Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aurelia
W hen Rochelle finds me on my way to luncheon, her hands fly straight to the ribbons at my waist for a hasty adjustment.
“What have you been doing?” she murmurs. “I had these tied perfectly before breakfast.”
I restrain a grimace and pitch my voice even lower than hers. “His Imperial Highness had some fun teasing all ‘his’ ladies during this morning’s activities. Thank you.”
As she eases back, I shoot her a quick smile. “How have you been doing? Are you getting on in the servants’ quarters all right?” We didn’t have an opportunity to talk openly this morning because Melisse was seeing to my hair and powder while Rochelle sorted out my clothes.
Rochelle laughs softly. “I mean, it’s certainly different from my usual chambers. But my father won’t lower himself to coming there to speak to me, so at least I don’t have to face his disappointment, as much larger as it must be now.” Her own smile falters. “He probably wishes I’d died.”
I give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “ I certainly don’t. He doesn’t get any say in your life now. But I do. Hopefully more say soon enough. Are you decently comfortable? Have you run into any problems?”
A little amusement comes back into Rochelle’s tone. “There were nights here and there at home when I ended up falling asleep in the stables, or out on the porch—a servant’s bed is cozier than that. So I can’t complain.” She pauses. “I think Melisse is annoyed that you’ve taken on a second maid, though.”
I frown. “Has she complained to you?”
“No, nothing direct. She just always seems irritable when she talks to me. Or she’ll give me the cold shoulder… Maybe I’m only imagining it.”
“I’ll keep trying to make sure I’m still giving her plenty of work too.”
As we reach the dining room, Rochelle hurries ahead of me to check with the other staff about where I should sit. I’m meandering after her when careful fingers graze my arm.
Bastien’s voice reaches me from behind, dropped to a whisper. “I overheard the emperor talking to the kitchen staff a little before lunch. He was asking them to bring up a couple of extra crates of wine beyond the usual. I don’t know if that’s significant, but…”
As he trails off, dread pools in my gut. This is the second day since we ladies pleaded for Marclinus to let us continue the trials, and three since we last had a full test of our devotion.
I couldn’t have expected the reprieve to last much longer.
I dip my head in thanks, not sure if the prince even sees my acknowledgment before he ambles onward as if he was simply brushing past me.
Rochelle motions me over to the head table and pulls out my seat for me. Since two nights ago, Marclinus has moved his chair back to the foot of the table. I’m glad to see this time I’m not seated at the end next to him but vaguely middle-ish.
I end up in between Iseppa and Giralda, neither of whom are willing to chat much with me after Bianca’s efforts at cooling the court’s opinion, but neither of whom have ever been overtly hostile either. I keep a close eye on my food and my drink regardless—and only pretend to sip my wine.
If something important is going to happen with our beverages today, less intoxication is almost always safer than more.
Neither the emperor nor his heir make any unnerving moves during the meal. Tarquin keeps up a subdued conversation with the older members of court seated around him. Marclinus is his often-typical jovial self, laughing and teasing both those nearby and occasionally hollering quips to the nobles at other tables.
As the servers clear our dessert dishes, the emperor motions for those of us at the head table to stay in our seats. Other staff move into the center of the room, pushing back some of the furniture and arranging several chairs around a smaller, round table where they set out more than a dozen bottles of wine and a ring of goblets.
My pulse thuds faster in shaky anticipation. Some members of the court have drifted out of the room, but many linger around the edges, watching with open curiosity.
We’re about to become another spectacle.
Marclinus gets to his feet and beckons us. “Ladies, join me for an extra drink. You deserve a chance to relax after all your efforts.”
Somehow I have trouble believing that the tableau he’s creating has anything to do with us relaxing.
The six of us remaining move to the circle of chairs, Fausta striding ahead with a regal air though I can’t see that any of the options gives an advantage over the others. At least with her seated first, I can ensure I’m not sitting next to her.
