Chapter Fourteen
Belladonna Roquelart glowers down at me. Her cold expression is strikingly similar to Roze’s, and yet its effect on me is completely different. I take an inadvertent step back before I remember to curtsy.
She smiles, catching the gaffe.
“Your Highness,” I choke out, trying to recover. “You surprised me. I thought you’d be dancing.”
She scoffs and looks out over the crowd. “There’s hardly a partner here to interest me.”
Saints, her arrogant aloofness is an absolute twin to Roze’s.
“No?” I ask. What does interest her? I wonder. Power? Privilege? Making babies cry? “Because they bore you?”
“Because they’re all men. I prefer the company of a fair lady over any of these dolts,” she says, gesturing to the group of gentlemen I’d been eavesdropping on.
I raise my eyebrows. She looks back at me and tuts while she fans herself.
“Oh, don’t get excited, Sinclair. I’d hate for you to think I was confiding in you.
It’s common knowledge. Not that it matters—there’s that pesky duty to produce heirs and all.
I’ll be wed to one of these mustaches whether I like it or not. ”
She sighs dramatically, and it reminds me so much of Roze.
“But enough about me, I want to learn more about you.” Her pleasant smile is deeply unsettling.
She’s acting as though last night didn’t even happen, like she didn’t pour wine on my dress and go head-to-head with her brother.
Roze might be a snake, but his sister is a wolf in princess’s clothing.
“I wondered if you could satisfy my curiosity,” she says, folding her fan and elegantly crossing her hands over her waist while mine tap my drink nervously.
“How is it that you’ve managed to capture the attention of my brother so quickly?
You see, he hasn’t told us the story. And Roze has never shown serious interest in any young lady before now. ”
“We met our first year at Vandenberghe,” I say. My voice sounds a little too breathy.
“And you’ve known each other all that time, but he hasn’t admitted attraction until now? How strange.”
“We … wanted to keep it a secret for a while.”
“Ah, so it’s been going on for longer than you let on. I thought so.”
I raise my eyes to look at her face. “What do you mean?”
Her false smile widens. “The Prince seems unable to keep his hands off you. You must understand what a rarity that is. He hates touching people, you see.”
He hates touching people. Is that why he wears the gloves?
She narrows her predator’s gaze. “I’ve had an eye on you for a while, but I’ll admit that even I was surprised when he dragged you to dinner yesterday.”
I wet my lips. “You’ve … had an eye on me?”
“Don’t look so terrified. Of course I did.
Roze thinks that we don’t pay attention to what he does, that if he performs his duties adequately, we’ll leave him be.
That might be true for my sisters, but he’s my closest sibling in age.
I understand him too well.” She finally turns her head my direction and takes a single step toward me—just a step, but it feels like she has her hand wrapped around my throat.
“I know Roze has his secrets. When he started complaining about the busybody girl in Berlaise House at every family dinner, droning on about how irritating he found you till I thought I’d rather slit my own throat than listen to him whine, I suspected you were one of those secrets. ”
Roze has been talking about me? For how long? I want to contradict her—tell her that it means nothing, that Roze and I loathed each other.
But before I can open my mouth—
“Your Highness,” a spirited voice says over my shoulder.
I turn to see Ed stepping up to join our conversation. His grin is broad and cocky, his chestnut hair combed back neatly. He looks remarkably handsome in his coattails, like a prince from a fairy tale.
Ed bows deeply toward Belladonna. “You look lovely this evening, Princess.”
Her expression immediately sours. “Paschal,” she says. “I didn’t realize Roze invited his band of merry men.”
He nods good-naturedly. “I’m afraid you have my family name to thank for the invitation, not His Highness.”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten your grandmother is a countess,” Belladonna says dryly. “I suppose we’re extending invitations to every earl’s second cousin twice removed these days. It’s a wonder half the Kingdom isn’t here.”
Ed doesn’t react to her barbs; instead he broadens that charming smile and sighs. “Unfortunately, I’m still two funerals away from an earldom. But one day I’ll relish governing Salverre under your benevolent rule, Highness.”
