Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Aurelia
A s the emperor’s words reverberate in my ears, the bottom of my stomach drops out. If I marry?
My mind scrambles for an appropriate response. My face has gone rigid around my smile.
Is he putting me off-balance for his sadistic enjoyment, not really meaning what he implies? Or maybe he’s only referring to some additional step before the final confirmation, like having one of the imperial medics check me over to confirm my good health?
My parents hashed out all the details with his representative before I even left Accasy. That man inspected me as if I was a brood mare he was considering adding to the palace stables. Emperor Tarquin just said I’m who he was promised.
What could cause any hesitation?
The emperor is studying me as if evaluating my reaction. I reach for my deepest well of inner calm and keep my voice steady. “I would never overstep and rush Your Majesty.”
If there’s something more he wants from me, let him say so.
Emperor Tarquin pushes to his feet. His limbs might be as sharply angled as his face within the folds of his embroidered suit, but there’s still plenty of heft to his aging body, a sense of strength it’d be hazardous to challenge.
Marclinus watches in his casual pose. My future husband’s lips remain curved in a smirk as if he finds the proceedings amusing.
The emperor sweeps his penetrating gaze over the crowd of assembled nobles. I catch the briefest hint of a smirk, not unlike his heir’s, before his expression returns to impenetrable cool.
He spreads his sinewy hands toward our audience. “When I announced my son’s engagement, many members of my court expressed… concerns that I had selected a suitable match from abroad. Some felt that their daughters were not given an equal chance.”
A chill seeps through my skin down to my bones. This doesn’t sound like a lead-up to a medical exam.
The nobles stay as silent as I am. They know better than to interrupt a proclamation.
Emperor Tarquin peers down at them. “I would not wish to deny any of my loyal subjects your due. Marclinus must have the most suitable wife we can arrange. I believe all those who expressed their objections are with us today, so let us see your daughters. Leonette Cento, come forward.”
A curvy woman with chestnut-brown hair and deeper brown skin steps from the crowd and walks up to stand where the emperor indicates, just a few paces away from me on the thick violet rug. Her pretty face shows nothing but determination.
“Rochelle Salacia.”
A tall, broad-shouldered woman emerges with her fingers curled into the layers of her airy skirt. Her cloud of wheat-blond curls sways as she approaches the dais, her cheeks flushed beneath a sprinkling of freckles.
“Cadenza Leppum.”
This woman looks like barely more than a girl, her blue eyes innocently wide and her smile giddy as she hustles over to join us.
I hold my own posture still and straight despite the thudding of my heart. What exactly is Emperor Tarquin playing at?
He calls out several more names, bringing lady after lady to stand by me. It’s hard to keep track through the pounding of my pulse and my whirling thoughts.
The twelfth name comes with a note of finality. “Fausta Amata.”
The last noblewoman to join our array strides forward with an air of total assurance despite her petite frame. Her flame-red hair spills in loose waves down her back, artfully untamed. Her bright green gaze burns into mine for an instant before she focuses all her attention on the emperor.
He nods to the gathered women with a benevolent air, but I catch a bit of an edge in his next words. “In the interests of fairness, these ladies will be given an equal opportunity alongside Princess Aurelia to prove how loyal and dedicated they are. Marclinus and I have devised a series of trials to evaluate their devotion. Whoever impresses us most will win her place at my son’s side.”
I have to grit my teeth to stop my jaw from dropping. The lurch of my gut threatens to send my breakfast up my throat.
Murmurs break out among the nobles behind me, but most of them sound pleased. And why shouldn’t they? Now their daughters are being considered, when my marriage was meant to be settled with all certainty.
Emperor Tarquin can’t be serious. This is some kind of joke—or a brief test, to confirm my commitment and mettle?—
The emperor returns to his throne, motioning toward his heir. “The first trial begins now. Listen well. Whoever performs worst will be removed from the competition.”
Marclinus slides forward in his gilded seat, appearing energized by the turn of events. His gray eyes sparkle as he aims a cocky grin at the ladies gathered before him.
Merriment rings through his voice. “You will each tell me what you admire about me so much that you wish to take me as a husband. Please spare no detail.”
Gods help me, this is really happening.
Before I can fully wrap my mind around that fact, the petite, redheaded noblewoman—Lady Fausta—struts forward without a second’s hesitation. She kneels at the base of the dais in front of the imperial heir’s throne and bows her head deferentially.
