Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Aurelia
I walk down the hall with brisk but careful steps, my hands gripping the edges of the small silver tray. My gaze darts from side to side toward the doorways I pass.
The strange accusation on my plate lingers in the back of my mind. How can I not be unnerved?
No one made any overtly hostile comments to me during dinner. Lady Fausta and her friend Bianca aimed a few elegant sneers my way, but it’s obvious they simply see me as Fausta’s rival. And I don’t know how they could have gotten access to my plate before it was served anyway.
Who in the palace would feel I’ve betrayed someone?
Who would they think I’ve betrayed? Have I let a comment slip that hinted at my true feelings about my betrothal—and the trials I’m now facing to see it through?
Was my gasp at Lady Cadenza’s death enough for one of the emperor’s people to consider me a traitor ?
I have no way of answering any of those questions. My only comfort lies in the fact that no guards have brought their blades to my throat.
Emperor Tarquin indicated that many members of his court resented his bringing a bride for his heir from elsewhere in the empire. The simplest explanation is that it wasn’t a literal accusation at all, only an attempt to shake my nerve however they could.
I can’t let that happen. So I’m going forward as I best know how, as if that blood-red word never appeared before me.
The footman I probed said that His Imperial Highness Marclinus retired to his private office after dinner. This could be my first chance to speak to my supposed fiancé alone, away from his father’s hawkish gaze.
I can make an appeal with both my words and the gift I’m carrying.
The footman told me I couldn’t miss the office door. Half again as tall as my five foot six in height, it gleams with gold panels depicting a mass of armored stallions charging around a depiction of Sabrelle, the godlen of war. Apparently most of what the imperial heir works on is how to conquer even more.
I suppose that fits the family motto.
A guard stands outside the door, looking vaguely bored. I offer him a humble smile. “I’d like to see His Imperial Highness. I hoped we could take tea together.”
The flick of the guard’s eyes tells me I don’t need to introduce myself. “A moment,” he says impassively, and slips into the room to announce my request.
It is only a moment before he returns and waves me inside.
As I step past the door, the guard pulls it shut behind me, staying in the hall. I pause just past the threshold, taking stock.
The office is unexpectedly modest in size as imperial grandeur goes, only half as large as my sprawling guest bedroom. No inch of the space is used frivolously. Built-in shelves cover two of the walls from floor to high ceiling, packed with books and record boxes. Two ornate armchairs and a small reading table stand next to the hearth, which is framed by glossy marble and currently unlit.
A massive desk of fine marlwood stands in the middle of the space, gleaming in the lantern light as if it’s just been polished. One end rises up in an arch of dark wood containing a plethora of compartments and drawers.
At the other end sits the imperial heir.
Marclinus glances up from the paper he was considering—a letter, I think, from the format of the handwriting I’m too far away to read. He swipes his golden hair back from his forehead and leans his elbow on the desk.
His smile feels more calculating than the cocky smirks he offered me in the audience room. My skin prickles with sudden apprehension about the fact that I’ve put myself in this enclosed space with him alone.
There’s nothing so improper about this visit when if all had gone according to plan, we might already be married. But I’m not sure I’d like whatever ideas might be passing through his head.
His tone sounds more measured than before, though still with a hint of a teasing lilt. “Have you not had your fill of me yet today, Princess Aurelia?”
I sink into a curtsy, balancing the tray deftly as I do. “I hope to spend the rest of my days with you, Your Imperial Highness. I don’t think there can be such a thing as too much. ”
Even if the lie makes me queasy.
“And what have you brought me?” He contemplates the tray with an arch of one eyebrow.
I step closer to bring it to the desk. “My gift with medicine has also given me an appreciation for the more subtle benefits a cup of tea can offer. I prepared a blend tailored to your role, for clear thinking and expression of might. It should be just finished steeping.” I tip my head toward the porcelain teapot.
