Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Aurelia
I t isn’t difficult to get lost in the sprawling hallways of the imperial palace. I set out to do so, curious to see what I might discover if I ventured off my typical routes, and I can honestly say I’m now not entirely sure how to get back to where I started.
As I wander down yet another vast hall, a door opens at the other end. A lady I vaguely recognize—I think she’s a marchionissa—slips out.
Even from a distance, I can see the flush in her cheeks, the mussing of her pinned-up hair. She pats it down hastily as she hustles away in the opposite direction.
I must have made my way into one of the sections of the palace containing the court’s private quarters.
I don’t think much of it, continuing on my way, until I’m just a few paces shy of the doorway the marchionissa emerged from, and the door opens again .
This time, it’s Prince Raul who steps into the hallway, tucking his elegant shirt into the waist of his trousers in a way that immediately tells me what he and his married lady companion were getting up to.
Our gazes lock. Raul’s icy blue eyes spark in a discomforting way that makes me want to flee, but I force myself to stop.
If I’m going to obtain the princes’ help to get me through the coming trials, I need to ingratiate myself with all of them. I didn’t make much progress with Bastien this morning. He played friendly enough after my appeal, but his remarks sounded far too calculating.
He’s still suspicious of me. Prodding him for more information when he was already skewing his answers would only have given him more justification to feel that way.
I smile at Raul with a wryness to acknowledge the tension of our past interactions. “I’ve finally stumbled on someone I know. I seem to have lost my way. I don’t suppose you’d summon the kindness to direct me to the parlor?”
A slanted grin crosses Raul’s breathtaking face. “It seems to be an afternoon of servicing ladies. I could do even better than giving directions.”
From the look of the marchionissa, it’s not a hollow promise. If flirting is the closest I can get to friendliness from this man, perhaps I should entertain it a little rather than shutting it down.
I lower my eyes modestly. “I think the directions will do for now. Do you think you can manage to get me to the gardens with my honor intact?”
Raul chuckles at the coy remark—and the implication that I might be more open to his advances later. He swipes his hands together in front of him, and my gaze catches on the blotches of scars marking the knuckles .
I only noticed the one hand yesterday. The other’s scars look fresher, like skin that’s only recently shed its scabs.
I can’t stop my medical inclinations from kicking in—and maybe I shouldn’t want to. The more ways I can establish good will between us, the better.
I nod toward him. “You’ve injured both of your hands recently. If there’s any lingering pain or you want to ease the scarring, I have a salve that speeds along the healing process.”
Raul follows my gaze and snorts. “Scars add character. I’m perfectly fine.”
For a second, I think his tone has stiffened, but then he touches the small of my back and nudges me down the hall. “Let’s get this lost lamb back to the flock.”
He guides me along with an air of total assurance. I glance up at him, ignoring the tingling of my skin at the nearness of his impressive form. “You must know the palace awfully well by now. Prince Bastien says he arrived when he was seven years old. Was it the same for you?”
“The emperor’s chosen age for fosters,” Raul says in a nonchalant tone. “I turned up a year after Bastien did. Hard to believe it’s been fifteen now. But I’ve found whatever ways I can to make good use of the time.”
His thumb strokes across my back in a subtle caress. As little as I intend to succumb to his advances, I can’t help thinking his approach is an awful lot more pleasant than Marclinus’s forceful grab of my arm and unprompted nip.
The imperial heir requires only his station to seduce any lady in court. Raul will have needed to actually charm them. And he must prove good to his word, or disparaging gossip would quickly spread between the ladies and he’d find his options dried up.
I probably shouldn’t be thinking about his seductive prowess when I need to focus on gaining his friendship, not access to his bed.
“Does His Imperial Highness ever resent the competition for his court’s attention?” I ask, partly because it might reveal more about Marclinus’s attitudes and partly out of honest curiosity.
Raul sounds as if he’s choked back a guffaw at my baldness, but it’s not as if I could be unaware of my betrothed’s lustful pursuits after yesterday’s dinner. His smirk grows. “The court is large enough that our interests don’t need to overlap. I do believe in keeping my liaisons more private. Easier for all involved to relax.”
He leans a little closer, lowering his voice. “I could make you just as satisfied as Marchionissa Poinette. Set that lovely body alight with all the pleasures it’s craved.”
I peer at him through my eyelashes. “I don’t doubt your skills. But I believe in a certain amount of loyalty to one’s partner… even if the match hasn’t been settled.”
Raul lets out a hum that resonates over my skin. “You’re not married yet. Marclinus has never bothered to care how his partners feel. Shouldn’t a woman deserving enough to become empress get to experience true gratification at least once before she consigns herself to a life where she’s expected to do all the worshiping?”
His words quiver through me, stimulating both my heart and my sex. Gods smite me, he can probably tell my drawers are dampening.
