Antonetta
Late on the night of her engagement party, after all the guests have gone, goes out into the garden behind the Alleyne manor. It is here, where grass and flowers grow in thick, disorderly hedgerows, that she once played with Kel and the others when they were children. As precise as she is about her home, Liorada Alleyne has never paid much attention to her vast garden, and the riot of trees and flowers provided excellent hiding places for games of bandits and prisoners.
The sky is already beginning to lighten in the east, heralding the dawn. The air smells of damp grass and white flowers. wends her way down the gravel path that leads to a small grotto beneath an overhang of rock. Here they had played on hot days, for a small rill of water runs through the grass and the space is always damp and cool. still goes there sometimes to be alone—but tonight, there is someone else already there.
She pauses, bewildered, one hand raised to catch at a branch above her head. “Conor?”
She sees the flash of his eyes in the dimness as he looks up at her. He has thrown his cloak of black swan feathers onto the ground and is sitting on it, his back against the stone of the grotto. His clothes are rumpled, his shirt reeking of spilled wine, the dark kohl that rims his eyes smudged in a way that gives the impression of dark circles.
He is still beautiful, though, the disarray only enhancing the air of careless dissolution that he cultivates anyway. For years, has been resentful of his beauty, because it matters so little for him. Conor Aurelian would still have all the power he had, and all the adoration, if he were plain as unsalted bread. For a Prince to be beautiful is like an extra row of beads on an already thickly embroidered dress. It is a matter of degree, not necessity, in a world where ’s looks spell out her entire future.
“My apologies,” he says, sitting up straight. “I had only intended to be out here for a few moments. I must have lost track of time.”
ducks under the branch she’s holding. She has taken off the ruby choker Gremont gave her, but she is still in her silk dress; she feels suddenly overdressed, and resents Conor all the more for that. Still. To have the chance to talk to him alone—
“You are the Prince, Monseigneur,” she says. “If you wanted to stay out here all night, it would not be my place to forbid it.”
“I suppose not.” He doesn’t look particularly pleased at the thought. In fact, he looks miserable. He holds a feather from his cloak between two fingers, spinning it back and forth. As he looks down at it, she catches the flash of his resemblance to Kel, which always feels like the bite of a blade in her skin. Kel, who is beautiful in such a different way, who is warm where Conor is icy and removed. Kel, who lies because he has to, not because it gives him pleasure.
Conor releases the feather, which floats lightly on the air. He says, “I suppose I needn’t ask why you’re out here. I would commiserate with you about your marriage to Gremont, but I suppose neither you nor I ever expected that we could marry for love.”
I saw you dancing with Lin, she wants to say. I saw the way you looked at her, and the way she looked at you. It must tear you apart not to get what you want.
Instead, she says, “The Princess of Kutani is rumored to be the most beautiful woman in the world; I don’t think anyone would ever say something like that about Artal.”
To her surprise, Conor laughs. In that moment, she sees neither Kel in him nor even his grown self; she sees the boy she’d known once, who never wanted to be the bandit king or the captain of the pirate ship, and was always content to have others take those roles. “Indeed,” Conor says, “he has neither looks nor personality to recommend him. Is there some good quality of his I am overlooking?”
sits down on the grass: not too far from Conor, but not close, either. “I think you know there isn’t. I’m sure he’s told you about his First Night demand.”
Conor nods.
“I had rather hoped the rest of the Hill would shun him for it,” she said.
“I fear you greatly overestimate the morals of the Hill. Some are horrified, indeed; most regard it as not their business or their problem. And a few of the worst are enthusiastic about it. Indeed, Esteve said something about how you have to watch horses in the act of mating in order to be sure of the bloodline.”
wonders if she might throw up, but it passes after a moment. She has known people to do and think much worse, in the end.
Conor turns toward her. “Ana, do you want me to intervene? I understand Gremont has made it a condition of the marriage, but it will not be your only chance to marry. The Charter Families may look askance if I interfere, but they look askance at half of what I do regardless—”
She can tell he is serious. Serious enough that she cannot give him a real answer, not now. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she says instead.
He blinks. “We’re friends. We’ve always been friends.”
“But that isn’t precisely true, is it?”
He sits back slowly. His boots have torn a number of the swan feathers free from the fabric of the cloak— doubts he’ll be able to wear it again—and they float around his feet and legs, light as smoke on the air currents. “What do you mean?”
“I was fifteen,” says. “You were the one who told my mother that it was time for me to stop spending all my time with you and Kel and Joss. That if she ever hoped I would have a future on the Hill, she would do what was right and ban me from Marivent until I learned how to be a proper lady. When I asked my mother whether you would miss me, she laughed and said that you gave her no indication that you would.” She tugs a handful of grass free from the ground; the sharp scent of torn greenery assails her.
When Conor speaks, his voice sounds strange. “And this has been bothering you all this time?”
“Don’t make it sound like it’s childish. It altered my whole life. I had friends, a happy life; then suddenly, I had neither. Suddenly everything my mother had ever disliked about me was proved right in her eyes.”
“.” Conor pushes his hair out of his eyes; it is a habitual gesture he and Kel share. Or perhaps Kel has simply learned it from Conor; it is hard to know with them where anything originates. “If I’d known—” He shakes his head. “I managed the situation poorly. I was fifteen and an idiot. Just know that when I went to your mother, I meant to protect you.”
“From what?”
Conor sighs. “Charlon. He wouldn’t stop talking about you. I began to realize that as we had all grown up together, Kel and Joss and I had come to think of you as a friend and equal, but Charlon thought of you as property. There was no way to keep him away from you without enraging him—a rage he would have taken out on you. There was no way to watch him constantly. That was what I thought.”
“I could have looked out for myself.”
“I know that now. But I didn’t then. I am sorry, . It should have been Charlon I sent away. I didn’t know how—but that is no excuse.”
I am sorry, . She stares at him. These are words she never imagined him saying, never imagined he could say. It feels as if everything around her is changing. She has been so angry at him for so long, and done so many things because of that anger. She does not regret those things yet, but she fears that she will. “You made that decision for me then,” she says. “You do not need to make any decisions for me now. I will manage Gremont.”
He nods slightly. There is enough light now that she can see the color of his eyes: gray, like storm clouds. Like Kel’s. “What is your plan? For you have always been someone with a plan, .”
She looks down at the shredded grass in her hand. “Something you may not know,” she says slowly, “is that part of the marriage contract is an agreement that, after a year of marriage, my mother will pass the silk Charter to me. My reward for doing all she wishes.”
“Is the silk Charter really worth all that to you?”
A question only a Prince would ask. “My independence is worth all that.”
“But you’d still be married to Gremont—”
“You’ve met the man.” digs the toe of her satin slipper into the damp ground. “He’s the sort who has so many enemies. On the Hill and in the city. Who’s to say what might happen? And by Law, if something did befall him, well... Both Charters would come to me, wouldn’t they?”
Conor raises his dark eyebrows. “Not precisely. No one person can control two Charters. You would need to will one to someone else.”
smiles. “Yes. That’s what I thought.”
“And I would have to approve the transfer of power,” Conor adds. There is a gleam in his eyes as he looks at her, a sort of restrained amusement. “Of course.”
Still smiling, says, “I truly don’t think that would present much of a problem, Monseigneur.”