Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Tuscany
There is a silent protest in the faces of my Army ladies when I excuse them at last-light, softly commanding they stay in their rooms. That they will not be attending the gathering.
They can’t be there.
If I truly wish to join the event in secret, my disguise will need to fool the person who has measured every one of my steps since my childhood—Essen.
My other ladies might recognise me in this attire, but Essen definitely will. She is a constant assessing eye. Judging. Scowling. Yes, she probably would have made a better queen than I. I’m not a hard act to beat.
I press my finger to a blooming marigold painted on the mound of my left breast. The gold corset fits like a glove.
It has taken two hours for the two dears to paint me, even the parts under the tube corset that is basically underwear.
The base colour for my skin is metallic gold. My lips, hair, all gold. And the detail is divine—intricate foliage, the organic flow forming beautifully to my body. My favourite features are the rings of daisies that coil from each knuckle around each finger.
Dear One is dabbing black lines on a hand-painted bee hovering over a grass flower, and the design is… skilled. Too skilled for a… What are they?
"What is your Trade?" I ask.
"We are Born For Parchment,” Dear Two answers, smoothing my hair down. “Perfect,” she applauds.
Wow; My brows rise. "Watchers? None of the Watchers I know have such an artistic flare. You should be proud.”
"Yes.” Dear One smiles, focused on her piece. “Bled allows us recreations."
‘I spoil them, and they spoil me,’ he had said earlier. While Rome keeps a tight schedule for The Watchers at home— at The Estate. They all have a focus, one individual they watch and care for. Watch, Guide, Convey. That is their Meaningful Purpose.
"Who do you watch?" I ask.
Dear One answers whimsically, "Whomever my Bled asks us to."
Oh. "Your Bled?”
Dear Two bumps Dear One.
“Well, ours actually,” Dear One clarifies. “We share him. He has a lot of love to offer, but he is ours and we are his.”
I try to hide my surprise at the claim of ownership, though there was definitely affection in the way Bled interacted with each dear.
Bled's hand lingered on Dear One's shoulder, and his smile softened when Dear Two spoke.
Affection and connection. I wonder if he shares more than fondness with them, more…
like… tales from The Cradle, perhaps. Tales of orphans. Of stolen babes.
"I imagine Watchers are very good at keeping secrets,” I say.
Dear Two sets her comb down. "Yes. Secret keeping is in the Trade. In our vows.”
"If you like secrets,” Dear One says, “you can find one when you follow the buzzing." She finishes her bee and smiles up at me.
It takes me a few moments to realise she isn’t just being cute or playful, a glint in her eyes is leading…
"The buzzing?" I repeat.
"Yes.” She stands and collects her paints and sprays. “It might lead you somewhere.”
I straighten and walk to the mirror, hardly recognising myself in the reflection, entirely thrilled by the fact. "I could demand you tell me all your secrets, Dears.” I turn and look at them. “I am the queen."
They gather by the door, completely unaffected by my words. "We don't know any secrets. Have a lovely night, Enchantress.”
I stare at the door as it closes. The buzzing? I should be angry that they declined to tell me everything, yet it seems ironic to extract secrets from Trade girls who take vows to keep them, especially now that they are the guardians of my secret.
I glance at my daisy fingers.
A big secret…
With that, I slide my mask on and walk from the suite. Expecting to see a Guard at my door, I’m surprised when I can simply follow the purple corridor back toward the central glass dome and the growing cadence of a violin and flute.
The oval room is crammed with people, an ocean of affluent citizens dressed in lavish, peculiar, and ridiculous apparel that I imagine is all the rave in the Lower-tower. It has a vastly different air from the old-world romantic atmosphere in The Estate.
As travel between towers is not common, citizens here wouldn’t know the difference, just as the citizens in The Estate couldn’t imagine this… modern scene.
Low-hanging chandeliers rotate, creating light and shadow movement in the crowd, on faces and on the floor. It’s dizzying.
The people here are the artists, the modistes, so it makes sense that this tower flaunts progressiveness. Not to mention, Lord Bled is clearly progressive with his… dears.
Usually when I enter a room, eyes cut to me, a collective gaze analysing and anticipating, making me feel bare. To the contrary, as I stand in the threshold, literally more naked than ever before, only a few guests—males—gaze my way with sidelong interest. I am… just a girl.
This is not your Rite.
You’re safe here.
For the first time in—I don’t remember—I’m not the broken queen of The Cradle, the absent and fragile monarch, mother, and idol.
