Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
C learly I need to get myself a new lover. If my body is finding Eryx appealing, then it’s definitely been too long.
But I can’t very well do that while I’m trying to seduce him. He would surely know about the ruse then…
I don’t press him for more information during the rest of the ride, and he doesn’t even bother to look my way. No, he seems to be concentrating very hard on not looking at me, as though if he does so it will trigger something.
There’s a tingling on the side of my neck for the whole journey. I cannot seem to get rid of it, as though he managed to leave something behind. But even though I touch the spot, there is nothing physical to find.
It becomes impossible to stop thinking about his teeth, his mouth. His horns and canines have long since disappeared, but I can still imagine them clearly. While he knows I’m staring, he only shuts his eyes against it.
He mutters, “Damnable woman,” more than once.
And then, finally, at the end of what must be the slowest carriage ride in all of history, we arrive at the palace of Naxos.
The carriage door opens, but Eryx doesn’t move.
I say, “You’re to exit first. Do you remember?”
“I remember everything,” he says in the most exasperating way possible. Then he descends, and his hand shoots back into the carriage for me. I reach out to take it, and the same sensation on my neck travels to my hand.
What the devils is he doing to me?
When my feet hit the ground, he tucks my hand into the crook of his arm.
The palace in Naxos is a massive gothic structure, all in black, down to the shingles. Winged gargoyles stare down at us from their perches, and some of them remind me of Eryx when he is transformed. I eye the tail of one, with its smooth length and triangle of skin on the end.
The armed guards eye us as we enter through the front gate. Their rifles are slung over one shoulder, and they’re all done up in the black-and-white uniform of palace guards.
We pad along a red carpet through the massive front entrance. Hundreds of vases line the entryway, each full of a dozen black roses. The chandelier is lit with ebony candles, and someone has even melted wax onto the banister, leaving black swirling designs.
A servant leads us down a hallway, which I know will let out into the throne room. Unsurprising that they’re holding the wedding in here, since it’ll make Alessandra’s coronation afterward that much easier.
The room has been decorated to my sister’s sinisterly gothic tastes. Black and red everywhere. Midnight rose petals dot the crimson carpets. Ebony chairs with scarlet cushions for us all to sit. Flowers ring the columns, held together with some sort of wire, the blossoms making swirling designs that look eerily like shadows. I glance toward Eryx to see if he has any reaction to it.
He looks perfectly relaxed, though I can feel the tension in his body from where my hand is still tucked into his arm.
We’re led to our seats, which are, unsurprisingly, at the very back of the room. My sister said in her letter that she’d save me a front-row seat, but she clearly changed her mind.
Eryx leans over to me. “Wouldn’t a duke be positioned closer to the front?”
“You haven’t been recognized as the duke yet, or have you forgotten?”
He doesn’t need to know the real reason why we’ve been relegated to the back. My sister wants me here so she can gloat, but she doesn’t want me to be in any place of honor.
I can’t even blame her.
“But you’re her sister. Wouldn’t she want you close?”
I don’t answer that.
We are among the last to be seated, which prevents us from interacting with the other guests, thank the gods. Besides, everyone’s attention is facing forward, toward the thrones. No one has noticed our appearance—the mysterious new duke and the recently widowed duchess.
From the corner of the room, a quartet starts a romantic, slow- moving song. That must be the king’s cue, for a shadowy figure appears through one of the walls near the front. He takes position up at the dais, just in front of the two enormous thrones.
Kallias Maheras is a sight to behold even without his shadows swirling about him like living flame. Black hair, bronze skin, godlike features. He is dressed in all black, from the sheath holding the sword at his side to his shining boots, to his silky cravat.
I don’t watch him for long, though. I’m more interested to see Eryx’s reaction to him.
He eyes the king with an unwavering focus that I have yet to see from him. His face doesn’t change, but his eyes glow amber and then fade in the span of a second. He sizes up the king, as though taking in some sort of competition.
Competition for what?
And then Eryx notices me watching and looks pointedly away from the Shadow King.
I file that away to examine later.
Two men stand to the king’s left: Rhouben Contos, heir of a viscount, and Petros Leva, second son of an earl. They must be close friends to the king if they’re standing in such an esteemed position. Strange that I hadn’t noticed the connection before. I spent quite a while at the palace trying to win over the king last year. I didn’t notice him spending much time with anyone at all.
Standing opposite to the men are Rhoda Nikolaides, a dowager marchioness, and Hestia Lazos, daughter of a viscount. They have on identical red overskirts, with black pants underneath. My sister’s friends. Such a small inner circle, when I compare it to my entire household staff, who have all become so dear to me.
