Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Aurelia
T he palace temple is smothered in pink.
The swaths of silk form a rosy haze at the edges of my vision as I gaze up at my soon-to-be husband. Everything about the past few hours feels similarly foggy—a blur of medics applying their gifts to my trial-induced wounds and attendants preparing my body for the wedding.
I’ve been bathed and dressed, powdered and perfumed, and now we stand here before the most prominent cleric of Ardone in Dariu.
I keep my hands loose and relaxed at my sides. The small weight of my sapphire ring provides a fragment of comfort.
It’s the only article on me that actually belongs to me. I asked to wear it with my wedding attire as a symbol of this deeper union of Accasy with the empire as well as me with the imperial heir, and that one request was granted .
I can’t risk looking away from Marclinus. The one time I did, to take in the swarm of nobles packed into the temple around us, my gaze caught on four faces I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.
The princes could have fled on their own as they’d planned. They didn’t need me with them for their gambit to work perfectly well for their own escape.
But they’re here, standing amid the crowd to my left, their stances tense and their faces taut with emotions I can’t afford to dwell on.
The cleric finishes intoning her prayer for the godlen of love’s divine blessing on our partnership. She wraps a strip of pink silk around my palm and then Marclinus’s, literally binding us together in the Darium way.
I knew the expected words by heart before I ever left Accasy. “I swear before all the gods to love and honor you from now until my last breath leaves me.”
Marclinus repeats the vow to me, his careless grin invalidating the promise in the statement.
Cleric Pomia slides a thin gold band over my other hand and activates the embedded enchantment. The metal contracts around my wrist, not tight enough to pinch but fitted so it could never be removed naturally. I look down at it as she does the same for the imperial heir.
It feels like a gilded manacle.
“Let it be seen that these two are married!” she calls out.
The court cheers. Marclinus bows down to kiss me soundly. The strip of silk falls away, and he grasps my fingers to lead me to dinner.
It’s done. I’m his.
After he’s licked the last icing from our wedding dessert off his fork, Marclinus raises his wine goblet toward me. “Was that not a most satisfying feast, wife?”
I widen the smile that’s been molded to my face since the moment I joined him on the dais this morning and clink my glass to his. “The best I’ve ever had, husband.”
My gaze slides away from him over the nobles assembled in the dining room before us. For our wedding banquet, we newlyweds took the head table all for ourselves, other than Emperor Tarquin watching us from his usual throne-like chair at one end. Platters holding more food than I could eat in a week are laid out all around us.
The feasting nobles chatter at a more subdued tone than usual, with regular glances shot our way. They’re evaluating their new empress-to-be. Considering how they can best position themselves to benefit from this shift in power.
Possibly wondering how they might begin to ingratiate themselves into my favor after the chilly initial reception most of them offered.
I skim my eyes more swiftly over the four princes seated next to each other at the nearest table. I still catch a glimpse of Raul’s scowl, Lorenzo’s drawn expression, Bastien’s glare, and Neven’s braced stance.
Why didn’t they take the chance they had and leave?
Perhaps it didn’t seem worth the gamble when they couldn’t know if I’d reveal their lies.
Perhaps they wanted to be here simply to ensure I realize how furious they are with me.
From their hostile glowers, we might as well have tumbled back in time to my very first day when this wedding should have taken place, with all of the intimacies we shared wiped away.
Marclinus squeezes my thigh beneath the table. The sight of his pale hand against the pale pink of my wedding gown makes my stomach lurch.
Why did I make that remark to Lorenzo about marrying him ? Every time I take in my bridal finery, the illusion the prince conjured around my bed during that brief spell of joy comes back to me with a pang through my heart.
My actual husband takes my hand and gets to his feet, drawing me with him. With a skip of my pulse, I realize we’re about to move into the most important part of the night.
The part where I take my first step toward fulfilling all the silent promises I made to the people I left behind.
Marclinus’s jovial voice rings through the dining room. “Let us all move to the ballroom to continue our celebration with much merriment and music!”
Once we’ve reached the hall, he releases my hand. The highest ranking nobles hustle out around us, a few of them diverting the imperial heir’s attention with congratulations and promises of wedding gifts they’ve procured.
While he’s laughing with them, someone gives my elbow a tentative tap.
My head snaps around with a hitch in my chest, half-expecting to encounter the bitter gaze of one of the princes up close. It’s hard to say whether I’m relieved or disappointed to discover Bianca has come up beside me instead.
The vicerine peers into my face, her own expression inscrutable. Whatever her near-black eyes are searching for, I can’t tell if she finds it.
