Chapter 13 #2
The room's temperature was surprisingly comfortable, even with so many people packed inside. There could only be one explanation.
An enchantment.
The magical luxuries never ceased to amaze her.
A duchess finished playing the harpsichord, and the last notes lingered in the air. Polite applause followed and died as quickly as their attention spans would allow.
Then Adelina rose from her place.
She dusted her skirts, her hands clasped delicately over the floral silk, and her smile brightened. Conversations dwindled as the room’s focus shifted toward Adelina. Curious whispers flitted behind fans as nobles waited to see who the foreign princess would recommend for the next act.
Adelina turned on her dainty heel, her eyes settling on Nin with quiet satisfaction. Across the room, Rodrigue’s laughter faded.
Nin’s fingers tightened over her fan. Her heart sank before Adelina opened her mouth.
“I know who must play next,” she said sweetly, her smile lingering a moment too long. “You must sing for us, dear cousin.”
Murmurs of agreement swelled around her.
Nin’s stomach pitched violently. “I don’t believe it would be—”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Adelina cut in pleasantly, as though saving Nin from embarrassment. “You’re such a talented singer.”
The reminder snapped like a trap around her core.
Every head turned in her direction, including the queen beside her. Their eager smiles shattered any means of escape. Refusing would not be considered modesty. It would be avoidance. An insult. There was no other choice.
Nin stood, her legs shaky under her wide skirts. Her palms grew clammy as she began the dreadfully short walk. The rug swallowed her reluctant footsteps; the silence pressed in on her like a prisoner awaiting trial.
Her ribs tightened, every nerve flaring alive when she reached the front of the room.
Slowly, she turned to face the dozens of nobles lounging on chaises or standing shoulder to shoulder along the walls to fill the empty spaces. The queen sat in the first row, her unflinching stare pinning her to the spot. She was the true judge of this show.
Maker, help me, Nin silently prayed.
Rodrigue’s smile by the hearth did little to comfort her. Her pulse skittered beneath her skin, coating her insides with dread.
Nin schooled her expression before the crowd of snakes.
“How about I accompany you?” Adelina offered, gliding to the harp like a regal swan. Her fingers brushed against the strings as she sat. “Let’s do a duet. How about The Lark at Daybreak?”
An invisible hand hollowed her out from the inside.
The song was a gentle and technically demanding piece—one that Nin had no hope of performing well. Cedric had her memorize the most popular songs within the court, but she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life—and her life hung precariously by a thread at this very moment.
Adelina started without hesitation, and her pure voice filled the room. The harp sang beneath her fingers, confident and beautiful. Heads nodded, demonstrating their approval.
Then Adelina paused, leaving a sudden void for Nin to fill with the rest of the duet.
She drew in an unsteady breath, but her voice betrayed her at once.
The sound that emerged from her was too high, wobbly, and thin.
Like a strangled lamb, she forced the words past her lips.
Her throat clamped with nerves, and the melody slipped further from her reach.
After only a few notes, her voice cracked under the strain.
Nin avoided looking at anyone, keeping her sight on the back of the wall, but she couldn’t ignore the creaks as the nobles shifted in their chairs. Whispers slithered in her ear, their indecipherable words inspired nausea to bubble in her stomach.
But she couldn’t stop.
From her periphery, Rodrigue’s mouth quirked into a frown, his expression concerned. Then she made the mistake of looking in front of her.
The queen angled her head, her lips pursed with displeasure.
Her cheeks flamed. The rippling silence was more mortifying than any laughter. Yet she pressed on, her voice fraying like unraveling threads before an audience that knew how the song should have sounded.
The harp stilled mid-note. Nin sensed someone’s presence beside her, their warm hand resting gently at her elbow. She glanced up, and her heart gave a strange flutter.
Cedric.
“I apologize for interrupting this evening’s entertainment,” he said in a smooth tone, addressing the room. “However, I noticed the princess looked quite pale. She is still recovering from her illness, and the physician advised her to rest her voice.”
Whispers wove through the crowd.
Adelina pressed her hand to her heart. “How unfortunate,” she said in a saccharine voice. “But I think the physician is right. Perhaps your voice needs more time before it graces us again.”
Soft, polite laughter rippled through the parlor. Nin’s face stung with prickling heat.
Cedric did not allow the moment to linger.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, already guiding her away.
Across the room, Rodrigue set his glass upon the mantle and moved to follow, but Otto intercepted him, bending close to whisper something Nin could not hear. The ambassador glanced over his shoulder, offering her a sympathetic look.
Nin was grateful for the interruption. She would not have been able to find the words if Rodrigue had approached her.
The door closed behind them, sealing the nobles’ laughter inside the parlor as Cedric led her down the hall.
His steady presence anchored her, flooding her with relief. Her knees nearly buckled, and her breath caught in her chest. The humiliation burned deep in her core.
“I don’t trust her,” Nin muttered once they were alone. “It seems like she’s trying to sabotage me at any chance she can get. I can tell she’s upset about the engagement.”
Cedric’s expression softened. “Don’t let her get to you.”
Nin hesitated, the suspicions she had quietly guarded slipped free. “Do you think she could be behind it?”
His brows furrowed. “I doubt it. I suppose she might be jealous, but she wouldn’t wish her cousin dead.”
“Perhaps,” Nin said quietly, “but she certainly wants Prince Rodrigue for herself. I can’t risk her trying to take him.”
Cedric arched his brow. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll have to keep him close.”
His jaw tightened before he could hide it.
“You’re not going to kiss him.”
She blinked. The edge in his voice should have deterred her, but it only made her want to laugh.
“What if he tries?” Nin shot back.
“He’s not your fiancé,” Cedric said gruffly. “Remember that.”
“That’s true,” she said with a weary sigh. “And to be clear, I don’t want to kiss him. But I don’t know what else I’m meant to do when he gets… physical.”
Cedric’s grip over her arm stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“It’s your responsibility to remind him he’s not to touch you in that way,” he said. “Especially in public.”
In the empty hall, the change in his stride became impossible to ignore—longer, staccato steps bordering on frustration. The mirrors that hung on the walls reflected his stony expression, but she didn’t miss the twitch in his frown.
Perhaps he did care.
She studied him from the corner of her eye, her grin stretching. “Are you… Jealous again, Captain?”
“No,” he said too quickly. Cedric snapped his head forward. “Refrain from suggesting it ever again.”
Cedric kept his attention fixed ahead, and something fluttered in Nin’s stomach—an emotion she hadn’t expected. For a moment, the burn of humiliation disappeared.
It was silly to admit, but a small part of her was curiously pleased.
She shook the thought away and said nothing more.