Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Aurelia
I gaze up at the tapestries decorating the hallway, my ears pricked for any sound of footsteps. Marclinus didn’t grace us with his presence in the dining room for breakfast, and the page I spoke to said he’d taken his meal in his private chambers.
The apartments of the imperial family lie beyond this hallway. If I meander it for long enough, I may get another chance to speak to him apart from his court.
There has to be something I could say that will lessen his interest in continuing these trials. It couldn’t be clearer that his father is the driving force behind them.
Can I work a wedge between them? It’ll need to be subtly done, but if there’s a way to stop the madness before another lady lies slaughtered in front of me, I’ll take my chances.
A faint tapping does reach my ears, but the pace and weight of the steps don’t fit the imperial heir. When I glance over, it’s Vicerine Bianca approaching.
At the sight of me, her lips curl into a predatory smile. She saunters closer with a pat of her upswept braids.
What was she doing over by the imperial apartments? Or in the imperial apartments?
The image flickers through my mind of her voluptuous form pressing close to Marclinus’s side yesterday in the parlor. He didn’t appear all that engaged by her charms then, but that doesn’t mean he never is. Rochelle indicated they have enough of a history that she’d be displeased to see him marry.
“Why, Princess Aurelia,” Bianca says in a saccharine tone she doesn’t even try to make sound genuine, “have you gotten lost all alone? How sad.”
I keep my own smile mild. “Not lost. Simply admiring the imperial art collection.”
“Ah. Yes. Certainly the most compelling feature of this part of the palace is the art .”
She pauses a few paces away from me and lifts her slim black eyebrows. “If you were thinking of paying a private call on His Imperial Highness, I’m afraid he’s quite satisfied already.”
After an interlude with her? Given her animosity toward me, I suspect there’s at least as much chance that she’s spinning fables to intimidate me as telling the truth.
“I’m glad to hear he’s well, since I had no such intention,” I say evenly. “I’m quite content to wait for my wedding night.”
Bianca presses her hand to her lips against an elegant snort. “How confident you are with so many trials still ahead of you. As if you can offer him anything that would suit him better than the ladies of his own country and court.”
“He had those ladies before, and yet he asked me to come all the way from Accasy. I’m sure he can make up his own mind about who would make him happiest.”
A full laugh spills out of her. She shakes her head. “You na?ve little girl. If you think his choice will have anything to do with what makes him happy and not what serves his purposes best, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
She saunters off down the hall, and I don’t bother to call a retort after her. It’s not as if she has any interest in helping me.
That entire conversation was about serving her purpose—to needle me in every way possible.
I draw my gaze back to the tapestries before me. One depicts a view over Dariu’s capital city, the beige and tan buildings rising in stately rows beneath the stark blue of the sky. An ache fills my throat at the thought of the much more colorful streets of the capital I left behind—the oranges and yellows and pinks that brighten Accasy’s homes.
No doubt the Darium court would consider them gauche. I haven’t felt a trace of that sort of friendly warmth within these walls.
Back home, some of those bright buildings have lain empty since before I was born, cobwebs clogging the windows, roofs sagging. Haunting memorials to families displaced or “eliminated” as utterly as the two ladies whose throats I’ve seen slit.
We could see their windows filled with light and merriment again. See every town and village thriving as they haven’t in centuries.
It all depends on me.
I drift farther down the hallway, taking in sweeping landscapes and fanciful scenes from tales of the godlen. None of Elox, I’m not surprised to see—most feature Creaden in his lordly acts or Sabrelle spurring on a battle .
When footsteps next approach, they’re the heavier tread of a man, though a little errant in their rhythm. Marclinus emerges from around the corner with his fine purple shirt carelessly askew and a goblet clasped in one hand.
I paste on a sunnier smile than I offered Bianca and turn to meet him. “Your Imperial Highness. How wonderful to see you.”
The imperial heir’s gaze rakes over my body in one of my new, filmier dresses. The fabric is hardly transparent, but the openness of his leer makes me feel uncomfortably naked.
So much for what Bianca claimed about all his needs being “satisfied.”
Her other comments stick with me, though. I’m aware he must want a wife as a political tool as much as anything else, but maybe I haven’t focused on that aspect enough. On showing how my differing experiences from the ladies of his court are an asset rather than a flaw.
Marclinus grins widely at me, swirling his goblet in his hand. A tang of wine wafts from it, but he looks sober enough, if a little looser than he seemed yesterday.
“Did you come up here looking for me?” he asks. “But no tea this time?”
He sounds amused rather than disdainful. I suppose he’s in a better mood than during my previous overture.
Does that mean he’d be more open to hearing an appeal?