“You stopped when you were going over the wall and reached toward Lady Fausta,” she says in a similarly opaque voice. “Why? You were already ahead of her. You let Leonette get a larger lead. ”
My throat closes up at the reminder of my brief moment of compassion—and the agony I couldn’t prevent.
I don’t know how to answer other than with the truth. “It seemed like an awful way to die. I didn’t think it should have to be that way.”
I can’t say that I don’t believe any of my rivals for Marclinus’s hand should have been executed. But at least most of their deaths were quick and clean.
Bianca’s mouth tightens. I can’t tell whether she’s upset by my answer or simply agrees with my implied regret. She dips her head and falls back into the crowd around us.
Once we reach the ballroom, Emperor Tarquin glances around. “Prince Lorenzo, let’s have your gift bless the dancing tonight.”
My smile remains fixed in place. Of course. Why wouldn’t the emperor want the most talented musician in the palace providing the music for his son’s wedding festivities?
I fix my gaze on Marclinus as we take our places in the middle of the room, not wanting to see what shadows might have crossed my former lover’s face. Will this performance be more agonizing for him than when he played as my feet bled, or less because he no longer has any reason to care what happens to me?
The prince strikes up a tune as beautiful as any I’ve ever heard from his vielle. Marclinus sets one hand on my waist, grasps my fingers, and whirls me around.
For the first minute or so, it’s only us dancing while the rest of the court watches, leaving a circle of open floor for us to claim. A sly spark lights in the imperial heir’s eyes. His hand drifts down to give my ass a teasing squeeze. When he spins me around again, he lets his fingers trail over my chest.
It doesn’t matter that my skin recoils. I just keep beaming at him .
It’s almost time.
After our initial display of marital union, other couples pick up the melody alongside us. Soon, most of the court is dipping and turning beneath the sparkling glow of the crystal chandeliers.
In the brief lull between the first song and the next, Marclinus eases back from me and glances toward his father, who’s approaching through the crowd of nobles.
Emperor Tarquin nods to me with a smug smile of his own. “Let me say again how pleased I am that you’ve so thoroughly proven yourself a worthy partner, Aurelia. It’s our tradition in Dariu that as emperor I have the honor of the second dance at any palace wedding.”
As I already knew. I dip into a slight curtsy and lift my left hand for him to display me to our audience, flicking my thumb over the side of my rippled ring as I do. A subtle gesture, nothing anyone should make note of.
Emperor Tarquin raises my arm higher as he turns me toward the watching nobles, our fingers sliding briefly together. When he releases my hand so we can take our dancing positions, I stroke my ring once more.
The emperor might not be quite as energetic as his son, but he’s still sprightly enough that I have to focus on matching his pace. Which is good, because it means I can’t wallow in a single other worry. My pulse pounds faster with every emphatic tap of our feet.
At least Tarquin has no interest in groping me. Once the second song ends, he nudges me back toward my husband, whose grin has definitely become more of a leer.
Marclinus trails his fingers down my side before clasping my waist again. “I’d say we give it ten songs total, and then we can respectably depart for our chambers. We can christen your new bedroom first, my wild princess. ”
The nickname Fausta gave me prickles through my nerves.
Seven more dances after this one. I can agree to that timeline.
I peer at him coyly through my eyelashes the way my rival might have. “I look forward to it.”
Even on his wedding day, it’s expected that the imperial heir will spread the celebration around. While he dotes on one of the marchionissas, I find myself in the sweaty-palmed grip of her marchion. Then back to Marclinus.
Then he moves to entertain one of his father’s advisors, and a slim but firm hand clamps around mine.
My gaze darts over to meet Bastien’s dark green eyes.
I catch myself on the verge of wincing. My smile turns carefully polite. I accept his distant embrace, staying equally distant behind the disaffected mask I’ve put in place.
The prince’s stare remains as penetrating as always, if much colder than I’ve experienced in the recent past. I have the impression he’s trying to stab straight through my skull into my thoughts.
His jaw works. “You’ve had quite a day, Your Imperial Highness.”
There’s a cutting edge to his voice when he says my new title. I pretend I don’t notice his rancor, pretend I don’t remember how the hands now chastely placed once roamed over my naked body.
No one who observes our dance can witness so much as a twitch of emotion in my face or my stance. Bastien thinks he knows what’s riding on his silence, but he truly has no idea.
“It has been rather a lot,” I say carefully. “I’m grateful it’s ended so well.”
There’s no way to play the devoted bride without driving the knife in deeper .
