Chapter 1
Chapter one
Nin knew better than to long for things she couldn’t have, but she could make an exception for a delectable plate of pastries.
She leaned against the cool window, her fingers trailing against its smooth surface.
Beyond the barrier, rows of sugared confections and powdered, flaky treats glistened.
Her breath fogged the glass as she eyed some dainty macarons stacked onto a layered porcelain plate with tiny ducks painted on the edges.
She knew her only chances of tasting one were to sift through the garbage behind the patisserie and see if she was lucky, or to sneak in and nab one for herself.
Nin heard that they came in a variety of flavors, and her stomach growled.
She swallowed, shifting her weight to glance over her shoulder, but she was soon fixated on the sweets once more.
Did the sky blue macarons truly taste of the bluest blueberries? Were the soft pinks strawberry custard or raspberry cream? She couldn’t fathom what green would be, but she was certain the yellows would be a mouth-watering, tangy lemon.
If she stared any longer, the chef patissier would shoo her away, but the delightful medley of aromas enticed her to stay.
Closing her eyes, she could almost taste the subtle bitterness of melted chocolate, the sweet notes of golden honey, and the buttery richness of flaky croissants.
The heat from the ovens reached beneath her threadbare coat, and she pressed her cheek against the glass, savoring it as it stirred all the secret desires around her heart.
The bell above the bakery door jingled as two women skipped out of the patisserie.
Nin straightened, stepping away from the window as their wide, hooped skirts barely cleared the doorframe, but she couldn’t resist admiring how their dresses shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the gray clouds.
Delicate bows adorned their respective mint green and golden gowns, and a sparkling array of jewels decorated their fingers and long, pale necks.
White powdered makeup matched their powdered wigs, curled to perfection.
A dab of rouge painted their cheeks and lips, giving their alabaster skin a rosy glow.
They clutched blue boxes topped with curling pink ribbon, and the woman in the mint green dress opened hers, popping a red macaron into her mouth.
“Mm, the raspberry cream in this is divine,” she purred.
“Let me try the orange!” the other said and proceeded to dig into her box of treats.
Nin’s mouth watered at the sight.
A footman standing before a white, polished carriage started forward with an open parasol. He shaded the two ladies from the sliver of sunshine that might dare touch their skin.
Their delighted chatter came to a halt when they spotted Nin.
She didn’t flinch when their wide stares swept over her scratchy, rough-spun wool coat and her baggy pants tucked into oversized boots, with thinly veiled disgust. A tight cap hid the length of her pinned hair, and thick wrappings bound her chest beneath the loose shirt.
Their lips curled as if a rat crawled from the sewers and stood on its haunches.
“I charge five francs a minute if you wish to keep staring,” Nin declared, deepening her voice.
Their sneers darkened, and Nin wondered if they would form permanent frowns on their powdered faces.
The window rattled when a man in a white apron shoved the door open, causing the bell to ring frantically. The ladies squeaked in surprise when the chef-patissier raised a wooden rolling pin.
“Off with you, boy! You have no business here!” His cheeks, dusted with flour, flared red with anger beneath.
Nin flinched away from the rolling pin brandished at her, taking a step back as her hands flew up. “Easy there, Monsieur. I haven’t mucked up your pastries just by standing here,” she protested calmly, but a slight quiver ran down the length of her arms.
“I said leave!” the patissier shouted, and the noblewomen jerked beside him. They flashed their fans, whispering and giggling behind the delicate, patterned lace.
Figures, they would find the hungry pauper amusing.
“Monsieur, wait,” the lady in the golden gown began demurely and took a step forward. “Surely we can show a little charity?”
Before either Nin or the patissier could respond, the noblewoman reached into her box and tossed something pink at her. Nin instinctively moved to catch it mid-air.
Her stomach tightened as she stared at a macaron in her palm.
The shell had cracked, leaving a jagged scar and crumbs trailing from the cookie.
“Charlotte!” her friend mock-admonished with a laugh. “Feed a rat once, and it’ll come crawling back for more.”
“It was broken anyway,” the woman said with a careless shrug.
Nin’s lip curled as she turned on her heel and stuffed the macaron into her pocket. Their laughter pealed off the damp walls of the alleyway, chasing her until she rounded a corner. Heat flared beneath her skin.
If only she had the power to wipe the smug smiles off their painted faces…
Yet she paused. She reached for the sweet she had long admired and brought it to her nose. The scent of sugar-spun strawberries filled her senses, inspiring a new wave of hunger and longing to wash over her.
The echoes of her seventeen-year-old brother’s rattling cough rang through her mind as the cold stung her cheeks.
