Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Bastien
T he smile that sent my spirits soaring just a few days ago now leaves my gut in a knot.
I force myself to watch Aurelia where she’s sitting at the far end of the long main table in the palace dining room. Naturally, Marclinus has claimed his rightful spot at the head of the table, where his father used to sit. He’s placed his new wife beside him.
She joins the nearby nobles in laughter at some joke he made that I didn’t catch. Her dark blue eyes shine, and amusement lingers on her lips. A few minutes later, she pats Marclinus’s arm with apparent fondness. When he tugs at one of the lower whorls of her bronze-brown hair, pinned up to reflect her married status, she lowers her gaze coyly.
I shove another bite of roast chicken into my mouth. The sugared berry sauce tastes like dirt as I chew and force myself to swallow. My stomach has balled even tighter .
Is her performance as a devoted and loving wife just that—an act? I want to believe it is, to convince myself that not everything she revealed to my foster brothers and me was a lie.
But if she could put on a performance this convincing with our vicious new emperor… how can I say the stalwart, compassionate princess she showed us wasn’t the real act? That the vulnerabilities she revealed and the affections she offered weren’t every bit as calculated as I’d like to think her current behavior is?
Her dalliance with Lorenzo, Raul, and me did serve her well, after all. If we hadn’t cared enough to help her in the trials, she might have died multiple times over. She even won some of our most closely guarded secrets out of us—so she’d have leverage if we ever accused her of disloyalty?
I clearly can’t trust my own judgment when it comes to her. She had me so head over heels that I put not only my but all my foster brothers’ futures on the line, imagining she’d rather be with us on the fringes of the world than with Marclinus and his imperial riches.
If the palace guards had stumbled on us before we managed to clean up the evidence of our scheme… if my gamble had failed and they’d detected our magic… what punishment would Tarquin have inflicted on his hostages for attempting to flee?
We could all be dead right now—even Neven, when the kid was only following my lead. My ill-advised confidence.
Gods help me, what revenge would the emperor have inflicted on our home countries for our disobedience?
My mind slips back to my last brief visit home, to the strained meetings with my parents and my brother alongside the imperial delegates. I can picture so easily the relief on my mother’s face every time I was able to speak up and moderate the empire’s demands with careful diplomacy. The tight hug my father gave me when we were given a few moments alone echoes through my chest.
They’re depending on me to maintain what peace Cotea has with the empire. My fellow princes are relying on me to be the cool-headed one who steers us wisely.
I risked so much for the woman who’s now giggling at the tap of Marclinus’s finger against her chin.
How could I have let myself be so careless? So stupid ?
The tension in my stomach liquifies into pure nausea. I draw my eyes back to my plate, but I don’t think I can tolerate another bite.
When dessert arrives, I push around the currant-dappled pudding with my spoon until it looks as if I’ve had at least a few bites. Finally, the servants clear the dishes.
Marclinus stands, his sharp grin making me tense up. He claps his hands for our attention.
“We’ve had two days of the bleak blackness of mourning,” he says. “My father would have wanted us to honor his life with joy as well as grief. Let us convene in the ballroom for music and a little dancing as the mood takes us.”
The last thing I feel like doing is prancing around the ballroom, but I should at least make an appearance on the sidelines for an hour or two. If I avoid the court activities completely, Marclinus might wonder why.
I don’t need my behavior to face any more scrutiny than it already would if Aurelia lets a hint of what she knows slip.
We file into the vast room with its high, painted ceilings. The enchanted artwork above us shifts as if the colorful figures are frolicking to the lively tune the court musicians have started playing.
It’s one small blessing that Marclinus hasn’t called on Lorenzo’s musical talents yet. Even if Tarquin’s demands over the past couple of weeks hadn’t exhausted my friend, Aurelia’s betrayal hit him even harder than the rest of us. He’s been holding it together, but I’d rather not see him put under any more strain.
I amble along the wall past the glinting mosaics embedded in the plaster surface. Many of the nobles have already coupled up on the dance floor despite the day’s solemn events. It’s a much more somber spectacle than usual, all the gowns and suits in mourning black spinning across the polished floor. You’d almost think these were serious people who cared about more than fashion and food.
Just moments after I’ve picked my spot to stand and watch, a willowy woman around my age glides over to my side. My gaze flicks over her reddish-blond hair and pale skin, stirring my recollection.
Lady Betisse. Daughter of Marchion Litius, making her one of the more prominent unattached women of the court. Her parents were wise enough not to complain about Tarquin’s choice in filial bride, so she escaped the trials.
She’s never spoken to me before other than in passing. I have no idea what she might want now.
I dip my head in acknowledgment. “Good evening, Lady Betisse.”
“Good evening, Prince Bastien.” She peers over the growing crowd of dancers. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”
“I did,” I lie, still puzzled but maintaining my politeness. “I hope you found it satisfying as well.”
“Yes.” She darts a glance toward me, and a shy smile curves her lips. “If it’s not too forward of me to say, especially given the circumstances, you cut quite a striking figure in black.”
For a second, my mind blanks. She’s… flirting with me?
It isn’t as if that’s never happened before. I might be a second-born prince from a country under Dariu’s thumb, but the title still comes with a certain prestige. It’ll only be a few more years before my “fostering” here is complete and I can take on a respectable and somewhat high-ranking role in the governing of the empire.
If you can call it governing when it’s always the emperor and his advisors calling the shots.