The imperial heir settles into the last of the chairs and snaps his fingers at the waiting server. She takes the first bottle and fills all of the goblets to the top. Emperor Tarquin positions himself beyond our ring, his piercing gaze traveling over each of us.
There are only six glasses, I can’t help noticing as the server sets one right in front of me. Is Marclinus not partaking of this drinking session?
“Don’t be shy,” he says to us in a cheerful tone. “Drink up!”
I raise my goblet tentatively to my lips. The wine isn’t one of the typical vintages we drink with meals but something sweeter, headier. It goes down smoothly, but I can tell it’ll pack a punch.
Unfortunately, there’s no option for moderation now. As I sip, Marclinus motions to us all with energetic impatience. “Come, now. Look how much we have to get through! You’re not really celebrating until you’re at least three glasses in.”
Three goblets of this stuff and I might be on the floor.
I can’t avoid his orders, though. By seating us at a new table with nothing else around, there are no napkins for me to spit into or dishes that might conceal an errant dribble.
What’s he after with this trial? It doesn’t seem like him or his father to put us through a repeat of our previous over-indulgent dinner, only with purely liquid this time. And there are no buckets to contain the results of a few drinks too many.
By the bottom of the second glass, my thoughts have taken on a fuzzy edge. By the third, I seem to lose my sense of balance for a moment here and there, leaving me swaying to one side and the other. From the giggles and wobbles around our table, I’m definitely not the only one so affected.
Marclinus offers us a pleased smile. “That’s more like it. No need for nerves, no need for caution. You can say whatever you like to me without a single worry. Lady Leonette, how have you been enjoying these trials?”
The normally solemn woman now has a small, uneven smile curving across her dark face. “You’ve certainly given us a lot of variety and challenge.”
“Indeed I have; indeed I have. Lady Giralda, I’d love to know—what about me do you find most obnoxious?”
A chill seeps through my tipsiness, but the other woman guffaws and then covers her mouth. “You’re not at all obnoxious, Your Imperial Highness. You’re just perfect.”
“Wonderful.” Marclinus taps his mouth by his scar and gestures to the server. “How about another round? Any objections?”
I’d like to make one, but I’m abruptly sure of the nature of this test. He’s looking to get us drunk enough that we might let some supposedly traitorous thought slip out.
As if any of us should really be blamed for not appreciating every aspect of his personality and his ridiculous, sadistic trials.
Those are exactly the sorts of resentments he and his father are hoping we might reveal. I take a few slow breaths as the server refills our goblets, focusing my mind on the simplest, most positive ways I could view the situation we’re in .
Keep those thoughts at the front of my mind. Shove the frustration and the horror so far down they can’t spill out no matter how much the wine loosens my tongue.
Between swallows I pace as slowly as I feel I can get away with, Marclinus leans toward me. “And our lovely princess. Am I everything you expected?”
A giggle bursts out of me alongside a jolt of panic that I couldn’t contain the sound. But it’s funny partly because I can honestly say, “Oh, yes, absolutely.”
Every bit the cruel, selfish prick I desperately hoped I’d be wrong about.
His eyes gleam with malicious mischief. “But if you could change just one thing…”
“We would already be married,” I tell him, more emphatically than I’d have preferred, but it is also true without sounding like a real complaint.
Marclinus claps his hands in approval with a laugh of his own. “I’m sorry to have delayed that promised day. It shouldn’t take much longer, if you prove yourself until the end.”
Fausta speaks up abruptly, lifting her goblet as if she’s calling for a toast. “You don’t like having competition, wild princess. Don’t like needing to prove yourself when you know we’re better than you. When we’ve been nothing but welcoming.”
Annoyance surges up inside me, but even in my increasingly blurry state, I recognize that she’s goading me. She wants me to snap back at her about her abuse.
Why?
There are things Marclinus isn’t supposed to know… about what she and Bianca have done… about how I recovered from it.