I can still play along. “Is that what you’d do? Worship me? It’s seemed as if you’d rather savage me like the wolf you claim you are.”
“Perhaps we could split the difference and make it a ravaging instead.” Raul’s thumb skims over my back again. “I’d be willing to set aside our differences momentarily for the sake of mutual enjoyment. I have more of a bone to pick with your husband-to-be than you, after all.”
And no doubt he enjoys the idea of bedding me before that husband-to-be has a chance to. For all his provocative words, a hint of the hostility he’s shown me in the past has emerged in the brief sharpening of his tone.
I know he can put on a performance when he feels the need to. His overtures don’t mean he likes me any more than I imagine he’s truly fond of the various other ladies he tumbles.
His larger animosity allows me a change of subject. “His Imperial Highness has given you a difficult time in other ways, then?” Maybe if I learn more about how Marclinus has hassled his foster brothers, it’ll reveal something about how he might challenge his potential future brides.
“Marclinus never wants anyone to forget how much power he holds,” Raul says lightly. “So why not take back a little of our own when he never needs to know? You can’t deny you’re tempted.” His voice drops to a murmur. “Just imagine how I could make your body sing while I devour every inch of it in the best possible way.”
A deeper shiver ripples through me, this one all heat. My cheeks flare of their own accord.
I offer another modest smile. “I think that’s a proposal best left to the imagination. As thrilling as the idea might be.”
My tone must be firm enough to tell him he isn’t getting any farther with me at this particular moment. Raul teases his fingertips over my back once more and then prods me forward. “We’ll see if you change your mind once it sinks in just how skilled these hands are. You’ll find stairs to the garden entrance just around the next bend, Lamb.”
He leaves me to continue on alone, mulling over exactly what he meant about his skills “sinking in.” But I do recognize the bright hall around the corner, lined with paintings that flicker with bits of illusionary magic.
As I head down the staircase to the broad doors that have been propped open, laughter carries from gardens beyond. I hurry out into the warm sunlight and floral-scented air.
It appears that most of the court has already assembled amid the flowerbeds and hedges since our luncheon, including Their Imperial Eminences and my remaining competitors for Marclinus’s hand. Fausta glances over at me from a cluster of other ladies and immediately narrows her eyes.
I amble along a path past her only to hear her sharp laugh peel out. “It looks like the wild princess is wild with her clothes as well.”
As several nearby heads swivel my way, I’m abruptly aware of the loosening of my bodice. I hastily reach behind me.
This Darium-style gown is meant to emphasize the bosom and waist amid the airy sleeves and skirt. The sparse ribbon lacing at the back maintains that form.
But my grasping hands find that the tight bow Melisse tied for me has slipped completely apart, the lacing spreading wide.
My temper prickles with the realization. This is what Raul meant. As we strolled through the halls, he must have surreptitiously worked the bow loose without my even noticing.
He wanted me thinking about him after he’d walked away—wanted the memory of his seductive mischief burned into my memory with embarrassment.
That’s how he still sees me: as prey. An innocent maiden who’ll be flustered by his rakish behavior .
His assumptions might not be a bad thing. But I do need to fix my dress.
“You really should guide your maid more effectively, Princess Aurelia,” Fausta adds in her snide tone.
As I turn my back to a hedge and tug at the ribbons, Rochelle comes up beside me. “Here, I can fix it quickly.”
“Thank you.” I hold still with much gratitude as my friend secures the lacing again with a firmly knotted bow.
She speaks under her breath as if embarrassed by the admission. “My sisters and I often help each other at home—there’s more of us than maids.”
Not the richest of noble families, then. I’m not surprised by the admission after what I’ve seen and heard from her so far. She’s never seemed truly comfortable putting on courtly airs.
How in the realms did she end up in the middle of this miserable game?
I wish I could ask her that without giving away my own reservations too blatantly.
When she’s finished her efforts, I find the bodice melds to my torso even more neatly than it did before. My belly looks almost as sleek as Fausta’s.
I smooth my hands over it. “You’ve done an impressive job. I think I’ve come out of this mishap looking better than I might have if it hadn’t occurred at all, thanks to you.”
Rochelle gives a soft laugh. “Your figure isn’t difficult to enhance. None of us in my family are great beauties. When you don’t have much to work with, you learn certain tricks for making the most of what you have.”
Her self-deprecation sends a twinge through my gut. “You have plenty of appealing features,” I tell her firmly. Her pale blond curls may be unruly, but they’re certainly eye-catching with that striking color. Her face is reasonably comely. And she does have a figure, even if it’s a little awkward.
More confidence might be enough to solve that problem.
Rochelle shrugs. “It’s all right. I never think about it much except when I’m here. Back home, we’re out roaming the fields and pastures as much as we can get away with, and the birds and bunnies don’t care how pretty a picture we make.”
