Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aurelia
W hen I walk into the dining room for breakfast, I’m probably not as alert as I should be. It took me too long to get to sleep last night, replaying my conversation with Prince Bastien in my head.
I’m increasingly convinced that he was honest about not having meant to nearly murder me. Whatever resentments led him to his mistake with the stew, I can’t afford to hold unnecessary grudges against my only potential allies when I have so few.
He does feel like something close to an ally now. By the end of our talk, he trusted me enough to reveal his more illicit activities. I believed him when he said he wants me to survive the trials.
He looked so earnest in that moment, with his hand tucked around mine…
Perhaps it’s not surprising that a little affection sparked in me before we parted ways. But was that goodbye kiss a clever strategy for deepening whatever connection I’ve finally forged with him or an ill-advised impulse I should have known better than to follow?
Could it possibly have been both?
Whatever the case, I’m too distracted to give Fausta’s cluster of friends a wide enough berth. I’ve barely noted her flame-red hair at the edge of my vision when a murmur and a couple of giggles rise up from their midst.
They surge toward the head table, even though nothing edible has been brought out yet. One lady contrives to step straight into my path at the last second, forcing me to stumble backward to avoid plowing into her.
In the same moment, an unnerving ripping sound hits my ears alongside a tug of my skirt.
I glance down just as Fausta flits deeper into her friends’ midst. I have no doubt she’s responsible for the ragged tear that now splits the mauve silk of my gown from mid-thigh to calf.
My teeth set on edge. I spin toward her, half a dozen cutting remarks leaping to my tongue to tell her off once and for all—and my gaze catches on Marclinus lounging in his throne-like chair by the end of the table.
He’s come early today. He’s watching the bunch of us while he twirls his butter knife in his hand as if it’s flying between his fingers.
I’ve never been very concerned what Fausta thinks of me, but I still need to keep the imperial heir’s favor. He’s seen me unshakably serene and composed. I’d like to maintain that image.
Another flurry of giggles breaks out from the ladies. Bianca swans by at the back of the pack, adding a tsk of her tongue. “You really should be more careful with those fine gowns, wild princess.”
I swallow my frustration, the comments I’d like to make searing in my throat.
Well, now I need to put on a new dress. The walk will give me time to simmer down.
The moment I step out of the dining room, I can’t stop my hands from balling. Why does Fausta have to be such a wretch to all of us? Does she really hate the ladies she grew up with so much that she’s happily ushering them to their deaths alongside me?
By every appearance so far, yes, she does.
And she also hates me so much simply for existing that she sees every petty inconvenience she can create as some kind of victory.
It’s of no consequence. I have other gowns. But the events of the past few days and the knowledge that we should expect the next trial sometime soon have worn away at my temper.
I’m breathing slowly, willing the anger down, when I catch voices up ahead. Male voices, a mix of jovial and sneering, with mocking guffaws mixed in.
“Why do you even bother coming to breakfast, silent man? Shouldn’t you be asking the cooks to grind all your meals into mash like a swaddled babe?”
“My theory is you had them carve out your tongue because your singing was so horrifying.”
“Right—he had to make sure no one ever asked it of him!”
My jaw clenches harder. I round the bend just in time to see one of the younger noblemen elbowing Prince Lorenzo in the ribs while his companions snicker.
Lorenzo is striding straight ahead, his gaze fixed on his destination, his well-built form rigid. There’s obviously no point in him even trying to communicate with these jackasses.
They’re not looking for a conversation, only a punching bag.
All at once, I’m twice as furious as before. And right now, there’s no emperor or heir around to judge me for my remarks.
I pick up my pace to meet them with a muffled rapping of my shoes against the carpeted floor.
“Come on, open wide and let’s see the horror for ourselves,” one of the men is cajoling Lorenzo.
I plant myself directly in front of their gaggle, my feet wide and hands on my hips. “It’s not often I hear such blatant disrespect for the gods. You all must not care to receive any good favor from them.”
Both Lorenzo and his hecklers draw to a halt. The prince twitches his head in what might be a shake of refusal, but I need to put someone who deserves it in their place today or I might explode.
The nobleman who was elbowing Lorenzo furrows his brow at me. “What are you talking about? We’re just having a bit of fun, a little jest.”