Some sort of marriage official stands behind the king. He and the man exchange pleasantries, the official bent over with age, while the king stands tall and strong. The shadows flicker and swirl about him, as though giving away the man’s excitement.
They look just like the shadows that poured from Eryx’s mouth the night I poisoned him.
He’s not the late Shadow King’s son. That has already been confirmed twice over, but there is no denying that there is something familiar about Eryx’s abilities.
“Stop that,” Eryx whispers.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re looking between me and the king.”
“So what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”
“I’m thinking that you look even less like Kallias Maheras than you do your supposed grandfather. You have none of the same features.”
Eryx purses his lips together in a way that suggests he’s entirely fed up with me.
The room goes quiet when the king’s shadows suddenly vanish. Kallias turns to survey the door at the end of the hall and freezes in place as though some otherworldly power has hold of him.
Everyone adjusts in their seats to see what has caught his attention.
And then we stand.
For my sister has made her appearance.
And she’s not wearing white.
No, Alessandra’s dress is blacker than a sky without stars. Her skirt is full, her sleeves long and tight, and she’s got so much chiffon layered about her that the material shifts when she moves.
Like shadows.
She wears her hair down, trailing behind her. A ruby necklace adorns her throat while matching earrings dangle almost to her shoulders. Her lips are painted just as red as mine.
Alessandra strides forward alone. I see that Father was not invited to give her away, nor does he appear to be seated anywhere in front of us. But she looks better that way. Walking as though she needs nothing and no one. She belongs to no one. She is choosing a life with the king. She doesn’t take note of me when she walks past. No, she sees nothing but the man at the end of the aisle waiting for her.
And I realize for the first time that she is in love with him.
My sister is not an actress. Not a talented one anyway. Not like me. That devotion in her eyes, that single-minded purpose with which she strides toward the king cannot be mistaken.
I feel sorry for her.
By loving the king, she is giving up her power. If he knows how much she cares, he will use it to try to control her.
She should have been more careful.
T HE CEREMONY IS DULL , and the coronation is even duller. I watch stone-faced as a crown is placed on my sister’s head. People cheer, as though they’re genuinely happy to have a queen, and not like they’re just putting on a show for the king.
At least… the women do. Many of the men do not seem pleased. How dreadful that my sister is making laws that prevent them from exploiting women in so many ways.
Alessandra looks radiant as she stands and appraises her people. She looks genuinely happy, as though she has everything she’s ever wanted.
And then, through the clamor of clapping hands, whistles, and shouts, her eyes land on me.
I know what the Chrysantha of the past would do. She’d turn up her nose and look away. By seeming superior, I’ve ensured that Alessandra never pays too close of attention to me. She was the one I most worried about learning my true nature. A part of me still wants to treat her that way. The petty side of me that still cannot fathom how she managed to snag a king while I labored night and day to secure a match with a slimy, handsy duke.
But as I truly look at her for the first time in years, I realize I don’t have to be that girl anymore. Playing the simpleton doesn’t gain me anything anymore. As a dowager, I am in control of my life for the first time, and I’m just one person away from having everything I’ve ever wanted. Now I’m about to potentially use my sister and her husband to get it.
So I incline my head toward Alessandra. A sign of respect, and even a congratulatory nod.
Her eyes widen for a single beat. Then she composes herself and looks to her husband. The two of them lead the way out of the throne room and into the ballroom, where we’re all to enjoy refreshments and dancing.
Row by row we’re asked to join the queen and king for the celebratory ball. I watch as dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, and their guests all stroll by in a self-righteous procession. No one bothers to glance toward the barons and other lesser nobility in the back as they precede us from the room.
When it’s finally our turn, Eryx takes my arm once more. I can hear a full orchestra playing from the open doors to the ballroom. A herald announces the guests one by one before they’re allowed entrance. Eryx and I wait our turn.
“Lovely ceremony,” he says.
I make a sound that doesn’t really pass for agreement or disagreement.
“You didn’t think so?” he asks.
“It was fine.”
“If it wasn’t the ceremony, then what was it? Do you not like the choice your sister’s made? Do you think she should have held out for someone better than the king ?”
“I don’t really care what choices she makes.” I did once. Her choice drove me to murder. But being here and seeing her again are giving me some clarity. I thought we were competitors, that by playing the same game only one of us could win.
But perhaps the truth is more complicated than that. We always wanted different things. It doesn’t have to be her or me. While it hurts to see her in such a position of power and respect while I’m still working so damn hard for my happy ending, it doesn’t mean that I should blame her. No, the blame rests solely upon the shoulders of the men who drove us to make the choices we did.
When we finally reach the front of the line, we give our names to the herald.
“Their Graces, Eryx Demos, the Duke of Pholios, and Chrysantha Demos, the dowager duchess.”