Still, it doesn’t happen often. My slim frame and restrained attitude hardly offer the same appeals as my foster brothers’ brawnier builds and skills with music and seduction.
The thought sends another sharp pang through my gut. Even if Aurelia was honestly tempted by the two of them, what are the chances she found me equally enticing?
No, even in the best of scenarios, it’s most likely she pursued me as well because she could tell Raul and Lorenzo listen to my judgment. I was the one she most needed to sway if she was going to benefit from her dallying beyond a little fleeting pleasure.
It wouldn’t have been so different from this noblewoman’s interest—driven by pragmatism rather than desire.
In situations where we’re both aware of where we stand, I can appreciate pragmatism. I manage to summon a modest smile for Lady Betisse and a reasonably gracious response. “I certainly take no offense to the compliment.”
And I look at her with more considering eyes.
I can’t recall ever noticing her acting as a particularly keen conversational partner, but I can’t say she’s ever come across as especially vapid either. She’s certainly pretty. A month ago, the overture might have made my heart skip a beat.
A month ago. Before Aurelia.
Now, even as I try to focus only on the woman before me, I find myself cataloguing the ways she falls short. Her coloring is too washed out and wan. Her light brown eyes hold no real vigor. Her decision to focus her compliments on my appearance rather than anything more perceptive shows how little she understands me.
The criticism isn’t fair to her. She’s a perfectly nice woman. The woman I’m unwillingly comparing her to doesn’t even exist beyond my imagination, as far as I can tell.
But I can’t dredge up the slightest bit of enthusiasm to invite this lady to join me for a dance, let alone whatever other attentions she might hope I’ll bestow.
The imprint of Aurelia’s touch lingers on my skin, her kiss on my lips. I don’t know how to shake them.
I hold out my hand anyway, making myself extend the invitation. “Join me for a dance?”
Keep up appearances. Don’t let on that anything’s disturbed me.
I’ve partnered plenty of ladies on this dance floor without it meaning anything to either of us.
We follow the melody of the next song, stepping and dipping together. I’m careful not to ease closer than I need to, not to make any overtures I don’t intend to follow through on, and Lady Betisse doesn’t push.
When we part ways and I return to the sidelines, all I feel is relief.
With the dancing figures all garbed in black, they should blend together. Nonetheless, my gaze immediately latches onto Aurelia’s hair gleaming under the chandelier light as Marclinus twirls her beneath his outstretched arm.
Neven comes up beside me, his broad shoulders slightly hunched in his black silk shirt. When I glance at the youngest of my foster brothers, he’s looking in the same direction I was a moment ago, his tan face tight.
He runs his hand through his white-blond hair and glances at me. For all his teenage recklessness, he has enough sense to keep his voice so low only I’ll hear it over the music. “How are we going to handle her now?”
It wasn’t long ago that I had a talk with him about treating the Accasian princess as an ally rather than an enemy. I don’t think Neven has realized just how intimately entangled the rest of us became with her, but our frustration and pain over recent events won’t have escaped his notice. He knows we expected her to run away with us.
The truth is, I don’t know how to answer that question yet.
I lift my shoulders in a brief shrug, dragging my attention away from the subject of our conversation. “We obviously can’t trust her. She’s in this for herself, just as we suspected at the start, and she managed to deceive us into believing better of her for a while. But with how much she knows now about our gifts and plans, we have to be cautious.”
His grimace deepens. “If she encourages Marclinus to do anything that hurts our countries…”
“We shouldn’t assume she’ll go that far,” I allow. “We can’t really be sure of anything at this point except that she’s an unknown threat. We’ll wait and see what she does.”
As the last words leave my mouth, my throat constricts.
For a short but shining time, I couldn’t wait to see what Aurelia would do next. How she would surprise me with her defiance and her subtle strength.
Believing in her felt so damned good after everything that’s gone wrong in this place. I should have known I couldn’t trust that unexpected sense of hope.
I shouldn’t miss it now that it’s gone and the world looks dim and dreary again.
“This whole situation is fucked up,” Neven mutters, as only a seventeen-year-old can.
Raul ambles over to us, his tall, broad body exuding his usual assurance. I hesitate, but it could be useful to have him weigh in on this subject. To maintain as much plausible deniability as possible if anyone accuses us of conspiring, the four of us have avoided spending time together since our first bewildered conversation as we scrambled to destroy the evidence of our planned escape.
I’m not sure what’s been going on in the prince of Lavira’s head over the past two days, but he’s never shied from a chance at vengeance.
I tap Neven’s arm in an attempt at reassurance. “We won’t simply stand by. If we have to, we still have ways we can subtly undermine her. It’ll be much easier to manipulate our new emperor against her than we could his father, that’s for?—”
Raul breaks in with a voice that’s harsh despite its hush. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
My head jerks toward him. Even though he’s one of the few people in this palace I can count on, his massive frame is imposing when he’s glowering down at me with his icy blue gaze.
I gather myself before answering. “Only potential problems that might arise. Considering the false loyalties that’ve been shown?—”
Raul snorts with a shake of his head that makes his short ponytail swish against his tawny neck. “False loyalties? In all your ‘wisdom,’ you didn’t even figure out— For fuck’s sake. We all need to talk.”
I blink at him, thrown by his mood. “That’s what we’re doing.”
“Not like this. Properly.” He jabs his thumb toward the doorway. “I’ll round up Lorenzo. Meet us in the library.”