Marclinus stares at the tray with an expression I can only describe as incredulous. “You made me tea.” He lets out a short bark of a laugh. “There are three cups.”
“I thought we could enjoy the drink together, and I know you have certain standards of caution.” One of the servants sipped from his wine glass and sampled his plate before the imperial heir partook at dinner, just as one did for the emperor.
“How very attentive of you.” His gaze lifts from the tray to my face, skimming over my chest in the process. “Was there anything else you were hoping I’d partake of?”
I have to bite my tongue, unable to suppress the flush that pricks at my cheeks—although maybe it’s better he sees it and thinks I’m embarrassed by the insinuation.
He can’t know my reaction is actually anger.
I lower my eyes as if in modesty. “I have no wish to circumvent the proper process of our engagement. I would like to get to know you better, but speaking will do perfectly well as a start.”
Marclinus hums. “So you came to seduce me with tea. Well, I’m quite certain it isn’t going to sway my judgment of the coming trials, and I’m not particularly parched, so I’ll pass. But thank you for the gesture.”
He doesn’t sound remotely thankful. I grasp for something I can say that might keep the conversation going without criticizing his methods. “If there’s anything you want to know about me that the engagement negotiations didn’t cover?—”
The imperial heir waves his hand dismissively. “I can find you if I’m struck by any overpowering curiosity. I do look forward to seeing how a princess of Accasy conducts herself in the days to come.”
There’s no sign of doubt or concern about his choices. I hate to retreat, but I can tell from his tone and the straightening of his stance that he’s becoming impatient.
If I push too hard too quickly, I’ll destroy any hope I had of persuading him off his present course.
I drop into another curtsy. “I’ll do my best to impress you.”
“I expect you will.”
When I reach for the tray, he makes a shooing gesture. “One of the servants will collect it. No need for you to go trotting around like a part of the staff.”
My anger does come with a flare of humiliation this time. “It was my pleasure to serve you the best I know how.”
I spin on my heel and walk out of the room before anything more truthful spills from my mouth.
I make my way back to my bedroom with my expression mild, my hands loose at my sides, and frustration curdling in my stomach. How impressed would he have been if I’d upended the contents of that teapot over his head?
He’d deserve it for dragging me all the way across the continent just to turn our betrothal into a contest.
With every breath, I will down the simmer of ire. Patience is my greatest tool.
I never assumed winning over the heir to the empire would be easy , even if our marriage had proceeded as planned.
I come around the corner of the hall that leads to my room, and a looming figure pushes off the wall he was leaning against.
Prince Raul places his massive form directly in my path. With his hands loosely resting on his hips, his shoulders look even broader.
He glowers down at me, nearly a foot taller than my hardly deficient height, clearly intending to intimidate. His mouth forms a shape somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. “Where were you running off to this late in the evening, Princess? Already looking to skew the odds in your favor?”
His voice comes out dark as his cocoa-brown hair, but his gaze is pale as ice, with an equally biting chill. I don’t know what he’s after, but he obviously isn’t here to make friends.
I keep my tone even. “I’m sorry if I’ve inadvertently kept you waiting. Was there something you wanted?”
If the fact that I’ve ignored his questions bothers him, he doesn’t show it. He lets his lips curve into a smile as cool as his stare with a flash of white teeth against his tawny skin.
My heart skips a beat, and not only because of his imposing stance. It’s not hard to see why plenty of the court women find him appealing—presuming he normally approaches them with an attitude less like he’s about to bite their heads off.
“I simply thought you should know that you don’t stand a chance,” he says. “Soft little lamb of Elox coming down from the north without a day of struggle behind her. No one’s going to pamper you here. The nobles will eat you alive while you dance to Tarquin’s tune to entertain them. ”
Even as I keep my chin high, my skin turns cold. He sounds as if he’s speaking from experience.
What does he know about the struggles I’ve faced or haven’t?
I step to the side, intending to dodge him. “Thank you ever so much for the warning.”
