride on horseback.

After passing a few more grand estates, we stop at another gate.

It takes our driver longer to make his case for entry into the imperial palace grounds. Finally, our horses draw us past elaborate hedges and a towering sculpture of Creaden, the godlen who presides over leadership and justice. He’s been carved with the imperial crest clasped in his hands: a majestic hawk soaring over a grand oak, with the motto CONQUER ALL framing them.

That statue is followed by several life-size busts of imposing men and women I assume are past emperors and empresses. Then the carriage turns with an arc in the drive, and the palace comes into view .

I find myself staring at the three-story building of silvery marble that could encompass my family’s castle ten times over.

My jaw goes slack before I can control my shock. In the first instant, I can only stare at the massive columns carved with leafy designs and the lofty windows reflecting the glare of the sun.

As the carriage rasps to a halt, several men in the purple-and-gray imperial livery stride down the stairs outside the yawning palace entrance. A few move to the back of the carriage to retrieve my two trunks. Another places a step beside the carriage while his colleague opens the door.

Girding myself, I paste a smile on my face, gather my silk skirts, and ease out into the tiled courtyard.

The stoutest of the staff, a jowly man who looks at least ten years older than his apparent underlings, is waiting for me. He dips his head in a motion of deference that’s not quite a bow. “Princess Aurelia. It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Dariu and His Imperial Majesty’s home. I hope your journey went smoothly.”

He speaks in Darium, of course, knowing I’ll understand. Every royal throughout the empire learns the language of our conquerors alongside our native tongue.

At his question, the image of the corpses hanging by the road flits through my mind. I hold my smile in place. “Quite, but I’m certainly glad to be at the end of it.”

“We’ll first be—” He cuts himself off to frown at Cici, who’s positioned herself beside me with her own bag by her feet. “Was there something you needed from your mistress before you return?”

Cici blinks. “Return? I’m Princess Aurelia’s maid, sir.” She dips into a brief curtsy.

“And I’m sure you’ve tended to her well during her travels,” the emperor’s man says evenly. “But His Imperial Majesty prefers to select all the staff who work within these walls. The princess will be assigned a very capable maid of our own.”

My stomach sinks. Cici darts a nervous look toward me.

If we argue rather than accepting the supposed generosity, will the emperor suspect some ulterior motive?

What are the chances he’ll bend his usual policy for a woman he barely knows, soon-to-be-wife of his son or not… rather than string Cici up at the side of the road as punishment for our defiance?

I speak cautiously. “We weren’t informed. My parents assumed?—”

The stout man cuts in with a brusque tone. “She and your driver can inform them of the arrangements when they return. You should find our hospitality warrants no complaints.”

The note of warning in his words sends a sliver of ice down my spine. I’d better not complain.

I don’t want to start off my time here on the wrong foot. Or see an innocent woman harmed simply because it wrenches at me to lose the comfort of her presence.

I touch Cici’s arm in reassurance. “It’s fine. Tell my parents that Emperor Tarquin is taking care of everything for me.”

Her expression stays worried. I dip my head in a slight nod, holding her gaze firmly. “Safe travels.”

I’ll be all right. I was born for this.

She gives my hand a quick squeeze, her eyes shimmering with sudden tears, and then one of the footmen is ushering her back into the carriage. I watch it pull away with a tearing sensation in my chest.

Now I’m utterly alone .

The man who greeted me clears his throat. “His Imperial Majesty is eager to welcome you personally and introduce you to his court.”

Including his son, my future husband. We had better get that over with.

My smile might be a little stiffer than it was before, but I follow my escort through the immense doorway obligingly.

I will not tremble. I will not falter.

I’m a joyful bride thrilled to have made such an incredible match.

And if a whiff of hysterical laughter bubbles inside me at that thought, I certainly won’t let it out.

Inside, the imperial palace is just as overwhelming. The central hallway sprawls as wide as my bedroom at home. The ceilings loom far above my head, painted with vines and flowers framing open sky as if to give the impression they aren’t ceilings at all.

I suppose the spaciousness makes sense given the difference in climate. Accasians prefer narrow halls and cozy rooms that are easy to keep warm during the frigid winters. These airy open spaces must be much cooler during the southern summer.

More marble gleams everywhere I look, alongside panes of etched gold, delicate mosaics, and oil paintings of majestic landscapes. Flute music carries faintly from up ahead, mingling with distant laughter. Potted plants with crimson and fuchsia blooms give off a heady floral scent.

Our footsteps tap across the tiled floor until we reach a set of double doors framed with gold. My escort marches a few paces ahead of me and declares my arrival to the room at large: “Princess Aurelia of Accasy!”

Clearly my impending arrival was noted well in advance. The vast audience hall I step into holds dozens of people, all turning to watch my approach.

Most of my audience is gathered on either side of the violet rug that runs the length of the room. The men and women wear similar clothes to those I saw in the nearby park: gauzy dresses and silky shirts.

I wore my lightest gown in recognition of the warmer weather, but it seems to drag against my limbs as I make my way past their curious stares.

On the dais I’m heading toward, two gilded wooden thrones gleam, their backs pointed in elegant spires as if to mimic the crowns on their occupants’ heads.

In the larger throne in the middle of the dais sits a tall man with a sharp-edged face and a pale scalp nearly as shiny as his seat. I’ve heard Emperor Tarquin took to shaving off all his hair as soon as it started to thin.