I scoff. “A bit of jest calling a sacrifice made to the godlen a ‘horror’? Insulting the purpose of that sacrifice? Inganne might appreciate playing around, but somehow I think she’d draw the line there.”
The men shuffle uncomfortably, most of them looking suitably chided. One fool, I think the fellow who was speculating about the prince’s eating habits, doesn’t know when to shut up.
“What’s it to you either way?” he says. “You don’t make any laws around here. ”
I give him the most disdainful look I can summon. “Forgive me if I’d prefer to walk these spectacular halls without hearing them sullied by blasphemous idiocy.”
That provokes a couple more snickers, these ones are aimed at my target. His friends jostle him teasingly. With a huff, he marches around me, continuing on to breakfast with the others hustling after him.
Lorenzo pauses for just a few seconds, scowling at me with the force of a thunderstorm. His hand jerks at his side. I was okay. Don’t need protecting.
Then he sweeps past me too, without so much as a sideways glance.
As I whirl after him, my stomach sinks. I didn’t mean to make him angry by telling off those spoiled bullies.
The memories wash over me of the vulnerabilities he revealed the other night, the beauty he showed me, the tenderness of his kiss and his supportive touch after I collapsed in my illness.
I thought we’d founded something more real than I might ever get from his foster brothers. Have I just ruined it?
“Lorenzo.” I hurry after him, my quest for a replacement gown abandoned. “Lorenzo!”
He doesn’t slow down, and I don’t want to outright run—especially as we pass the area of the dining room and other nobles heading that way. But Lorenzo keeps going past the common rooms, down one side hall and then another, studiously ignoring me.
“Lorenzo, can we just talk?—”
Without looking back, he makes a gesture that clearly says, Go away .
I frown. I’ve dealt him an injury accidentally. Leaving it to fester doesn’t seem wise, especially when I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to speak to him without witnesses.
How many times have he and his closest companions barged into my space when they had no right to, even when I’ve told them directly to leave? Turnabout should be fair play. At least my reason is more honorable.
He swerves through a doorway, and I speed to a jog just in time to catch the door before it shuts.
As I push into the room after him, Lorenzo spins on his heel to face me, his gaze accusing. Pinned by his dark stare, it takes the rest of my awareness a moment to catch up—to realize I’ve followed him right into what must be his bedroom, based on the furnishings.
Of course. Isn’t this the same hall where I saw Raul emerging from his chambers the other day?
A four-poster bed stands off to one side of the room, a couple of armchairs arranged in a sitting area at the other. The shelves across from me hold an assortment of scattered books, papers, and at least a dozen instruments, all of their wooden surfaces polished to gleaming.
Lorenzo makes the same gesture as before, more emphatically. Go away!
I step to the side of the door, staying close to the wall so it’s not too much of an invasion but making it clear I’m not leaving. “When did any of you ever listen to me when I asked for the same? You’re angry at me. I’m sorry. I was only— They were being awful. They deserved to have someone knock them down a peg.”
Lorenzo’s hands flick through another series of movements, a little too hasty in his agitation for me to totally understand. At my puzzled expression, he makes a rough sound. He pulls a paper and pencil from his belt pouch and leans over his bedside table .
His handwriting slashes across the page in fierce strokes. I can handle them. Don’t need you rescuing me. I’m not feeble.
His anger starts to make more sense. The realization of how my defense came across makes me wince.
I soften my tone. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’ve never thought you were weak. I never thought you needed me to step in. I just… could. They were right there in front of me, and I don’t like seeing anyone treated cruelly. It was only about them being asses, not anything to do with my opinion of you.”
Lorenzo gives me a skeptical look. He scribbles another note. Would you have done the same for Raul?
I can’t help snorting at the picture that question paints. “I have trouble imagining any of those pricks daring to go at him quite that blatantly. But Bastien or Neven? Of course. I mean… isn’t that what the three of you tried to do for me when you realized I was sick? You wanted to help because you could, because it’d have bothered you not to. Or do you think I’m feeble?”
The corner of the prince’s mouth cants upward. The tension in his shoulders appears to be relaxing. His next few gestures sketch more smoothly through the air.
I think he says, That night, you were a little. His tentative smile suggests he doesn’t mean it as a criticism.
