Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aurelia
B astien ushers Rochelle between the trees toward the clearing. The moment she spots me, she dashes forward twice as fast. “Thank the gods! I brought the dress. You’d better hurry.”
She hauls the gown she picked out for me last night from the large picnic basket where she had it heaped in beneath a blanket.
After spending all yesterday fully on display for the entire court, I don’t even think about stripping to my underclothes to yank the new dress over my head, despite the three princes still on guard around me.
Rochelle babbles on as she helps me adjust the waist. “I had no idea what to tell anyone. I was so worried. And Fausta and Bianca wouldn’t stop spewing out ‘speculations’ that you’d abandoned the trials. I said you were taking a little time to yourself to clear your head and prepare for the next trial, but I don’t know how much the emperor believed me. Are you really all right?”
I can’t do anything but smile at my friend and her frantic concern. “All right enough to keep going, and the rest of the healing will happen in its own time.”
Flacos the medic set all my broken bones and sealed the cracks. He was able to smooth over some of the damage to my throat too. But there is no perfect healing magic.
I can feel the tiny tears that linger in my muscles with twinges every time I adjust my stance or turn at the waist. I don’t think attempting a sprint would be wise for at least the next few days. And I’ll be keeping speeches to a minimum until the stinging sensation has completely eased when I swallow.
While Rochelle runs the brush she brought through my mussed hair in a few swift strokes, Lorenzo shoves the old, soiled dress into the basket and covers it. The moment my friend is finished tending to me, Raul grabs the basket and shoves it into Rochelle’s hands. “Get her where she needs to go, and keep your mouth shut.”
I frown at him. “She’s on my side. More than you’ve been in the time since I arrived here.”
Raul clamps his lips together with a trace of a wince.
Rochelle peers at him and the other princes with obvious curiosity, but she takes his order to heart despite my defending her. Setting a steadying hand on my upper arm, she sets off for the palace alongside me.
“The princes found you?” she murmurs when we’re out of hearing distance. “I didn’t realize you’d talked much with them. They seem very… invested.”
I mustn’t be imagining their intensity if she noticed it too. I give the answer that makes the most sense while still being acceptable. “They know as well as I do what it’s like to end up here from homes beyond Dariu’s borders. It’s hard not to bond a little over that kind of common experience.”
“Oh! Yes, of course, I didn’t even think of that.” Rochelle flushes. “Honestly, most of the time it feels as if you fit in at the palace better than I do. I almost forget how new you are to court.”
I reach to set my hand over hers against my arm. “I take that as a compliment. And thank you for doing your best to cover for my disappearance. If I’d had any way to get word to you?—”
“I know. That’s not your fault.” Her expression turns fierce. “How are you going to deal with Fausta?”
My stomach twists at the thought of the petite redhead—at the memories of her caustic words and vicious blows last night. “Keep my distance and be twice as cautious. I can’t accuse her without revealing that I was healed against Emperor Tarquin’s orders, and gods only know what the emperor would do to me—or the medic who helped me—then.”
Rochelle lets out her breath in a huff. “I always knew she could be conniving, but to go that far…” She cringes. “I think it’s going to take a while before the other staff really see me as one of them, but if I overhear anything about her or Bianca that sounds ominous, I’ll let you know right away.”
I wish the loss of her title brought her more immediate benefits than just avoiding murder. Gods willing, it won’t take too long after the trials are finished—assuming I can avoid being murdered during them—for me to send her where she truly wants to be.
We cross the gardens and clamber up the stairs to the audience room, where Marclinus demanded everyone’s presence. Pain throbs from my recently healed foot and shin.
In the hall, Rochelle gives my arm one last squeeze and heads toward my bedroom. She’s no longer welcome as a participant in courtly affairs—and it’s better for both of us if no one has a chance to pay attention to that picnic basket before she can stash the dirt-stained gown amongst my things.
Willing back the discomforts of my body, I march into the audience room.
In the first instant after I cross the threshold, I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time to my very first day here, when I entered this room before the entire court just like I appear to be doing now.
Back then, I hadn’t the faintest clue what I was actually walking into.
I stride with measured grace to where the other five ladies still vying for my betrothed stand arrayed before the two imperial thrones. When Lady Fausta glances over and sees me, her face blanches almost as white as it looked after she’d exhausted herself conjuring the illusion of the dove.
Like she’s seen a ghost.
I hold my satisfaction tight inside and aim a pleasant smile at my fellow competitors. When I reach the front of the room, I dip into a curtsy meant to encompass both of Their Imperial Eminences.
The ache in my weakened legs sears deeper, but I straighten up without a wobble.
Marclinus is watching me with one of his cooler expressions. He’s toying with a dagger, running the point beneath one fingernail. “Princess Aurelia. You deprived me of your company for most of the morning.”
