Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Aurelia
A t the first glimpse of flame-red hair coming around the bend in the stairs below, I nearly halt in my tracks.
But why should I give ground to Fausta? As hazy as my memories of our drunken argument yesterday are, I know what I said was true.
She's harassed and attacked me because she recognizes that I'm a threat. She's afraid of me.
I'll be damned if I'm going to let her believe I'm at all scared of her.
I continue down toward the second floor, not planning on sparing her even a glance, though I'm monitoring her carefully at the edge of my vision. But Fausta stops, moving to the side as if she means to block my way.
I pause and peer down at her, unwilling to push for an altercation. " Excuse me."
Fausta meets my gaze unwaveringly, her bright green eyes as hard as the emeralds they resemble. "I don't think I will."
For the sake of all that's holy, will this woman never give up?
I hold in my exasperation. "I didn't set out to make you my enemy. I have nothing against you." Other than the injuries she's already dealt me. But it was Marclinus who put us at odds.
It doesn't appear my rival cares about that fact. She ascends another step. "You didn't need to come here at all. You have so much, Princess . This is my only chance to be something more than the wife of an ineffectual nobleman."
What does she think my other options would have been?
I swallow hard. "He asked for my hand. He invited me here."
Fausta scowls. "Do you even actually want him? I've known Marclinus since I was a toddler. I know exactly what he needs in a wife, and I'll enjoy offering it. All you see is his crown."
That isn't entirely accurate, but the kernel of truth in her words pricks at me.
She makes it sound so simple. She has no idea the responsibilities resting on my shoulders, the grief and suffering of an entire country I'm carrying with me.
Her comment about “ineffectual noblemen” proves that she wants to stand beside him for his power just as much as I do. How many people would that power benefit in her hands besides herself?
“There’s only one imperial heir,” I say, “and he’ll decide what he wants for himself. How many marchions and viceroys could you have chosen from and still stayed right here in the palace?”
Fausta takes one more step up so she’s just below me on the staircase. “Why should I have to settle for anything less than you would? What makes you more deserving than I am? Because you happened to be lucky enough to be born a princess?”
The thread of pain in her voice sends a pang through me. Our respective titles are a mere matter of chance.
Before the brief flicker of compassion can fully take hold, Fausta rams her knee into my shin, just inches from where she fractured the bone three days ago.
I gasp, my leg buckling, but through the blaze of agony I manage to shove out before Fausta can land another blow. My push sends her stumbling across the stairs.
We glare at each other for several thuds of my heart, my hand clutching the railing and my weight shifted onto my better leg. My other arm rises defensively in case she launches herself at me again.
Fausta must judge it too great a risk to attack me when I’m prepared. She offers a sharp little smile and minces on up the stairs past me without a backward glance. “May the best of us win.”
Her tone leaves no doubt about who she believes that would be.
Gritting my teeth, I test my battered leg. The pain left behind after the medic’s attentions had mostly faded, but now it’s searing all through my calf again.
For all I know, she’s re-cracked the bone.
I limp slowly down to the second floor. By the time I reach the hall, it’s clear there’s no unbearable damage done. I can walk steadily as long as I don’t try to hurry—and gird myself against the continued ache.
Straightening my spine, I walk on to the parlor where most of the court is currently gathered .
The moment I step through the doorway, my gaze lands on Bastien’s slim form by the table laid with appetizers. The other three princes stand nearby, clustered together in conversation.
I yank my gaze away and head to the opposite side of the room.
I’ve made peace with them; I’ve earned their good will. That should be enough. That’s all I need to count on their support.
And the things I’ve started to want could threaten my chances more than Lady Fausta ever has.
Gods only know what they might do if they found out she hurt me again right here in the palace.
I’ve only made it a few steps before a careful hand catches my elbow. “Princess,” Rochelle murmurs at my side. “I need to, ah, consult with you about some new dresses.”
That hardly sounds like an urgent conversation, but I let her usher me over to a couple of chairs in the corner with a little distance from the closest nobles. As I sink down, taking the weight off my injured leg, my stance relaxes with relief. “What’s this about dresses?”
Rochelle’s mouth twitches with a brief grimace. “Sorry. That was just an excuse to come in and talk to you. I saw you in the hall—it looked like you were favoring your leg more than this morning. Are you well?”