I’m already snorting at the absurdity of her statement. “ Welcoming? You’ve insulted me every chance you get, even when I’ve been perfectly nice to you. You ruined my dress. You—you?—”
I shut my mouth through sheer force of will. I’m not going to talk about what happened in the woods.
It would get me in more trouble than her.
Fausta isn’t willing to let the subject go. “I what , Princess Aurelia? I think you’ve just been careless, then trying to blame your faults on others.”
My goblet wobbles in my hand. Yes, I carelessly walked into her fists and knees—not her fault at all she broke my bones?—
No. Not that. “I’m going to win fairly instead of by tearing everyone else down,” I announce. “You must be awfully afraid you’re not good enough if you think you need to attack me to make it through.”
The jab satisfies me without bringing back the panic that I’ve said too much.
Fausta growls and grabs one of the still-full wine bottles. “Let’s have another drink just the two of us, Princess. I want to celebrate His Imperial Highness’s generosity and cleverness to the fullest.”
I can’t restrain another snort, but at least it could sound like I’m mocking her desire to celebrate rather than the idea of Marclinus being generous. As she fills her glass herself and makes a grabbing gesture toward mine, he watches avidly.
What will he make of it if I refuse? Gritting my teeth, I shove the goblet across the table toward my rival. But I watch every move she makes for signs of sabotage.
I suspect she sloshes even more wine into my glass than her own, but she snatches up hers and throws it back before I can protest for a comparison. I clutch mine with an increasingly wobbly grasp and force myself to gulp .
My stomach turns. Before the end of this, Marclinus might wish he’d brought buckets after all.
He’s still watching our standoff with interest, but his attention has shifted toward Fausta. “Why does Princess Aurelia bother you so much, Lady Fausta?”
Fausta points an accusing finger at me. “She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t know Dariu, so she can’t be everything you need.”
“I’ll learn,” I retort before I can catch my mouth. My mind is absolutely reeling now. Shit.
“And surely our great country could become even greater with fresh perspectives,” Marclinus suggests.
Fausta shakes her head and then looks slightly green from the motion. “No. No. It’s perfect as it is. Just like you.”
I think she might honestly believe that.
Marclinus’s smile sharpens. “But you don’t think I’m perfect. You think I was wrong to invite Princess Aurelia into this competition.”
My heart skips a beat. For a second, it seems Fausta might have backed herself into a corner—that this might be her end.
I’m not even sure how I feel about that. As much as she’s harassed me, would I cheer for her death?
But Fausta brushes off the imperial heir’s accusation without a hint of concern. “You weren’t wrong. You’re reminding us all that we must always aspire to be better, or the outer domains might try to usurp us. We can’t get con—complacent.”
She smothers a hiccup.
Mollified, Marclinus turns to his next target. “How have you been enjoying the tasks I’ve set out for you, Lady Iseppa?”
I think Iseppa might have already gone through a couple of glasses of wine during lunch. Her mouth is twisted as if she’s fighting queasiness, and her gaze wanders aimlessly. “They’re good,” she mumbles. “Showing what we can do. Good.”
“You don’t sound all that sure about it.”
Her lips part, and at first all that comes out is a thin wail. “Why are you bothering us? We’re trying. I’m trying. It’s hard.”
Despite my hazy state, my body stiffens. That isn’t the right answer.
The room goes utterly silent. Even Giralda’s drunken snickers subside.
Marclinus fixes Iseppa with a piercing look. “Have I been too hard on you, Lady Iseppa?”
She stumbles over her words. “Yes—no—I don’t know what you want me to say. Tell me… I can do this right… It’s just too much.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
He speaks without the slightest trace of compassion. I don’t even see the gesture—perhaps Emperor Tarquin was the one to give the summons from beyond our circle.
A guard grabs Iseppa off her chair and yanks her away from the table. She only manages a whimper before I hear the gristly sound of severed flesh.
My shoulders slump. That means this trial is over, doesn’t it? He’s eliminated one. What more could he possibly want right now?