He matches my stride, cutting off my escape with his muscular body. “You can’t ignore the shit you’ve thrown yourself into that easily. We’re all wolves here. If they don’t tear you apart quickly enough, we’ll give you a good shove in the direction you deserve.”
The impression I got in the audience room that he—and the other princes—were specifically furious with me strikes me again with a jitter of my nerves. I don’t understand it.
Before I can settle on a response, another voice, equally low but flatter, speaks up from beyond Prince Raul’s shoulder. “Speak for yourself, Raul. We’re going to enjoy the show while it lasts.”
Prince Bastien comes up beside his larger foster brother, the edges of his verging-on-gaunt face hardened by tension. His green eyes are far darker than Raul’s but even more penetrating for it. He’s followed by Prince Lorenzo, whose deep brown features are set at a hostile smolder beneath his close-cropped black hair.
Gods above, they do make a striking trio, even more so up close. It’s a wonder the ladies aren’t falling over the lot of them.
Bastien cocks his head to one side, his shaggy auburn hair shadowing his gaze. “Not that I think she’ll last very long either,” he goes on. “She clearly has no idea what she’s actually walked into.”
They’ve formed a whole intimidation squad now. What game are they playing ?
My pulse thuds faster, but I refuse to let these men see they’ve gained any ground. Predators pounce harder when they sense a weakness.
I lift my eyebrows slightly. “Are you planning on enlightening me?”
Bastien clicks his tongue. “Do you really believe you have a chance here? If the emperor actually wanted you to marry into the family, he’d hardly have set up an extended, bloody charade to whittle away your chances. It’s an excuse to lead you to the slaughter while blaming you for your failure.”
Could he be right? I assumed Emperor Tarquin was aiming to teach the nobles a lesson—but he could very well have decided he’d rather have a known quantity as a daughter-in-law after all.
If I die here, that’s one less bargaining chip my parents have to secure other allegiances.
Prince Lorenzo turns his hand and bends his long fingers in a gesture so furtive I almost miss it, and Raul snorts as if in response.
Interesting. The tongue-less prince has found ways of conveying his thoughts without his voice.
I wonder if even the emperor could follow that silent communication. How useful it would be for the four unwilling fosters to have a private means of chatter right under his nose.
Where is the youngest of them, Prince Neven, anyway? This afternoon, he looked just as irate as the rest of them, if not more. He didn’t feel like joining their un-welcoming party?
When I glance down the hall, Raul scoffs. “There’s no way out. You’re stuck here now.”
I fold my arms over my chest, evaluating the three princes in front of me. The animosity wafting off them still doesn’t make sense to me, but I can’t help thinking of all the things they must have seen and heard in their years at the palace while they’ve been chained at Emperor Tarquin’s heels.
Things it might be useful for a newcomer to be aware of, if they were at all inclined to share.
They haven’t lost their fire in all that time. The emperor hasn’t beaten the mettle out of them. That says something in their favor.
Even though I’ve become the current target of their hostility, it stirs the flames I’ve been keeping a damper on deep inside me.
“Like you’ve been stuck here too,” I say quietly. “I suppose that means we’re in the same position now, doesn’t it?”
Lorenzo’s hand jerks in an obvious motion of defiance at the same moment as Raul snarls, “We’re nothing like you.”
Bastian’s voice stiffens. “At least we know where we actually stand. You’ve got a long tumble ahead of you from your cushioned life.”
It appears finding a common ground offends them more than it endears me to them. So be it.
I hold Bastien’s gaze steadily. “You’ve had plenty of wisdom to share. I’ll simply remind you that you don’t know me at all.”
Tucking my hands into my skirts, I step around Raul again.
He huffs a breath, starting to turn, but Bastien touches his arm. “She isn’t worth more bother.”
All the same, Prince Raul’s voice carries after me as I hurry toward my bedroom door. “Go ahead and run, Lamb. You won’t get far.”