Chapter 3
Chapter three
Nin knew one thing for certain: the nobleman was out of his half-baked mind.
A Princess? Her?
Nin scoffed, kicking a pebble in her way.
He had to be a fraud—it was the only reason she could justify why he would propose such a ridiculous scam, but she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it.
She’d encountered everything from “magic beans” to “enchanted roses” on the streets of Bellecour. This one, however, took the cake.
The sun began to set behind the shimmering palace, casting a rosy hue over the grounds.
Lamplighters made their usual rounds, using long poles topped with protective flames to light the lanterns.
Nin strode past the gates, trying but failing to avoid peering past the bars.
The white-stoned walls of the gilded towers glowed like stars—beautiful but far out of reach.
Nin paused in her steps without meaning to. Nobles in small groups milled past the golden gates embellished by the stag swathed by the sun’s rays—the very symbol engraved on the card burning through her coat pocket.
She should have thrown it away or let it slip into a storm drain, but something in her gut whispered to keep it.
If anything, the francs she was allowed to keep had covered the cost of enough medicine, food, and a new pair of stockings, with some money left over.
She figured keeping the card was the polite thing to do.
For now.
Her attention returned to the palace grounds that seemed to stretch as far and wide as the sea.
Smoke rose from the hundreds of small chimneys in gentle waves.
A knot formed in her stomach. She shouldn’t be looking—shouldn’t even consider the soft glow from the windows, and the magic-imbued luxuries waiting within.
The nobleman’s words slipped past her defenses, tempting her with the impossible opportunity…
Nin shook her head, shoving the thoughts away. It was foolish to try to picture herself in a world where she didn’t belong. Turning on her heel, she marched away from the golden gates, her sights set on the road.
She didn’t look like the princess. If the tired circles under her eyes, growling stomach, and dirt packed in her nails screamed royalty, the nobleman should get his eyes reexamined. Those spectacles weren’t doing him any favors.
Yes, she’d seen the princess, but only from afar when she was waving to the crowd in a gleaming, white carriage.
Perhaps their hair color was similar, but Nin didn’t know what her natural roots looked like after weeks of grease and grime buildup.
It was impossible to imagine what it would look like after being washed, curled, and perfumed.
Even then, she doubted the fancy pins and powders could cover what she truly was.
A pauper.
So why couldn’t she throw the card away? The man was surely scamming her, right?
Huffing, she made her way past the city square and down narrower streets.
Neatly trimmed hedges, sculpted into spheres or twisting shapes, lined the tall, stone townhouses.
Wrought-iron balconies extended from the large windows, all decorated with velvet curtains.
Every home flaunted delicate filigree, blue-tiled roofs, and cobbled paths.
Guards or doormen were stationed at the entrances, their eyes narrowed on her as she passed.
The noble quarter was a world of its own—a dream scented with rosemary and sweet tobacco.
Further down and around the corner, the streets grew muddy and slick with patches of ice.
The townhouses gave way to shops carved into narrow apartments stacked like cards on top of one another.
A thick layer of gray covered the once cream walls, weathered by rain, smoke, and grime.
No carriages or doormen were posted at these neglected buildings—only sick stray cats and men keeping their heads low as they walked.
Nin mimicked them, keeping her hands deep in her pockets as she strode toward a cramped alleyway filled with discarded crates and garbage.
A slanted sign hung by one hook at the door, its writing faded by time, and she pushed her way inside.
The sounds of a baby wailing and a shouting couple greeted her as she entered the muggy hall.
Instead of rosemary, the scent of boiling onions permeated the air.
Nin climbed the rickety stairs, counting each step as she went.
At the end of the hall, on her right, was the place she had called home for nearly a decade.
The door had become sticky to open after being jammed too many times.
She unlocked it, rattled it twice, then pushed her shoulder into it as she twisted the handle.
Cold, stale air filled the room hardly big enough for a single stove, a window, two cupboards, and a mattress.
A faint yellow light flickered weakly in the corner.
