Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Aurelia
I n the hour before dinner, after a bath that’s done much to soothe my unsteady nerves, I seek out the rest of the court and find most of them gathered in the parlor. I didn’t think I could go any longer without my absence being remarked on again.
As I walk into the room, the first gaze that locks with mine is Prince Neven’s from where he’s standing just beyond the doorway. The young prince’s bright brown eyes narrow into a glower with the tensing of his posture.
“Enjoying yourself, Your Highness?” he asks in a sharp tone. At the back of his mouth, I catch a flash of the steel teeth Melisse mentioned.
I can already tell this wouldn’t be a productive conversation. I dip my head to him in acknowledgment while veering in a different direction. “As much as you are, I’d imagine. ”
I’m a little worried he’ll follow me to let out whatever animosity he’s apparently still harboring, but the next time I glance around, he’s disappeared within the crowd.
Now that my only real friend in the palace has been relegated to staff, I’m more adrift than ever among the members of the court. Even my fellow competitors who I’ve talked to before in vaguely friendly ways turn the other way as I weave through the room. The other gentlemen and ladies eye me up and down and murmur to each other, but the best they offer me are thin smiles that hold no warmth at all.
When I cross paths with Bianca, she shoots a smirk my way before primping her sleek upswept hair and sashaying onward. She’s done her work well, chilling the court against me.
I’m going to have an upward battle even if I win the marriage I came here for.
I end up near one of the doorways, watching for a server to enter and taking a glass of wine off his tray before anyone could have had a chance to meddle with it. When Fausta and Bianca are in the room, I’m not inclined to leave my safety to chance.
As I sip the tart liquid, a slender figure approaches at the edge of my vision. Prince Bastien inclines his auburn head as if examining the trinkets displayed on the shelves along the wall.
“How are you faring?” he asks. He doesn’t glance my way, but there’s no one else near enough for him to be talking to.
I adjust my weight, evaluating the ache lingering in my legs. “I’ve felt better, but I can get by. I’d imagine I’ll be fully healed within a week.”
He lets out a rough breath. “I wish we could have done more. If we’d found you sooner?—”
“I’m lucky you did at all.” I pause, measuring my words. He’s given me a perfect opening for the request I was already hoping to make. “There is something else that would help, though.”
Bastien’s head ticks slightly toward me before he catches himself. “What’s that?”
With the prince who’s always seemed the most practical of the bunch, I expect I’m best off taking a straightforward approach. “Lady Fausta has had an edge in the trials because Vicerine Bianca ferrets out information in advance. You spend a lot of time around Emperor Tarquin and Marclinus. If you pay extra attention to any comments they make or actions you observe that might relate to their plans, and let me know… It could even the playing field.”
I wouldn’t have dared to make such a request before this morning’s rescue. Even now, my breath catches as I wait for his answer.
Whatever guilt he felt over nearly killing me, saving my life today has balanced the scales. He might laugh in my face at the idea of being my spy, or accuse me of attempting treason, or?—
Bastien gives a short nod. “I can do that. Keep my eyes and ears open. They haven’t discussed the specifics of the upcoming trials in front of me before, but I might pick up on something that’d be of use.”
“Thank you.” Relief sweeps through me, even though his agreement is hardly a guarantee of results. Simply knowing I have that kind of support within the palace eases the uncertainties that gnaw at me.
I know Rochelle will help me any way she can too, but in her new position she won’t have many excuses to be around the emperor. I don’t want to encourage her to stick her neck out more than is safe and risk Marclinus changing his mind about staying her execution .
At the edge of my vision, Bastien grimaces. “It’s the least I can do.”
While we’ve carried out our surreptitious conversation, my gaze has continued traveling around the room. It snags on a head of white-blond hair. Neven is standing near a few of the court musicians in the corner of the room. They’d just wrapped up playing when I arrived, and he looks as if he’s asking the trim fellow who plays the harp about his instrument.
Maybe there’s something more immediate I could seek Bastien’s help with.
“I don’t suppose any of you have bothered to let Prince Neven know that you’ve decided I’m not a villain after all,” I say, keeping my tone light. “He still seemed rather peeved with me when he spoke to me this afternoon.”
Bastien mutters a curse under his breath. “I’ll talk to him tonight. With everything else that’s happened, I didn’t even think of it. You don’t need to worry about it—he’ll listen to us.”
It’s hard to see the puppy-dog-ish teenager as a huge threat, but I’d rather not take my chances there either. “Thank you for that too.”
Neven definitely doesn’t look hostile now. He gestures toward the harp and gazes avidly at the musician while the other man answers. When the harpist touches the prince’s arm to emphasize some point, a blush spreads across Neven’s cheeks.
My lips twitch with amusement. “It can wait a little while, of course. I won’t ask you to interrupt his flirting.”
“What?” Bastien jerks around to follow my gaze. “Gods help me, if that prick is encouraging him…”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “Why shouldn’t he? Neven obviously likes him. If Raul’s reputation is anything to go by, there aren’t any rules against fostered princes pursuing whatever dalliances they want.”