“Your Imperial Highness, you are the standard all men should aspire to meet. You stand up valiantly to threats abroad and keep us ever entertained while you’re in court. No one could look upon you without appreciating the perfection of every aspect of your being.”
Her honeyed but confident voice cuts through my bewildered daze. She’s been clever, jumping in to make her case first. Praise won’t sound as sincere if it’s simply repeating what others have said .
She’s both demonstrated her eagerness and ensured she’s the act the rest of us have to follow.
Lady Fausta goes on in the same fawning tone. “You always have the right answer at the ready as well as a quip to delight us. Every party is brightened tenfold by your presence; every decision you make guides our empire toward further grandeur. I have lived in awe of you since the moment I met you.”
As she rises to her feet, applause breaks out from the rest of the court. Marclinus gives a little bow as if to welcome her assessment, followed by a suggestive wink. A glint of triumph lights in Fausta’s eyes.
She’s the act we have to follow—and the more we follow, the more trite our veneration will appear.
If I don’t want to see the brighter future I meant to bring my country crumble to dust, I need to stake my own claim, now .
Lady Fausta steps back from the dais. I propel myself forward before any of the other women can take her spot.
My mind is spinning. I rummage through the little I know about the imperial heir—he hasn’t accomplished much while his father still rules, but he was apparently instrumental in quashing a minor rebellion in Rione—and what I’ve observed in the short time since my arrival.
I don’t just need to speak quickly; I need to speak well.
And I need to lie through my teeth.
I bend down in front of Marclinus’s throne as Fausta did. He stretches out his legs as if preparing to bask in my adoration.
Gods smite me, how I’m going to have to lie.
Let’s start with the biggest one, then.
I pitch my voice to carry but keep my tone soft, as if I’m as awed as Lady Fausta claimed to be. “Your Imperial Highness, I’ve only just met you, but I’m already struck by your incredible wisdom. I could never ask you to bind yourself to me before you’ve confirmed that I’m your ideal match. I came to find the best of husbands, and such an astute man would only want the best of wives.”
I’m assuring him that there are no ruffled feathers, making myself look generous and understanding in a way none of the other ladies can. Where can I go from there?
“I heard tales of your military successes all the way in Accasy and can see you’re every bit the champion I hoped to marry. You have a commanding air that will hold the whole empire in your sway. I was struck by it and your obvious charm from the moment I entered this room. Your generosity toward your court shows you have a commendable heart as well.”
We won’t speak about his lack of generosity toward his supposed betrothed.
I grope for an ideal ending note and bow a little lower as I choose my phrasing. “Looking at the women I stand among, it’s clear you’re also a discerning judge of character and beauty. Any of us would be lucky to win your hand. I’ll strive with every fiber of my being to show that I’m worthy of your greatness.”
When I lift my head, the smattering of applause isn’t quite as enthusiastic as it was for Fausta. I hope that’s only because the nobles are balancing their approval of my compliments with loyalty to the ladies of their court.
The imperial heir looks gratified enough, his grin stretching broader as he watches me get to my feet. A small scar cuts through his full upper lip on the lefthand side—the only imperfection on his stunning face. “Well spoken, princess of the wild north. I look forward to your striving. ”
He makes the statement sound like an invitation into his bed. I don’t know how to answer it other than with a modest smile and another dip of a curtsy.
With my heart still racing, I pull back in the wake of another lady who’s already rushing over. As I place myself off to the side of the cluster of court noblewomen, narrowed eyes and sharp frowns flick in my direction.
I don’t think I’ve earned any good will among my companions with my performance.
Better that they hate me than that I fail in the purpose that brought me here.
I cling to that knowledge, tensing my body against a tremor that ripples down my spine. Now that I’ve said my piece and thrown my hat into the ring, every nerve has gone wobbly with the enormity of what’s happened.
Twelve other ladies. Twelve rivals who know the imperial heir far better than I do, who are familiar with his whims in order to cater to them, who might have caught his eye long before I arrived.
Why would Emperor Tarquin pit me against them? Why summon me at all if he decided a local match would suit his and his son’s political agenda better?
The way the emperor spoke about his court’s concerns… I don’t think he appreciated their criticism. Maybe this is all a sham of sorts—put the nobles in their places by dragging their daughters into a public spectacle and then declaring me the winner all the same.
He doesn’t care if I’m humiliated along the way. That shouldn’t surprise me at all.
While I concentrate on appearing cool and collected, I give each woman’s deluge of praise a cursory listen in case there’s some useful insight into Marclinus’s tastes and opinions. They all blur together, none particularly notable. Most mention his leadership and bravery and how captivating he is at court.