I’m just a Trade girl.
I inhale hard and move into the gathering dense with cinnamon smoke, perfumes, and melting chocolate.
I’ve barely meandered around when a big hand grabs my wrist, dragging a gasp through my lips. I thought no one would touch me while I was painted?
Angry and uncomfortable, I look up to find Kong’s eyes spearing into mine.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he says, breath rushing down on me, the scent of ethanol and blood washing over me.
“Have you been drinking?”
“You are meant to be in your suite, asleep, resting.”
“Well,” I huff, “you said for me to allow myself to feel joy.”
His eyes simmer with intensity. “I very much meant with more clothes on.”
I grab his big, powerful hand and attempt to rip it away to no avail, paintwork creating a sludgy river of gold under his fist.
“You’re ruining my paint!” I hear a growl in my tone. “Release me!”
“How am I supposed to protect you if you—” His words cut off when people stop and stare, their attention heavy. Heads turn. Mouths whisper. He straightens but doesn’t let go of my wrist, tightening his grip further in a possessive way that… thrills me.
“He’s touching an Enchanter,” someone whispers from the crescent of guests around us. “Should we tell Lord Bled?”
Kong releases my wrist with obvious torment, tense fingers unfurling slowly. He must realise that it’s best to keep up appearances—the alternative being everyone realising who I am, which is so much worse, given I am wearing very little.
“You should have told me,” is all he says, tone hard and deep, before he strides to a server and grabs a drink from atop her tray. Is he going to keep drinking?
While I am here?
In this?
He empties the contents into his mouth, swallowing it fast so he can grab another. The liquid is clear and, oh, it’s water.
Is he trying to sober up?
I’ve never seen him like this before, but a conversation from many years ago churns in my mind. ‘I think I’d like to see your inner creature set free, just once.’
“Some men don’t know the rules,” a male voice draws my attention away from Kong to a Xin De man with long blonde hair tucked behind his heavily pierced ears. “Lord Bled would probably have him removed were he not the Royal Guardian.”
My mouth opens and shuts as I think of what to say. “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Is he? That explains it, then.”
“Where is your accent from?”
I didn’t know I had one. “Um.” Think quick. “The Estate.” I don’t lie.
“Oh, wow.” He gushes. “A Royal Enchanter. No wonder you’re lovely. Did you come here with the queen?”
I set my secret smile in place. “No.”
“I’ve not seen the queen yet.” He glances around the sea of people as if to prove his point. “Do you think she is here? I’ve heard she’s the most perfect woman in The Cradle.”
"Perhaps she is tired,” I offer. Of being perfect.
A hot gaze pierces through the crowd, hitting the man in front of me with such intensity I feel it. I don’t need to turn to know who it belongs to.
Kong.
A canapé appears at my side. “No, thank you…” I trail off as the memory of Kong’s dark eyes and praise when I ate earlier floods me like warm chocolate. “Actually”—I reach for a small pink ball dusted in white flecks—“I will. Thank you.”
The man says something, but the heat from Kong’s gaze is such a distraction, I hear nothing. Knowing my Guardian is watching me and will be pleased, I put the small ball between my lips and suck on it in lazy, exaggerated circles.
As a head of black hair breezes past, my gaze follows the familiar sight. Essen. What is she doing here?
“Wow, I would give up everything I have for just one night with you. I guess that is the point of your Trade.”
I give the man in front of me, the one whose eyes now bore into me, a flash of attention. “I’m not a House Girl.”
The people ahead split.
Essen disappears.
“No.” He laughs. “You’re definitely not. I have things to offer you. Gems? Food? You liked that strawberry ball, didn’t you?”
I’m too busy searching for a glimpse of Essen to properly digest his words. He’s talking but doesn’t touch me. If he did, I don’t think I would cope. I’d probably end up shaking and disappearing into a skinny reality.
“I would offer you just about anything,” he continues, while I squint past him.
“I need to be somewhere,” I say, distracted, intent on following her.
The blonde man steps into my path, and I gasp, staring at him only inches away, his warmth sending shivers across my skin. Now he has my attention. “I wouldn’t need to touch you. I would give you just about anything for a small lick of your virgin blood—"
“Step aside or you’ll be licking your own virgin blood off my fist.”
My mouth dries when Kong’s looming presence collides with the man. Without shoving him, the Guardian seems to force the blonde-haired man backward until he trips on his own feet and falls to his backside.