I wasn’t able to put on quite as good an act as I hoped, at least not to someone who’s familiar with my habits.
I let out a restrained sigh and rub my shin. “I had an unpleasant encounter with Lady Fausta in the stairwell. It might have set my healing back by a day or two. I have a salve in my chambers that’ll help with any bruising. It’ll be easier to walk all the way there after I’ve rested my leg a bit. ”
Rochelle sits up straighter, her voice darkening. “You’d think she’d be satisfied after everything she’s already done. What a terror of an empress she’d be. Do you want me to fetch the salve for you?”
I shake my head, a smile crossing my lips at her fervor. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t be able to put it on in here without being obvious about it anyway. The discomfort has already improved quite a bit; I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
Rochelle smiles back at me. “If you weren’t a princess, you’d make an awfully good medic, you know. Obviously there’s your gift, but you’ve also got such a calm, steady air about you… That’s one of the things that made me notice Tevio too. The way he can always put whoever he’s helping at ease.”
I ignore the twinge that passes through my heart. “I’m glad you have a good man to count on.”
“Hopefully.” Rochelle laughs, twisting her hands on her lap, but her expression turns dreamy despite her brief show of nerves. “My little brother sprained his ankle a few days before Father and I made the trip here. Tevio had him fixed up and clambering around again right away. When I saw him out, he gave me a dried rose he’d saved for me… I left it in my bedroom at home. I thought it was safer there.”
She’s lost her title and possibly her family—but she still looks happy when she talks about the man she adores. An echo of that feeling reverberates through me, stirring an unwanted melancholy.
That sort of love isn’t for me. It’s not what I’m meant for.
The things I’ll accomplish instead will be worth more than anything I’m missing.
And if reminding myself of that fact doesn’t soothe the ache in my chest quite as well as it has before, I won’t acknowledge it.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything from him,” I assure Rochelle.
“I know.” She glances around. “I should probably go before anyone thinks it’s odd that we’re talking for so long. I’ll be ready if you need anything else.”
After she’s ducked out of the room, I wait for another couple of minutes before getting back to my feet. A renewed throbbing wakes up in my shin, but significantly dulled.
I figure I can stroll around the room a couple of times to show I’ve made an appearance and then slip away to my room without anyone wondering. As I’m passing the windows overlooking the gardens, a small group of nobles I think I recognize as all barons and baronissas approaches me.
I brace myself inwardly while keeping my expression mild. But even though I catch Bianca shooting a narrow glance our way from farther across the room, my five sudden companions all dip their heads to me and beam in a manner I can only describe as ingratiating.
“It’s good to see you well, Your Highness,” one of the baronissas simpers.
Is it? No one in the court has shown any concern for my well-being before.
I have to be gracious. “Thank you. It’s a lovely day.”
A baron puffs out his chest. “And lovely to have you among us for it. We hoped you might share your thoughts on the palace cuisine.”
Another baronissa, possibly his wife, nods eagerly. “We were thinking it would be interesting if Their Imperial Eminences included more delicacies from Accasy in your honor. ”
An inkling of what their sudden interest might be about tickles through my head.
There are only four prospective brides left. I’ve handled myself at least decently well in every challenge so far.
Some of the nobles are hedging their bets. Predicting that I’ll be the next empress and deciding it’ll be to their advantage to be among the first to act more welcoming.
They don’t really like me or care what I think. They don’t know me.
It’s just one more game I have to play along with.
My spirits sink lower, but I know I should make the best of the situation. It might win me points with the emperor and his heir if they notice that their court is starting to warm up to me, whatever the nobles’ reasons.
I adjust my course to meander toward the far end of the room where Marclinus is in the middle of a lively debate. Emperor Tarquin looks on, sipping from a goblet.
"It's kind of you to want to try more of what Accasy has to offer," I say to my new "friends." "I'd be happy to make a few suggestions to the kitchen staff if Their Imperial Eminences request it. But I've been very pleased with the offerings so far. The cooks are impressively skilled."
Another baronissa pipes up with a glint in her eyes that’s almost manic. “What’s your favorite dish so far? I adore the crusted cod.”
We had that for one of our courses at dinner a few nights ago. “It was quite good. I’m not sure I could pick a favorite when so much of it has been so delicious.”
The baron beside her clears his throat. “I thought the creekvine wine was quite a unique addition to our first meal with you. Is it a very popular drink in Accasy?”