As if on cue, the hourly bell rings out, marking just how close I came to missing his deadline.
“My apologies, Your Imperial Highness.” I lower my head for additional deference. “It wasn’t my intention to neglect you. I took a stroll through the woods to meditate on how I might best continue to please you and lost track of the time. It was a pleasure to see a little wildness celebrated here as it is back in Accasy. Perhaps we can take a similar walk together sometime.”
Marclinus hums noncommittally. The brief tightening of his mouth emphasizes the scar notched through his upper lip.
An uneasy prickle runs over my skin. How much of his favor has Fausta’s attack cost me, even if she didn’t accomplish her greater purpose?
I keep my gaze trained on the imperial heir, but I can’t help noting the moment each of the princes arrives in the room to join Neven on the platform in their usual places. Marclinus doesn’t so much as glance their way.
He didn’t care about them being on time. This was a test for me more than anyone else, even his other prospective brides.
And I don’t think it’s over yet.
Marclinus flips his dagger and slides it into the sheath at his hip. He speaks in a languid tone. “The six of you ladies have all proven yourselves admirably so far. The cream that’s risen to the top. But we haven’t finished our evaluations yet.”
Emperor Tarquin lifts his dry voice from where he’s been watching the proceedings from his own throne. “If anything, your continued dedication to my son is more important now than it ever was. We certainly wouldn’t want to see complacency or faltering enthusiasm after making it this far.”
Who the fuck does the emperor think could be complacent after what they’ve put us through?
I shouldn’t have needed to worry about complacency in the first place. I should have been able to assume that my betrothal was set as agreed upon, not a promise dangled like bait.
I suppress all those thoughts behind my agreeable smile as Marclinus picks up the thread. He leans forward in his chair with a cool grin. “So we’re giving you all the chance to confirm that you’re still fully committed to seeing through the rest of the trials ahead, now that you’ve had a taste of them. Please present yourselves one by one and beg me for the opportunity to continue.”
He wants us to beg ?
Even as bile lurches up my throat, my legs are propelling me forward. I haven’t forgotten the lesson Fausta schooled us in on the very first day of the trials.
Whoever gets to the imperial heir first has no acts to follow.
There’s a slight scuffing of shoes against the floor behind me, as if Fausta started to throw herself forward but caught herself on seeing I’d leapt in first. Her trickery might have come back to bite her in one small way—she was so stunned by seeing me well it set her off-balance.
But I still have to figure out how to convincingly plead for the chance to go through all the additional torments Marclinus and his father have in store for us.
Prostration seems like an excellent place to start—and a way to buy my whirling mind a few more seconds to pull together a coherent plea. I drop to my knees at the edge of the dais in front of the imperial heir, bowing my head so low my hair drapes across the floor.
“Please, Your Imperial Eminences,” I say in my humblest voice, deciding it can’t hurt to speak to both of them even if I’m focusing on Marclinus. The heir might be making some of his own decisions, but it’s Tarquin who holds most of the power. “I did not even know just how much earning your good favor mattered to me until these past several days. The challenges you’ve presented have impressed me to no end with how discerning you are. I have no thought left in my mind, no concern to occupy me other than what will serve you both, but especially Your Imperial Highness, best.”
Someone, maybe Bianca, lets out a faint scoffing sound. I don’t dare raise my head yet to take in Marclinus’s expression.
“Thank you for honing my purpose and giving me the chance to prove my worth. There is nothing I want more than to keep doing so, in every way you can conceive of and to whatever lengths you desire, so that you know I will put in the same effort throughout any future I get to spend with you. Please, simply tell me what you would want of me next, and I will oblige with all I am.”
The effusive lies leave my stomach churning. I remain prostrate in front of the imperial heir, awaiting his response.
A slow clap carries from the throne. “Very pretty, Princess Aurelia,” Marclinus drawls. “You set a high standard to meet. It would be my pleasure to continue discovering how you might please me.”
No doubt. I will down the shamed flush that flares in my cheeks and rise with one more dip of my head. “I’m immensely grateful for your generosity, Your Imperial Highness.”
Naturally, the moment I step away from the dais, Fausta prances in to plead her case next. She practically sobs with her statement of how much the opportunity means to her and how she’s appreciated getting to know Marclinus to new depths.
The imperial heir takes it all in with the same air of cool amusement. He’s not in so much of a leering mood today, but his more subdued attitude leaves me on edge.
What else is he plotting ?
Nothing quite yet, it appears. The other four of the remaining ladies beg with abandon, and Marclinus approves of us all without even looking toward his father. Perhaps they’d already decided in advance that my appeal was the only one they truly needed to evaluate.
After the last of the ladies has spoken, Emperor Tarquin gets to his feet with an authoritative air. “I’m gratified to see how much passion these ladies have for my son and heir. Before we have any further excitement, I believe it’s time to eat.”