Wax dripped from the candle beside the bed, its flame trembling.
Several wooden figurines lined the floating shelf against the wall, some depicting animals, while others portrayed soldiers with intricate swords at their belts.
A shock of messy, blond hair peeked from a bundle of moth-eaten blankets.
Her brother, Alain, gasped, his breath shuddering with a rasping sound.
Nin tiptoed across the wide, uneven floorboards in three steps and knelt beside the mattress, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. Heat burned against her skin.
The fever had worsened while she was away.
Four months in, and the flare-ups continued to come and go like an unpredictable tide.
Nin reached for the tin of water she had boiled that morning and gently lifted his head to place a damp cloth on his forehead.
His lashes fluttered as she coaxed a small sip of water past his chapped lips.
After a moment, his eyes cracked open, and found hers.
“Nin,” Alain huffed with a faint smile. “You’re home.”
“Of course I am. I can’t leave you lonely for too long. Who knows the kind of trouble you’ll get into?” she said, teasing him. “Look what I got for you!”
Pulling the cracked macaron from her pocket, his breath shuddered as he looked between the treat and her face.
“You should have it,” he said.
“Don’t be silly. I saved this for you,” she explained, placing it in his hand. Something flashed in his expression—reluctance to take the offering, but she continued to gesture to the macaron. With a grateful smile, he brought it to his lips and closed his eyes to savor it.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “It’s delicious.”
“I figured it would be,” she said, poking his shoulder. “Did you make a new figurine today?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked toward the lone drawer in the nightstand where his wood-carving tools were tucked away. “I think we both know I’m too weak for that today.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said, dabbing his forehead. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
Alain laughed in a frail, thin sound before it dissolved into coughing. Nin propped him up, steadying him until the fit passed, her jaw clenched. As he settled back against the lumpy pillow, she brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead.
For a seventeen-year-old boy, the Frostlung whittled the round contours of his face and hollowed his blue eyes. He’d once been a gangly but limber teen who towered over her, teasing her about their height differences. Now, the illness began to deteriorate the brother she once knew.
Nin reached for the medicine she bought at the apothecary that afternoon. Alain’s eyes narrowed on it as she uncorked the green glass bottle.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Medicine,” she said, raising it to his lips. “The doctor said to take it once every four hours until your symptoms improve.”
Alain complied, swallowing the thick, molasses-like liquid without complaint. “Where did you get this? It’s different from the others.”
Nin hesitated, and his brows furrowed in suspicion. She expelled a sigh. “From Sylvette…” she mumbled.
Alain’s mouth parted. “Like Sylvette Marcelline… from Maison Marcelline Apothecary? How did you afford to do that?”
Nin frowned. She could never hide anything from Alain, even when she tried.
He was too observant for his own good. She set the medicine aside and replayed the events of her day, including the insane nobleman who let her keep the stolen francs if she listened to his mad plan.
A chuckle escaped her lips at the absurdity of it.
“Look,” she said, digging through her pockets to retrieve the card. “He gave me this, too. It must be a hoax.”
Alain took it with shaky fingers and brought it closer to the candlelight. One of his eyes squinted as his mouth parted, seemingly inspecting the card’s fine print.
“This isn’t cheap paper,” he murmured. “This is made of finer linen. See the gold embellishment? It doesn’t flake off. It’s the real deal.” He brushed his thumb over the corner.
Her breath caught. “Are you sure?”
Before Alain fell ill, he had temporarily worked at a paper mill to help put food on the table. He studied the card again, flipping it around to assess it from every angle, before nodding.
“Yes. They supplied special pulp for the royals. They made sure I knew the orders by heart so I wouldn’t mix anything up. It’s made with linen rag, the good stuff. See how smooth it is?” He handed her the card. “It’s real. That nobleman… Captain Cedric Duval, it says right there, wasn’t lying.”
Nin swallowed thickly as uneasy flutters bounced in her stomach. The implications settled over her like an icy blanket. She had stolen from a royal captain? And he let her go?