I smile at the wistfulness in her voice, feeling it echo inside me. “There’s a huge, old forest behind the main royal castle in Accasy. I’d sneak out for a walk there every day that I could. Sometimes you need a little time away from all the trappings, just you and the untouched world.”
A glimmer lights in Rochelle’s eyes, her smile widening. “Yes. I don’t think many of the other ladies here appreciate that. These tamed gardens don’t quite compare.”
As if on cue, two of our fellow competitors wander over to join us with rather timid expressions. One is holding two wine goblets, the second of which she offers to me. “I appreciated your advice during last night’s dinner. It’s—It’s good to know we can still look out for each other.”
I take the goblet and turn it between my fingers, resolving to swap it for a fresh one off one of the servants’ trays when I have the chance. Even if her gratitude is genuine, I’m still standing between her and the marriage she’s vying for.
Between her and her very survival, quite possibly.
I’m not sure I’d accept a drink even from Rochelle, as much common ground as we’ve found.
“I’m glad I could help,” I say. “We all deserve the best possible chance.”
In these wretched, ridiculous tests , I can’t add with Emperor Tarquin and Marclinus standing nearby .
A ruddy-faced man with a similar large-boned but slightly awkward build to Rochelle’s ambles over and sets his hand on her shoulder. His gray-blond moustache flutters as he speaks. “You’ve been more than kind to my daughter, Your Highness. I hope your poise can rub off on her.”
Rochelle’s face pinks beneath her freckles. “We were all a little taken aback by the announcement at first—” she starts in a meek tone.
Her father barrels right over her explanation. “You’ve never wanted to reach for enough. We have a good name! You can do it proud. Just keep that head high.”
My friend’s smile looks resigned. “Of course, Father.”
Ah. I no longer need to wonder why she was thrown into the competition.
Perhaps I can offer a diversion from the uncomfortable turn the conversation has taken. My thumb rubs the side of my ring absently as I look around.
My gaze skims the flowerbeds and pauses on the emperor and his heir. They’re standing in profile to me by a hedge sculpture like the imperial hawk spreading its wings over a column. Emperor Tarquin is holding a wine glass of his own.
I furrow my brow and drop my voice to a hush. “Did His Imperial Majesty’s hand just wobble? It almost looked as if he’s having trouble carrying his goblet.”
My four companions all cast hasty glances that way. Rochelle’s father frowns. “I hadn’t noticed.”
I glance away with a brief laugh. “It was probably nothing. I was only startled because he normally seems so strong and steady.”
I’d direct the conversation to another new topic, but Fausta saunters over to our little cluster just then, trailing several of her noblewomen friends behind her. She tosses back her flame-red hair and wrinkles her pert nose at me .
“Lady Giralda, Lady Iseppa, let’s not fawn over our princess from the north. We can’t let her think she’s as superior as she likes to act.”
I act superior? The kettle would like to have word with the pot.
I keep my smile in place. “We were only having a friendly conversation.”
Fausta’s scoff is as delicate as the rest of her petite frame. “ Friendly . As if we haven’t all seen how you look at us, heard how you talk about us. Oh, yes, please bestow more of your patronizing wisdom on me.”
She’s framing my attempts at help as condescension. My teeth grit against a barbed retort.
If I snap at her, I’ll only appear to be proving her right.
I smooth the anger from my voice. “And what do you call it when a lady purposefully demoralizes her peers, Lady Fausta?”
My rival sniffs as if she couldn’t possibly dignify such a question with a response and turns away from me. “Let those of us who understand the greatness of Dariu stick together and avoid those who’d look down their noses.”
The two ladies have gone rigid. When Fausta starts to drift away, they scurry after her with nervous backward glances as if they think I might retaliate.
“You were wonderful during the knives,” one of them simpers to Fausta before they step out of hearing behind a fountain.
I can’t blame them for caring more about what one of their own thinks of them than my opinion. But it’s hard to take comfort from that thought when Vicerine Bianca sweeps by in Fausta’s wake.
She motions to the other nobles who’ve paused to watch the altercation, directing them away from me and Rochelle. “ Who has time for such pathetic figures. What do you make of the latest shoes on offer in Vivencia, my ladies? Far more refined than anything you’d find in the wild north, no?”
None of those nobles were ever my friends, but my stomach sinks to see the gap widening around my friend and me. Fausta and Bianca have discovered a means of warfare that extends beyond the trials.
Even Rochelle’s father seems affected. “My girl, there is something I wished to discuss with you alone…”
As he drags her away, my gaze slides back to the emperor and Marclinus of its own accord, only to find the two of them watching me with an evaluating air.
I lower my gaze and stride off to find myself a fresh glass of wine. And try not to speculate on how it might hurt my chances if the man I’m meant to marry thinks his whole court already hates me.