His eyebrows, just below the rim of his ornate golden crown, are such a light blond they blend into his skin, giving the eerie impression that he has none at all. A suit of black, gray, and indigo covers his sinewy frame.

As I force my legs to keep moving toward him, his steady gaze pierces straight through me.

I drag my attention away from the emperor’s ominous presence to the younger man in the throne at his right.

This has to be Marclinus. A matching if simpler crown adorns his hair, which is nearly the same shade of gold as the metal. His angular features echo his father’s, though much more appealing with some lingering softness of youth.

Unlike his father, he sprawls in his throne as if he’s lounging at a tavern rather than conducting an official audience. His golden-blond curls drift carelessly across the tops of his ears and down to the nape of his neck.

When our eyes meet, he licks his lips .

That’s how he greets his future wife?

The emperor is flanked by a few pensive-looking middle-aged figures I’d guess are advisors of some sort, one of them in a cleric’s robes. Beyond the imperial heir’s throne stand four men too young to have likely risen to such prominence. Three of them can’t be much older than me, and the other looks to be in his teens.

Who are they? As far as I know Emperor Tarquin only has one son, and they don’t look anything like him besides.

The tallest fills out his silk shirt with broad shoulders bulky with muscle. The cream-colored fabric sets off his tawny skin. His dark brown hair is pulled into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck.

His eyes, so light blue they’re noticeable even from a distance, sear into me along with his scowl.

The leaner but still well-built guy next to him has a rich brown complexion in starker contrast with the imperial men. His thick black hair appears rumpled even cropped close to his handsome face. His dark eyes follow me, his hands balling at his sides.

Their somewhat shorter companion looks as if he’s been denied a few meals. There’s a hint of gauntness to both his pale face and his frame. But his features are still striking, his reddish-brown hair and deep green eyes giving his expression a kick of intensity. He’s folded his slender arms tightly across his chest.

Even the teenager is glowering at me from beneath the fall of his white-blond hair. His gangly limbs make me think of an overgrown puppy, but his fierce expression is all guard dog.

What about me has provoked all this hostility?

I jerk my attention back to the emperor and stop a couple of paces from the dais. There, I drop into my lowest curtsy.

I need to stay focused on the man with the real power here.

“It’s an honor to be in your presence again, Your Imperial Majesty.” I’ve only seen the emperor once before—a brief introduction when he toured his territories when I was six—but he’d expect me to remember that.

The emperor’s smile is as sharp as his face. “Welcome to my court, Princess Aurelia. Let me formally introduce you to my son, His Imperial Highness Marclinus.”

He sweeps his hand toward the lounging, golden-haired man, who sits up only a little straighter and gives me a jaunty wave. His eyes, the same gray as his father’s, slide down my figure as if he’s stripping off my gown with them.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward in what’s closer to a smirk. “I think I’ll enjoy making your acquaintance.”

Great God help me, this is the man I’m supposed to live out my days with?

Emperor Tarquin doesn’t appear fazed by his heir’s attitude. He motions to the figures at his left. “The key members of my cabinet and all of my court look forward to celebrating your arrival.” He tips his head toward the crowd around the room and pauses before glancing beyond his son as if he’d almost forgotten who else was present.

“Ah, and my foster sons: Prince Bastien, Prince Raul, Prince Lorenzo, and Prince Neven.”

Foster sons? All princes?

Before I can even start to puzzle out that statement and his dismissive tone, the emperor goes on. “Given that your family suggested this match, I assume you’ve come willingly, Princess Aurelia. ”

I bob my head again. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Refresh my memory and confirm what I was told. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“And you’re where in line to the throne of Accasy?”

“I’m my parents’ second child, Your Imperial Majesty.” Does he really need to hear me rehash all this?

Emperor Tarquin lets out a low chuckle. “The full title can become a mouthful. I give you permission to simply call me ‘Emperor’ for the duration of this conversation.”

“Thank you, Emperor.”

He lifts his chin toward me. “Which godlen have you dedicated to, and did you make a dedication sacrifice?”

I’m not sure how much detail he’s heard from the imperial representative who conducted the betrothal negotiations, but I have no reason to obscure my answer. Nearly everyone in the realms dedicates themselves to one of our gods at twelve years old in the typical ceremony. It would be a shock if I hadn’t.

At least half of the people I’ve met, nobles and commoners alike, took the greater opportunity presented by the dedication ceremony. It’s the one chance we have to be blessed with a gift of magical talent. But of course we must offer something of ourselves in return.

“I dedicated to Elox,” I say. “I sacrificed my spleen for a gift for making healing potions and other cures.”

The emperor’s eyebrows rise. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely startled or putting on an act to try to loosen my tongue. “A medic princess. That might be a first.”

I give him the simplest honest explanation I can. “I wanted to be able to help people. I can’t heal anyone directly, though, only concoct things that can. ”

“And have you faced any adverse consequences from the loss of your organ?”

I think of the tiny scar on my stomach. “Nothing significant. Illnesses tend to hit me harder and take longer to recover from, so I’m careful to look after my own health as well.”

“Very wise.”

The back of my neck prickles with the sense that he’s subtly mocking me, but Emperor Tarquin leans back in his throne as if he’s satisfied. “You appear to be exactly who we were promised.”

I summon my brightest smile to cover my next lie. “I’m glad to have pleased you and look forward to my marriage with great joy.”

The emperor rubs his thumb along the point of his chin. Something in his expression sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end before he even opens his mouth.

“ If you marry. Let’s not be hasty.”