Lady Cadenza, the girlish noblewoman who hasn’t lost an ounce of her giddiness, blathers on for a few minutes about every facet of his stunning looks, from his “hair a richer hue than gold itself” to his “strapping form” that according to her is particularly magnificent when astride a horse. She finishes with a breathless overture about how much she’d like to wake up to his dazzling face every morning.
Lady Rochelle with the boundless curls seems a bit rushed about her petition, but she refers to Marclinus’s kindness to her family in a time of need. Possibly he’s occasionally less of a jerk than he’s appeared so far.
I’m not yet ready to take comfort from that idea.
When the last of our number has spoken, the imperial heir contemplates the line of women before him with a satisfied expression. He clearly enjoys having his ego stroked.
His voice comes out jaunty. “You all are quite eager to join me in matrimony, and I wish I could honor every one of you with the title. But I’m afraid thirteen wives would be a bit much even for a man of my talents.”
As a titter of laughter passes through the crowd, Marclinus glances toward his father, adjusting his hands against the arms of the throne.
Emperor Tarquin turns his head in what might be a subtle shake before speaking in a dry tone. “I was glad to hear so many of our candidates recognize your importance as a ruler in addition to as a husband.”
His son’s expression shifts slightly. I’m not sure exactly what message the emperor conveyed, but I’m abruptly certain that he’s had the final say in their choice .
“Just so.” Marclinus leans forward on his throne. “Even Princess Aurelia from far-off Accasy praised my leaderly prowess. And yet Lady Cadenza, you didn’t say a word about anything other than my appeal on the eyes. Should I assume you see me as nothing but a handsome face?”
The giddy noblewoman blanches. She takes a step forward, wringing her hands. “No, not at all, Your Imperial Highness. I—I only meant— I was overwhelmed being so close to your magnificence— I have every faith?—”
Marclinus interrupts her with a dismissive flick of his hand. “You were the only one who mentioned nothing beyond the superficial. It shows a lack of ingenuity as well. I must narrow down my options, and you gave the weakest effort.”
While Lady Cadenza stands there stunned, he makes another brief gesture that I don’t understand until one of the imperial guards marches forward from his post at the edge of the room.
Even though this woman—this girl —would have usurped my place with my promised husband, a pang of sympathy forms in my chest. I brace myself for protests and wails as the guard reaches for her arm to escort her out.
Except that’s not what he’s doing at all.
In a motion so swift I barely understand what’s happening before it’s already over, he unsheathes the dagger at his hip and slashes the blade across Lady Cadenza’s throat.
A startled noise I can’t quite stifle bursts from my lips. A couple of the other noblewomen shriek, those closest to Cadenza stumbling backward to avoid her crumpling body and the blood splattering across the tiled floor.
Her head hits the tiles with a fleshy smack. Her eyes have already glazed, unblinking as the blood pools beneath her .
An urgent muttering rises up among the nobles. All of the other ladies pull closer together, away from the murdered woman.
A few of them, including Lady Fausta, aim accusing glares at me, as if I carried out this slaughter by being the better example Marclinus pointed to.
Emperor Tarquin stands. The entire audience room falls into tense silence.
I clamp my jaw in place against the scream I’d like to let out, willing my expression to stay blank. Any horrified response beyond my brief display of shock could be taken as treason.
I can’t stop myself from tracking the crimson puddle creeping farther at the edge of my vision.
The emperor glowers at his courtly subjects. “These are trials of devotion, and those who fail to convince us of their dedication must be eliminated from my court and our country. All these ladies will have their chance—as well as the consequences of the gamble they wished to make. I sincerely hope that none of you have so little faith in your own or your daughters’ loyalties that you would attempt to withdraw them now?”
Not a single voice speaks up.
Nausea wraps around my innards like clammy fingers.
He’s saying every trial will end in death. Every trial… until only one of us remains?
The emperor offers us all a smile that can only be described as smug. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”
I ease backward, wanting to put myself farther from his gaze while I struggle to hold on to my placid mask.
A servant approaches and dips into a quick bow. “Princess Aurelia, I’m to show you to your room. Your luggage has already been conveyed there. ”
I nod mutely and trail behind her as she leads me toward a side door. My gaze drifts of its own accord over to the four princes, Emperor Tarquin’s self-proclaimed foster sons.
They’re staring back at me with a venom I can almost feel searing into my skin. As if today’s horrors are all my fault.