The prince looks as if he’s gritted his teeth. “You have everything you wanted, then?”
My smile has never felt stiffer. “Oh, yes. I couldn’t be happier.”
He lapses into a chilly silence. My pulse thuds on, painfully heavy.
I can’t imagine he’d reveal our secret encounters now, not when I know far more of his secrets than he does mine. We’ll all just live in the misery we’ve made for ourselves.
Bastien’s lips part as if he’s going to say something else—and a sudden thump sends a flurry of gasps through the crowd. The music cuts out.
With a lurch of my heart, I spin around. My surprise isn’t totally feigned.
I didn’t know exactly how long the concoction would need to take hold in a man. I only ever tested it on animals back in Accasy.
Emperor Tarquin lies sprawled on the floor on his side, his limbs twitching, his face contorted. I let out a gasp of my own and rush toward my father-by-marriage.
Shouts ring out through the ballroom—“The emperor’s ill!” “Get the medics!”—with a current of murmurs underneath.
“He has seemed shaky recently.”
“That coughing fit the other day…”
“Sometimes the body goes swiftly after the first signs.”
The offhand remarks I crafted have stuck in their heads and rippled through the court. Let them see nothing but an old man finally faltering with age.
The dancers pull back around the fallen emperor. Both Tarquin’s face and body have gone rigid as the initial paralysis takes hold.
Three of his guards stand over him, their gazes sweeping across his crumpled form and the mass of nobles around us, searching for any sign of malicious magic. But there’s none to be found.
I worked my gift before I ever arrived in Dariu, over and over, until I had just the right mixture to cure the empire of its greatest menace.
I draw up short before I reach Tarquin and hold up my hands to the guards appeasingly. “The medics aren’t here yet. Let me see if my gift can find a way to help him?”
They know I deal in potions for healing. One of them accepts my offer with a jerk of his hand.
I drop to my knees beside the emperor’s prone body. His eyelids are frozen at half-mast, his pale gray eyes staring straight at me from beneath them, but there’s still a glimmer of life in their helpless depths.
Good. I want him to know who dealt his final blow.
Let him die regretting every vicious choice he’s made in the past two weeks.
I lower my head. “I think he’s trying to say something!”
Leaning my ear close to Emperor Tarquin’s mouth, I aim a whisper at the floor that only he will be able to decipher. “It’s too bad you won’t get to see what I do with your empire.”
As I straighten up, the slightest tic quivers through the emperor’s face, as if he’s attempting one last struggle to break through the bonds of the drug. A thin breath rattles from his throat.
His eyes dim.
Two medics fling themselves through the crowd toward us. I scramble backward to give them room, pulling myself up onto legs I don’t have to pretend are wobbly. Adrenaline races through my veins and churns in my gut.
One of the principles that I used to guide my gift was that the potion should leave no unnatural trace. If Elox’s blessing failed me…
The medics press their hands to Tarquin’s body, their voices frantic. “His heart’s stopped.”
“The other organs— I’ll try, but I’m not sure?—”
My jangling nerves settle into a clammy queasiness.
It’s done. I really did it.
I killed a man. But gods smite me, if any man deserved it, it was this one.
Sometimes blood must be spilled to prepare the ground for peace.
Marclinus comes to a halt beside me, gaping down at his father with utter shock. His hands flex at his sides as if searching for something to grasp hold of.
I reach out and twine my fingers with his as a devoted wife should, just as the head medic raises his head toward us with a grim expression.
“I’m sorry, Your Imperial Eminences. There’s nothing we can do. It must have been a sudden fit, a severe one… He’s gone to his godlen.”
The imperial heir stands nearly as rigid as his father’s corpse. He draws his chin up, but a tiny tremor passes from his hand into mine.
He’s Emperor Marclinus now.
And I’m his empress.
If I can sway him toward compassion and peace, there’s no one left to stand in our way.
No one with authority over us, at least.
I lift my eyes from Tarquin’s body, and my gaze collides with an icy blue one just across from me. Raul’s searing stare chills me straight through to my bones.
He’s looking at me as if he’s just seen me for the very first time. As if he knows exactly what I did.
* * *
How will Aurelia step into her new role as empress—and can she reconcile with the princes she’s fallen for without her new husband catching on? Find out in A Pact of Blood , the second book in the Royal Spares series. Get A Pact of Blood Now!
Want to know what was going through Bastien’s head when he and the other princes confronted Aurelia during her illness—and when he realized how sick she actually was? Find out in this bonus scene from his POV!