I glance down at my hands as if wishing I could make a tray appear. “You didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it. I wouldn’t want you to think I have no concern for your tastes.”
“Hmm. I won’t deny I can be rather changeable at times.” He laughs as if this is a great joke and then crosses the last distance between us. Slipping his hand around my elbow, he nudges me to walk with him down the hall .
I keep my stance relaxed through sheer force of will, fighting the urge to recoil from his nearness. He might be stunning to look at, but everything else I’ve seen from this man so far inclines me to maintain as much distance as I can get.
I have to bring out another side of him. A better side of that changeable nature he admitted.
It seems wisest to start by addressing the trials in the same jaunty attitude he’s displaying. “Should I be looking forward to more excitement today?”
Marclinus clicks his tongue at me. “I can’t be spilling my secrets. It’s more fun if you’re kept on your toes.”
Fun. Yes, that’s exactly how I’d describe watching a woman slump into a pool of her own blood.
I make my smile soften. “It must be a little difficult for you seeing ladies you grew up with fail. I’d imagine you’ve considered some of them friends.” And perhaps more, if Bianca is anything to go by.
The imperial heir strokes his thumb over my arm. “If they consider themselves my friends, they should make a better show of it! There’s no need for you to worry yourself about them.”
He pauses and glances at me sideways with a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. “But you did worry. You tried to reassure poor Timille yesterday.”
Despite his words, his tone remains amused. I can’t detect an ounce of sympathy for the “poor” woman who was reduced to tears and then a corpse at his command.
Is he testing to see if I’ll criticize his approach?
I phrase my answer carefully. “I am dedicated to Elox, after all. I feel I owe it to my godlen to help those in distress when I’m able to.”
“Even if that makes the competition harder for you? ”
I lift my shoulders in a slight shrug, wishing I could detach his hand. “I would rather earn your approval through my own merits than someone else’s lack of them.”
Marclinus lets out a bark of a guffaw. “Well, that is a way of looking at things, isn’t it? I can tell you’re a woman of many… merits.”
And there’s that suggestive tone he’s brought out with me before. I ignore the crawling of my skin and latch on to the small opening he’s offered. “I have gotten the impression that some members of your court feel rather resentful of my presence. They believe the entire competition was spurred by my arrival.”
“In a way it was, but they’re bigger asses than they seem if they didn’t catch on that their own demands sparked the idea.” The imperial heir gives another chuckle. “So sour about what they asked my father for. I hope you’re not the type to be shaken by a few jabs here and there.”
I echo his laugh. “Oh, not at all. I did wonder if it might teach them even more of a lesson if they had the opportunity snatched away now that they’ve gotten a taste of it. Declare that the trials have already proven all that was needed and proceed with our wedding.”
Marclinus shoots me a sly look. “Aren’t you the crafty one. What happened to showing off your merits?”
I beam at him as winningly as I’m capable of. “I thought I’d given an excellent demonstration of them already.”
I don’t really have much hope in that particular gambit, and what’s there snuffs out with his laugh. “But we have so much more planned. It’d be a shame to miss out.”
Tipping my head closer to his shoulder, I shift tactics. “I’ve no doubt. And I can see that your father’s approach has its place, even if the loss of life seems a shame. Would you conduct the same tests if you were emperor yourself? It’s thrilling to imagine what brilliant strategies you’d have for taming your court.”
Let him think about the legacy he could be creating. Remind him that he can make decisions apart from his father.
But Marclinus simply smirks. “I think what we have is pretty brilliant as it is. There hasn’t been this much excitement in the palace in years. A good time for all.”
Except for the women dying in the process.
My stomach sinks. I don’t think I’ve gotten through to the imperial heir at all, from any of the angles I’ve attempted.
As we reach the next bend in the hall, Marclinus lets go of my elbow, but only to sling his arm right around my shoulders. He leans in so close his breath tickles over my cheek. “Keep impressing me, Princess, and imagine how much more fun we can have together.”
At the same moment, the youngest of the princes steps out of a room up ahead. Neven glances our way and stiffens with a fierce flash of his eyes beneath his white-blond hair.
Marclinus nips my earlobe and saunters away. The young prince glares at me for a few seconds, his jaw working, and storms off like he’s trailing a thundercloud with him.
No doubt his older foster brothers will hear about my apparent dallying with the imperial heir before the next hour’s bell rings. But every nerve in my body is wound too tight for me to care.
Marclinus’s suggestive whisper echoes through my mind. How much more fun we can have together. With the exact same enjoyment as he spoke of the trials as “good times.”
Gods help me, even if I’m the last bride standing, what will I be able to say I’ve actually won?