I should know that with Marclinus, there can always be more. As the guard hauls Iseppa’s corpse away, the imperial heir nudges his chair back from us and beckons to someone beyond our circle.
Not someone—several someone s . Perhaps a dozen of the young men from the court step forward. My gaze snags on Prince Raul among them, but he isn’t looking at me.
Marclinus’s benevolent tone returns. “I’m not the only one who finds you quite pleasing, my ladies. Allow the esteemed men of my court to show you their fondness as well.”
What in the realms is happening now?
Five of the men continue approaching. Raul goes to Leonette, right next to me, his gaze trained only on her. Another jolt of nausea ripples through me watching him stroke her smooth cheek as she stares back at him.
“I’ve always thought you were a beauty,” he says in the cajoling voice I know well.
One of the noblemen pushes toward me, and I jerk my attention to him. My hand has clenched—I don’t know if I want to punch Raul for talking that way to another woman in front of me or Leonette for receiving his flirtation.
I can’t. Neither. This is the rest of the trial.
The man who fondles his lovers in front of us wants to make sure we’re loyal only to him, I suppose. The fucking hypocrisy.
My would-be suitor taps my chin and offers a provocative smile. “I think you’ve been neglected during your time here, Princess Aurelia. None of the other ladies can hold a candle to you.”
His even features and bright eyes would be handsome enough if I were making an objective assessment. I can barely focus on him with Raul murmuring husky promises to the woman just a couple of feet away from me.
My chest constricts. This is dangerous. All of it is dangerous: everything I’m feeling, everything I’ve felt.
If I lose too much of myself to the princes who’ve evolved from enemies to allies, I’ll have prepared my own doom .
The nobleman whose name I don’t know teases his fingers along my jaw. Anger vibrates through me—and I realize that now, just this once, I can let it out.
I can release the fury that’s built up inside me over the past week and a half, even if I can’t aim it at the right target.
I slap the man’s hand away. “Don’t touch me. I’m not here for you to play with.”
As I wish I could have shouted at Marclinus all those times before. As I’d like to yell in his face now.
He’d kill me if he knew I meant these words for him, but he’d want me to lash out against a potential seduction from anyone else.
This sick, sick game…
The nobleman in front of me starts to stammer. “I only wanted to admire you up close. It’s impossible not to be drawn to you?—”
“You’ll just have to figure out how,” I break in, letting my rage sear through my words. “Get away from me. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I didn’t ask for this.”
Someone in our audience lets out a low whistle. As the nobleman retreats, face blotchy with embarrassment, my listing gaze lands on Marclinus.
He’s grinning at me. So triumphant in my supposed faithfulness.
But the anger I just unleashed has taken enough edge off my temper that I don’t spit the same harsh words in his face. And then he turns, just as one of the other ladies sighs at her suitor’s caress of her neck.
The man tenses and glances toward Marclinus. The imperial heir gives him an encouraging nod, though his smirk has hardened.
“Shall I go on?” the nobleman says to his target. “You’ve always been the sweetest lady in the court. If I could kiss even your hand, it would leave my heart singing.”
Her face flushes. She pulls her arm back when he tries to carry out his request, but her eyes sparkle as she looks up at him. A giddy smile crosses her lips.
Just like that, she consigns herself to execution.
Marclinus stretches out his legs. “I prefer the ladies who have eyes only for me. If all it takes is a few glasses of wine to let another turn your head…”
He flicks his fingers, and another guard steps forward.
At the hiss of the drawn blade, I allow my head to loll forward as if simply out of drunkenness. Once again, I hear but don’t see the slice of the flesh, the thump of the body.
The sound rings on through my head alongside my jumbled thoughts.
Four left.
Any satisfaction I got from releasing a little misdirected anger sputters out.
It didn’t get me anywhere. I’m still just as trapped as I was before.
And gods only know what misery our adoring husband-to-be will put us through next.