I wrinkle my nose at the point made but can’t deny it. “So maybe you can agree I have a slight advantage dealing with spiteful idiots because I can talk to them more directly?”
Lorenzo glowers at me for a second, but as his animosity fades, so does any lingering tension in the air. He sighs in a long rush and twists his hand in the shape I recognize from when he apologized that night in the woods.
Sorry. I’m bad at taking help. Sometimes it’s worse.
Worse because his bullies hassle him more after the chiding or worse because most people who might defend him end up turning around to inflict similar treatment?
Probably some of both.
I nod, my throat tight. “I can understand that. I shouldn’t have barged into a situation that had nothing to do with me without checking with you first. In the future, I’ll do whatever you’d like.”
Lorenzo considers me. Now that his annoyance has dissipated, a glint sparks in his eyes nearly as sly as when he stole the fruit in the orchard for us to share.
He picks up his pencil again. Anything I’d like?
The emphasis and the heat in his gaze send a tingle over my skin. The kiss we shared after the twilight pumello tickles up from my memory again.
I wet my lips without meaning to. Lorenzo tracks the movement, and my whole body warms with the sharper awareness that we’re alone in his bedroom.
Is it wise to become more entangled with any of the princes? Especially when I’ve now kissed two of them, regardless of how fleeting a peck I gave Bastien?
Especially when desire is already pulsing through my veins at the thought of experiencing Lorenzo’s kiss again?
But I do want them utterly on my side. If I’m going to win over this man, wouldn’t it help more than hurt to play to his interest in me a little more?
The more invested he is in me being alive, the more likely he’ll do something to ensure I stay that way if the opportunity arises.
And damn it, it’d be nice to feel good for a moment or two amid all the awfulness of the court.
I meet Lorenzo’s eyes without shrinking. “What are you thinking?”
He steps closer, his gait languid now, his gaze burning into me with its intensity. At the stroke of his fingers along my jaw, my chin rises automatically.
As he claims my mouth, he nudges me closer to the wall. My arms loop around his shoulders instinctively. I’m caught in his embrace, in the thrilling slide of his mouth and the heat of his body washing over mine.
So why does it feel like he’s opened the door to my cage?
My fingers trail up into the short tufts of his thick hair, and a rumble emanates from his chest. He kisses me harder, his hand coming to rest on my waist.
Just a little fun, I tell myself. A little pleasure before I have nothing left ahead of me but duty.
I recite that excuse through another scorching kiss, through the experimental brush of Lorenzo’s fingers up my torso. Through the jolt of bliss when he palms my breast through my gown.
A whimper slips from my throat. Lorenzo drinks in the sound. When I can’t help arching into his touch, he swivels his hand against my chest with more assurance.
My nipple pebbles at the friction, more giddy quivers racing over my skin. Arousal pools between my thighs.
I should stop this soon. I should stop before I’m dragged under more than he is.
He eases a little lower, and the torn fabric of my dress shifts. A current of air wafts over my leg.
The sensation hits me like a bucket of cold water.
I’m supposed to be at breakfast right now. I’ve already taken far more time away than should be required to exchange gowns.
My body tenses. Lorenzo draws back immediately, his gaze searching mine.
I touch the side of his face to soften the partial rejection. Can he feel how hard he’s set my heart thumping? “ I need to fix my dress and make it to breakfast before it’s over.”
That’s all I have to say. He knows what’s at stake. It doesn’t stop Lorenzo from stealing one more swift but sweet kiss, but then he ushers me out the door without attempting to change my mind.
I can’t help noting that I’ve already won enough loyalty from him that he’d prefer to see me survive the day rather than ruin me in more ways than one.
It’s a victory. I have to hold on to it.
I rush to my own room as quickly as I can, trade the ripped dress for an intact one, and stride back to the dining room. The smells of buttered bread and fried cheese set my mouth watering as I approach the table.
Most of the nobles at the head table are still eating. But as I drop into my chair, Marclinus dabs his fingers on his napkin and rises to his feet.
“My ladies,” he says with a dip of his head in acknowledgment, his lips curved in the cruel smirk I’ve come to know so well. “Take this as your notice that the next trial will begin in the hall of entertainments on the hour.”