Heads turn, even those belonging to couples already dancing. I give a cursory glance over the crowd as we enter the room. Many faces stand out, those of my would-be admirers who sent me letters, and I glance right over the tops of them before we can make eye contact. I don’t have any desire to inadvertently encourage them. The men of the nobility have enough audacity as it is.
When I finally manage to block out all the men ogling me, I realize something that I hadn’t taken into consideration before.
Eryx is young, rich, and unwed. That alone would cause a stir at any public event. Add to it all the fact that he’s dangerously attractive, and it’s a nightmare.
Now that Kallias Maheras is wed, Eryx Demos is the most eligible bachelor in the world.
Ladies and their mothers are practically frothing at the mouth at the sight of Eryx. And when they finally compose themselves enough to shut their gaping jaws, they jostle one another to be the first to approach.
“Your Grace, won’t you please introduce us to the duke?”
“Of course, Lady Petrakis,” I say. “This is the Duke of Pholios. Your Grace, this is Marchioness Petrakis and her daughters, Lady Violetta and Lady Evadne.”
The two young women curtsy opulently, then look up at the duke through their lashes in the most obviously flirtatious way. Eryx bows grandly in return. I’m almost proud of the gesture, for it is one I made him practice at least a hundred times.
“Lovely to meet you. I’m terribly sorry, but you must excuse us. The king and queen are expecting us.”
No, they’re not, but I don’t ruin his lie. I find a bad taste in the back of my throat at the way ladies are stepping over one another’s skirts to get closer to Eryx. I’ve no desire to stick around.
“Of course,” the marchioness says, “but I hope you will come seek us out again before the night is through.”
Eryx looks like he wants to grit his teeth, but he keeps his smile in place. “We shall do our best, but I’m afraid we’ve already made many promises tonight. As a gentleman, I wouldn’t dream of making another one unless I was absolutely certain I could keep it.”
One of the daughters sighs at his response. I close my eyes to hide their rolling.
Eryx tugs me after him deeper into the room before another word can be said on the matter.
“That was awfully diplomatic of you,” I say. “I’ve never seen you that patient with someone in all the months I’ve known you.”
“You’ve only witnessed me interacting with you,” he points out.
“So you can spare patience for strangers but not the woman you share a living space with?”
“Precisely.”
A man elegantly maneuvers through the swishing skirts to be the next to approach us. I’m not sure how he manages it without knocking someone over.
I whisper to Eryx, “Watch and learn,” before the man intercepts us.
“Your Grace,” the Duke of Simos says, staring me down. “I feared the worst, since I never heard a response to my letters.”
I stare at the new man’s cravat. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I meant to reply, but I simply became so overcome any time I would imagine your impressive figure while trying to compose a response.”
Eryx barely manages to conceal a snort. I only catch it because I was waiting for his reaction to the words.
Simos doesn’t know what to say at first. Finally, he mutters, “Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace. Might I have the pleasure of a dance?”
“Oh,” I say, taking a slight step backward. “If I can’t manage a letter, I surely won’t be able to handle a dance without swooning. As a gentleman, I know you wouldn’t have me embarrass myself in front of so many people, now, would you?”
Simos’s voice drops in tone. If I were watching his face, I’m sure I would find it crestfallen. “Of course not, Your Grace. I hope you will recover your nerves. Please do write me, if—if you can manage.”
The man walks away with less confidence than when he approached.
When I turn back to Eryx, the man looks dumbfounded.
“What just happened?” he asks.
“It’s called acting.”
“ How did that work?”
“It’s a simple and highly effective play I’ve perfected over the years. You deliver information that will be disappointing to hear but appeal to their vanity while you do it. They can’t very well argue with me or beg further without refuting the compliment I’m paying them. Most men are far too vain to argue on their looks.”
“How can they possibly take you at your word? You, swooning? Over that soft-handed man.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d found an opportunity to hold his hand.”
Eryx grumbles, “I don’t need to touch him to know he hasn’t done a day of hard labor in his life.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“I said it was nothing to swoon over.”
“And who should I be swooning over? You?”
He stumbles over his next words. As though he’s unsure whether he should encourage the notion or vehemently protest it.
Before he splutters out a response, more courtiers approach us, asking for an introduction to the new duke. I listen as Eryx carefully refuses the not-so-subtle hints of salivating mothers that he should dance with their daughters. As soon as one party leaves, another takes its place. Men approach, begging me for dances, and I let them down with gentle words that appeal to their egos.
After several women leave our sides, dejected, some of the men in the room start approaching Eryx, thinking perhaps the reason he’s not dancing is that his preferences lean in another direction.