So we go on, with every answer I give met with hollow smiles and a hasty attempt to show their enthusiasm, however superficial. No one mentions any topic more thought-provoking than the contents of our meals. When I make a brief comment about my admiration of the people who work in our vineyards, my hangers-on murmur vague agreement and immediately move on to discussing the best sort of soup.
Is this a taste of what my life as empress would be like?
I run my thumb over the side of my ring, letting the rippled texture ground me.
I know why I came here. I know how much good I can do.
Fausta’s right that I was born a princess through chance alone, and that’s the lot I have in life, good and bad. This opportunity is what all my education and preparation has been leading toward.
It doesn’t do anyone any good wishing for a different life.
But I do.
With a tremor of guilt, I squash down that selfish desire as far as I can. In my distraction, I almost miss the energetic swing of Marclinus’s hand and the way Emperor Tarquin’s arm twitches with a jolt of startled reflexes just as he’s lifted his cup to his lips.
It must send an extra surge of liquid into his mouth. He sputters and coughs into his hand.
I knit my brow. “I hope Emperor Tarquin is all right.”
The nobles around me pause. One of the baronissas speaks up tentatively. “I heard someone mention he’s seemed a bit off lately…”
A baron jumps in with an anxious tick of his jaw. “I’m sure it’s only a brief illness, obviously something mild. He’s always had a very hardy constitution.”
We make one more circuit of the room with another round of fawning and frivolous conversation. The ache in my shin starts to expand, telling me I’m going to need to get off that leg soon.
I smile at my companions with what I hope passes for gratitude. “Thank you for the delightful conversation. I’m going to retire to my room for a little while.”
I walk to my chambers as quickly as I can without looking like I’m fleeing. My heart lifts at the sight of the door up ahead—and sinks when I step inside to find Melisse waiting for me.
The maid greets me with a wide grin. “Your Highness—I timed things well. I’ll get everything ready for your usual bath.”
She bustles into the bathing room with a swish of her fawn-brown bob.
This is good, I tell myself as water hisses into the tub. I already decided I needed to show her I still value her service as much as possible. I can accept a little more company and tend to my leg with the salve after the bath. A soak might do it some good as well.
I wait in my gown for Melisse to return. Looking pleased, she loosens the adjustments Rochelle made this morning and peels it off over my head.
“Did you have the chance to talk with His Imperial Highness today?” she asks. “I know you’ve made a good impression so far.”
My stomach twists, but I brighten my voice. “Only a little, but I was glad to.”
“Maybe there’ll be more opportunity at dinner or after. Oh, I can’t imagine what it must be like to have a man like him courting you.”
I’m not sure anyone could say Marclinus is courting me —or his other potential brides—rather than very much the other way around. And something about Melisse’s tone niggles at me.
She ushers me into the bathing room and folds my undergarments as I remove them. “I suppose even so you must miss your old home after being away for so long.”
My uneasiness digs deeper. She’s prying for information, trying to judge how happy I am. Did Emperor Tarquin ask her to prod me?
Easing into the warm water, I try not to think about all the events I’ll have missed. Are my sister and her husband expecting their first child now? Has Lady Nica put on the play she was planning to bring more laughter into the city? Did Lady Cataline finally work up the courage to confess her feelings to the lord she’s been eyeing?
I push those questions aside. “Of course it’s difficult not seeing my family. But I’m so well taken care of here, it’s hard to be homesick.”
Melisse leans over to pick up the sponge. “If you are ever dissatisfied with anything, you can just let me know, and I’ll see that it’s made better for you.”
Or run straight to the emperor and tattle that I’ve dared to complain.
All at once, my whole chest constricts. I don’t know how much more jostling from Tarquin’s people I can take today before I crack.
I firm my voice so it doesn’t shake. “I don’t think that will be necessary. And I’m quite settled now, Melisse. I’d prefer to bathe alone.”
It’s far from the first time I’ve made that request, but the maid’s face falls. She sets the sponge by my shoulder.
“If it was Rochelle attending…” she mutters under her breath as she stalks out of the room .
I close my eyes against the pressure still welling up inside me.
Maybe I misjudged Melisse’s intentions and she was only trying to be friendly? I might have just made Rochelle’s new life here even more difficult.
And there’s nothing I can do to take back that possible misstep now.