Bastien frowns. “He’s only seventeen—practically still a kid. He has no idea what he actually wants yet. I don’t think a court musician is the best person to figure it out with. They get around nearly as much as Raul does.”
Somehow I don’t imagine any of the older princes considered themselves “kids” at seventeen—or kept themselves chaste that long. But I suspect Bastien wouldn’t appreciate me pointing that fact out.
“He won’t figure out what he actually wants unless he gives a few things a shot.” A pang of loss ripples through me, softening my voice. “And seventeen’s plenty old enough to fall in love.”
Bastien looks at me for the first time in our conversation, but at the same moment, there’s a tap on my shoulder. Rochelle has slipped through the doorway and come up at my other side.
She offers a quick but warm smile. “We’re supposed to escort our ladies to their seats for dinner.”
My stomach gurgles in answer, reminding me that I missed breakfast and didn’t have much appetite at lunch. I give Bastien a quick nod in farewell and turn to follow Rochelle. “Lead the way.”
She’s obviously doing her best to show total commitment to her new role. Only a few other maids and pages have arrived to start ushering the court to the dining room. I drift to the side of the hall so we can talk quietly without being overheard.
Rochelle speaks before I can, with a swift glance over her shoulder toward the room we left. “You were talking with Prince Bastien about Prince Neven? ”
I laugh. “Briefly. He seemed rather concerned about his foster brother having any romantic pursuits.”
Rochelle hums. “The other princes have always kept a close eye on Neven, from what I’ve seen. I suppose it makes sense they’re so protective, given… everything.”
I hadn’t thought about the fact that Rochelle’s been visiting court since the princes were much younger. Her comment rouses my interest. “What’s ‘everything’? I assumed it was only because he’s a fair bit younger than the rest of them.”
“Well, there is that, but also—have you not heard? I suppose no one really talks about it now since it’s been ten years.”
I tap my elbow against hers. “I haven’t heard anything, so you’d better tell me before I expire of curiosity.”
Rochelle’s gaze darts around the hall. Her voice dips lower. “Neven wasn’t the first prince Emperor Tarquin fostered from Goric. He’s thirdborn. He had an older brother, Pavel, who was fostered before him… The first one who came to the palace, almost a year before Bastien. I wasn’t here when it happened, but ten years ago, apparently he went mad and tried to murder the emperor. Of course he was executed. Neven was brought in to take his place.”
My stomach hollows out. If Prince Pavel was less than a year older than Bastien, he and the other older princes would have grown up together—would probably have relied on each other for several years the way the three of them do now.
I can’t even wrap my mind around how they must have felt to lose him. And to see another boy brought in as yet another hostage in their friend’s place…
They have even more reasons for their anger than I guessed. Gods, it must be torture for Neven to be living here with the man who executed his brother.
Rochelle’s right—it’s no surprise at all that the older princes would be committed to making sure he survives his time at the palace.
I’ve gained a small piece of the puzzle that I was missing, one that makes the picture so much more coherent.
I don’t dare mention any of those thoughts here in the hall where I might be overheard. To even imply there was anything tragic about the execution of a boy who attacked the emperor would be treason in itself.
Before I can decide how to continue the conversation, Rochelle returns my conspiratorial nudge of the elbow. “The way you said what you did about falling in love at seventeen… It almost sounded as if you were speaking from experience.”
She doesn’t ask the question outright, but it’s clearly implied. A pang resonates through my heart.
I don’t see any reason to lie, though there’s no need to spell out all the details. “I can’t say no man ever caught my eye before I arrived here. What’s growing up without at least one flirtation that was never to be? It’s well in the past.”
It’s more than three years now since the news came that I’d never see his face again. The grief has long since dulled, and I set aside the echo of loss that’s risen up.
It was my mistake, forgetting my place. My heart is full with the love of my family, my country, my people, and the peaceful godlen who watches over us all.
Rochelle looks as though she might pry for more of the story, but I’m saved by our arrival at the dining room. One of the gilded imperial chairs has been set in the middle of the head table tonight, and Rochelle directs me to the seat at its left .
“I’m not sure why they rearranged the chairs,” she says with a furrow of her brow.
I gather my fortitude. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll see you later tonight.”
As I settle myself in my seat, more of the court drifts into the room. I’m glad to see Fausta placed four chairs distant from me and Bianca at a completely different table, but my relief is short-lived.
Marclinus strolls over to the gilded chair that’s next to mine and sprawls into it. He grins at me with an air much more relaxed than this morning. “It seems you’ll be keeping me company through dinner, Princess Aurelia. We can get to know each other even better.”
Beneath the table, he trails his fingers over my knee through my skirt.
I restrain a flinch, forcing my mouth into an ingratiating smile. “How wonderful.”
My gaze trips down the table to where Emperor Tarquin has taken his own seat at his usual spot at the head of the table. The emperor’s piercing gaze evaluates me.
I’m still being tested after this morning’s lapse. Are they trying to provoke me into revealing that I don’t really want to be here?
It isn’t going to happen. I haven’t come this far, endured this much, to slip up now.
But I can’t forget that the greatest threat in this palace isn’t Fausta or Bianca or any of the nobles who’ve sneered or glared at me. It’s the emperor and his heir themselves.