“Would you care to dance?” Petros Leva, friend of the king’s, asks Eryx without any preamble. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself, despite the fact Eryx has no idea who he is. Petros eyes the fake duke up and down before meeting his eyes.
Eryx seems to lose his voice at the request.
Petros turns to me. “Is he all right?”
“He might be swooning.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time this has happened to me. Really, no one is prepared for me before they see me.”
“It’s those delightful freckles on your cheeks.” I smile. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance?” Petros is known for liking both men and women. I hadn’t ever thought I’d be competing with Eryx over something like this, but now that I was the second choice, I can’t help but feel put out.
“You’re prettier than he is, but I am loyal to your sister.”
The response is the last thing I expected to hear. He must be close to Alessandra if he knows the nature of our relationship.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Eryx says before I can change the subject, “but my interests lie elsewhere.”
“Pity,” Petros says. “But I daresay you are giving everyone else in the room hope by refusing to dance with the women.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any interest in dancing at all. We’re on our way to speak with the king and queen.”
“Is that so?” Petros does a sweep of the room.
Kallias and Alessandra are seated at chairs against the far wall. At this rate, it’ll take us another half hour to reach them.
“Well, this I have to see. Follow me.”
Petros starts walking toward our monarchs, and Eryx and I hurry to follow. When anyone tries to approach, Petros shoos them away.
“Their presence has been requested by the king and queen. You can harass them later! Don’t you give me that look, Leta Trakas. You’ve accosted the young men in the room long enough. Go dance with your husband!”
Before I’ve mentally prepared myself, I’m staring down my sister. She’s eyeing her husband as though she’s conflicted about whether to stay for the party she’s planned or move things to a private location. No one can fault her for that.
“Alessandra.”
My sister’s eyes land on me. In a haughty voice, she says, “That’s Your Majesty , Chrysantha.”
“Your Grace.”
“What?”
“If you’re going to insist I call you by your title, then you must use mine. I am a duchess, after all.”
“Devils, there’s two of you,” Eryx mutters under his breath, too quiet for anyone other than me to catch.
Alessandra says nothing, clearly caught off guard by my snarky response. To dispel the tension, I say, “Thank you for the invitation. It is good to see you happy. You look radiant. You made that dress yourself, didn’t you? You’ve always had such a talent for sewing.”
She cocks her head to the side, as though she can’t quite tell what to make of me. Am I in earnest? Or is there some hidden barb in my words? Or am I buttering her up because I mean to ask something of her?
When still she says nothing, I press on, “And it is good to see you again as well, my king. You couldn’t have found a better match than my sister.”
“I know that,” he says, and when he looks at Alessandra and sees her conflicted face, he leans forward, whispering words too quiet for me to hear. I wonder if Eryx can decipher them.
Alessandra shakes her head, answering no to whatever the king asked. “Who is your guest?” she asks me. “I heard you had taken up with a man. From Zanita’s?”
Her tone makes it clear that she thinks me a hypocrite, and I suppose I was, chastising her for sleeping around when I went and did the very same thing. The difference is that the chastising was an act.
“No,” I say, “sadly I had to let Sandros go. This is Eryx Demos, my late husband’s grandson and the man who would take up the title of Duke of Pholios. I wanted to make an introduction.”
Alessandra gives Eryx a careful perusal. The king says nothing, letting his wife take the lead on this matter.
“Was your lover more or less handsome than this man?” the queen asks.
Startled by the question, I look to Eryx, who seems equally perplexed. I don’t know what game she’s playing, but I’m doing everything I can to keep calm and get through this encounter.
So I give her question the consideration it deserves. I imagine Sandros standing next to Eryx. He would be a bit shorter and leaner, but his face was the stuff of poetry.
I say, “The same.”
“Hmm.”
Alessandra reaches over to take her husband’s hand in hers. She plays with his fingers as she continues to survey me.
Finally, she asks, “What do you want?”
For Eryx to disappear from my life. I say, “At first, I wanted to ask that you deny the man the dukedom so it would remain in my care.”
Eryx’s breath hitches, but I press on.
“However, after spending some time getting to know him, I have to admit that he makes a fine duke. It is my wish that he be recognized formally by Your Majesties as the new Duke of Pholios.”
That perplexed look has yet to leave my sister’s face. She still doesn’t know what to make of me. Alessandra turns to Eryx. “Leave us.”
I wonder if he’ll dare to disobey, when I know leaving me alone with the king and queen is the literal last thing he wants to do.
He says to me, “I won’t be far.”
It’s a threat more than a promise.
“You too,” Alessandra says to Petros, who has remained within hearing distance all this time.
“Spoilsport,” he says to her good-humoredly, but he obeys as well.
And then I’m alone with my sister and her husband.