“Even if he is who he says he is… this is a bad idea. I don’t even know half the things he’ll expect of me. And can you imagine?” she scoffed. “Me? A princess? Who does he think I am?”
But Alain didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked at her with that same expression he often wore when he was contemplating something she didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t,” she said, raising an accusing finger at him. “Stop whatever is running through that devious little head of yours.”
He offered her a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t… not when it makes sense.”
“What does?” she asked. “The part where a madman wants me to play princess or the part where you think I could remotely pull it off? No. It’s too absurd to even think about.”
“Is it though?” He rebutted.
Nin huffed, shaking her head. Alain propped himself up on trembling arms and held up a hand when she tried to help him. Respecting his wishes, she watched as he struggled to sit upright against the wall. She averted her gaze as he studied her with a thoughtful expression in his tired eyes.
“Nin…” he whispered, his pale fingers brushing against hers. “If it means you won’t have to steal anymore… maybe it’s worth thinking about.”
Her mouth grew into a hard line as she stared at the frayed threads in his thin blanket. “You can’t be serious,” she said.
“It’s not safe, though.”
Nin peered up to see where his attention had landed. She jerked her coat over whatever mark the nobleman—Cedric—had left on her neck when he pinned her to the wall.
“It’s nothing,” she assured him. “Just a scratch.”
“It could have been worse. I don’t want you to keep doing this just for me.”
Something pricked like a hot needle into her heart. Her jaw clenched. “I’m doing it for us. I can handle myself, I always do.”
Alain squeezed her fingers. “I worry about you. I worry you’ll get hurt… or if you’ll come back at all.”
His voice quivered just enough to cut through her. The candlelight flickered, illuminating the fear in his eyes, and she hated that she was the reason for his distress—that his honesty struck where it hurt the most.
A loud bang reverberated against the wall, immediately followed by a couple shouting at each other next door.
Nin and her brother didn’t flinch. The arguments and smashing objects were a nightly routine that had continued for months.
A dish shattered against the floor somewhere in their neighbor’s home, echoing against their cramped quarters.
She swallowed hard, focusing on his pale hand curled around hers.
If she dared meet his eyes, she would confirm the truth she’d secretly known for far too long.
She failed to provide him with the security he deserved.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to scare you.”
“I know, and I’m not blaming you. I just don’t want this to be all on you.”
“It’s not,” she said.
His forehead gleamed like melting wax beside him as he huffed a humorless laugh. “We don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“Alain…” she squeezed his hand.
Another cough racked through his thin frame. He doubled over, wheezing and shuddering, and she flew up to lower him back onto his pillow. Once he composed himself, his watery eyes met hers imploringly.
“I feel guilty,” he rasped. “Every time you walk out that door to support us. I can’t help but think it’s my fault—”
“No,” she cut in firmly. “Don’t say that.”
“I know you don’t want me to,” he continued, “But I feel it anyway. Every day, I lie here listening to the silence, knowing you’re out there because of me.
As a man, I’m supposed to be supporting you.
And you, of all people, deserve a chance, too.
Even if that means you have to pretend to be a princess. ”
An invisible force clamped down on Nin’s throat.
All this time, she’d been so worried about taking care of him that she never considered how much he loved her enough to want something better for her.
She blinked hard and reached to smooth his hair. “You’re not a burden to me. You know that, right?”
“I know,” he said breathlessly, sinking into his pillow with his eyelids fluttering shut. “But it still feels so heavy sometimes.”
A deep ache wrapped around her heart.
The banging and angry expletives echoed against the wall, yet Alain lay peacefully on the thin mat. The illness often stole his strength away, especially during conversations, but as his chest rose and fell in jagged breaths, she glanced at the card Cedric had given her.
There were bound to be dangers and consequences to this absurd plan, but perhaps it would be worth it if she could ensure that her brother would be taken care of for the rest of his life.
Nin sighed. “All right… I’ll do it. Not for me, but for us.”