“Perhaps the Mists will finally recede, and I can send you there, far away from here,” Belladonna drawls.
“Oh, but then how would I sully your parties with my congenial company?” Ed says with a wink.
“Your family governs Salverre?” I ask Ed. He hadn’t mentioned his family’s ancestral lands before. It’s not a large territory—a little province west of the Pirineus Ridge—but before the Mists fell, it was a crucial fishing and trade port.
“Oh, you’d love it, Sinclair,” Ed says brightly. “Father says the waters sparkle like sapphires.” He elbows me in the side. “If it weren’t for these dreadful Mists, I’d say you and Rozy boy should honeymoon there.”
I gulp and take another sip of champagne.
Belladonna gives Ed a flat, disapproving look. “Yes. Well, as fascinating as this conversation is, I must return to my sisters. It was very … educational speaking with you, Viola.”
I curtsy, and as she glides away, I let out a long breath. “Hello,” I say, turning to Ed with a smile.
“Hello, lovely,” he says with a cheeky grin. “I saw you under siege and thought I’d come to your rescue. Rather chivalrous of me, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes but smile.
He grins back. “I’ve been sent to chaperone you while our boy takes care of some business.”
My face falls. “What business? Is he still meeting with the Queen?”
“Don’t worry your pretty head over it. Dance with me.” He takes my hand and starts to pull me toward the dance floor.
I huff as I’m pulled into his embrace. Ed is sweet—charming as a trained poodle—but I don’t like men thinking they can distract me with compliments. “What is Roze doing, Ed?”
“Princely things, I imagine,” he says as the music starts up. This dance is a faster-paced, lively one, and as Ed spins me around the room, my head starts to spin with it. I shouldn’t have had that last glass of champagne.
“I mean it, Edward. You can’t keep me in the dark about what he’s doing. Is it about the—” I give him a look, indicating I’m talking about the Grimmstones.
“Edward? You sound like my mother.”
I sigh, and we go back to dancing in silence. I let myself get swept along with the music, watching the colorful gowns of the women twirl about the dance floor and—
Saints, no. No, I’m imagining things.
There is a face in the crowd, one I recognize. But it definitely shouldn’t be here.
It should be buried beneath the cathedral floor.
My heart thunders against my ribs as I watch the unmistakable face of the Captain of the Guard peer out over the crowd. His head turns slowly, scanning every face … until his eyes lock on mine.
I choke.
Dead. Dead. He’s supposed to be dead. We buried him beneath the altar.
But he’s standing there, in the middle of the room, as clear as crystal.
“Viola?” Ed asks, his hand on my arm.
I barely hear him.
Run. What are you doing standing here?
But I’m glued to the spot.
“Viola, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
A lethal sneer spreads on the guard’s face.
My skin turns to ice. My shadows beg to be set free, to spread around me, shield me from him.
Calm.
Control.
Oh Saints below.
My boot was lodged in his neck. I watched Roze slit his throat. But that throat is now covered with the collar of his uniform. Standing. Alive. It must be a trick—one of the Queen’s illusions.
As though sensing my intention, the guard moves, pacing toward me, weaving through the crowd. Several people step back to let him pass. Definitely not an illusion.
Roze. I have to find Roze.
“Sorry, Ed,” I say, rushing away from him. “Bathroom.”
“Wait!”
I push away through the crowd, searching frantically for the exit, keeping my head down. A face of yellowing teeth and unkempt eyebrows steps into my path.
I jump back.
“Miss Sinclair, is it? Delighted,” says the elderly gentleman, smiling at me crookedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the face of the guard moving closer. The way he touches the other guests looks so real. Some even nod in his direction.
Not a ghost. Not a trick.
“I am Margrave Fraisse. I hope you—”
“Nice to meet you,” I interrupt the old man, and hurry off. I can hear a huff of offense behind me, but I don’t care. I all but sprint through the open archway.
Something tugs my waist. A hand fists in my skirt as I’m yanked to the side.
I scream.