It had been four months since his illness had struck, and the image of his pale face, his body shivering in their hovel, sobered her of her purpose here.
Frostlung had swept through the fringes of Bellecour and hadn’t been kind to the poor folk. It never was.
Nin sighed, stowing the macaron gingerly into her pocket.
Tightening the scarf around her neck, her eyes darted from side to side, her steps swift and purposeful.
As she made her way through the streets of the city, she stuck to the shadows, making sure to slump her shoulders to appear smaller than she already was.
The early spring chill stung her cold fingers through her deep pockets.
Her breath came out in white puffs as she followed the sounds of bustling carriages, clomping horses, and the haughty laughter of wealthy men.
Around the corner, she was met by a sea of shimmering silks, dazzling gold buttons, and expensive fur coats.
Sunlight gleamed off the sparse patches of ice clinging to the slick cobblestone.
Beyond the square, in between shops, lay the palace perched on the horizon like a pearly crown.
The sprawling white stone, countless windows, and gilded rooftops glinted against what little light beamed through the gloomy clouds.
More than a dozen chimneys poked from the roof, and each one had white smoke trailing off into the sky.
Merchants enticed the crowd with their wares: oranges, roasted chestnuts, cabbages, and sizzling butter.
Nin’s stomach growled again as she watched a vendor ladle batter onto his iron plate over hot coals.
He spread it in an even circle with a flat, round wooden disk—the rozell—attached to a short handle.
The vendor dusted the crepe with powdered sugar and rolled it up with a spatula.
The sweet aroma cut through the damp, frosty air, drifting over the milling nobles wearing mufflers and thick, woolen cloaks.
Their steps were measured, their chins lifted, and an unmistakable snobbery painted their mannerisms. When they spoke to one another, they postured themselves like peacocks trying to outshine the other.
Nin grimaced. The nobles were as much on display as the satin dresses propped on mannequins in the shop windows.
Stepping into the crowd, Nin stalked after the sound of coins clinking within a deep pocket.
A man in a tricorne hat and a heavy green coat glided ahead of her, his golden-tipped cane tapping against the cobblestone.
When the nobleman paused to tip his hat to a lady, Nin slunk to his right—silent, unassuming—and slipped a coin from his pocket before he could place the hat back on his head.
Quickening her stride, she wove between wide skirts and bustling businessmen with newspapers tucked under their arms until she veered into the next block over.
A carriage splashed muddy water onto her worn boots. A few droplets seeped through a tiny hole in the cheap leather, falling onto her exposed toe. She reached for the coin, tracing each groove under her fingertips.
Copper.
Cursing under her breath, she released it back into the depths of her pocket. It wouldn’t even be enough to buy a loaf of bread, let alone new socks.
From the corner of her eye, two well-dressed gentlemen halted in the middle of the paved sidewalk.
The crowd parted around them as if they were a stone wedged in the middle of a stream.
The men edged toward the adjacent alleyway, their faces turning obscured within the darkness as they spoke in hushed tones.
Sometimes, Nin eavesdropped for her own amusement, but the snorting horses and the chattering crowd drowned out their voices. Curiosity drove her forward, and she kept to the walls until she hid behind a cart of cabbages.
One man had his back against the alley wall, while the other faced her, his form half swallowed by shadows.
A blue, velvet coat hugged the man’s slender frame, adorned with a long-skirted, gray waistcoat.
The crisp breeze pushed through his midnight blue cape around his legs, and his arms folded over his chest as though he were safeguarding himself against an invisible enemy.
Round, eloquent spectacles framed his shrewd, dark eyes, making him appear stern but scholarly.
He whispered something, and the lenses grew foggy with the frigid air.
He removed them, wiping them with terse swipes of a handkerchief.
A stubborn black strand of hair fell into his eyes with the movement. He did not wear a fashionable wig as most noblemen did, but it was short and trimmed around the sides. The dark, wavy locks were tousled, perhaps windswept, or disturbed by a hand running through them in frustration.
He was attractive—maddeningly so for someone of his pompous status.
The conversation came to an end, and the other gentleman took his leave. The man she’d been spying on between the cart slats withdrew a small notebook from his inner jacket pocket and began scribbling within its pages. A flash of a red velvet coin bag from within his coat caught her eye.
As handsome as the man was, his coin was more attractive to her. It was now or never.
She made her move, standing quietly with her head bowed. Hunching her shoulders, she strode in his direction before throwing her shoulder out to bump into him.
Two seconds was all it took to free the bag from the damask lining of his coat. “Sorry, monsieur,” she mumbled, shoving the bag into her pocket before dashing away.
A gasp left her when a hand clamped around her wrist. Before the air fully escaped her lungs, she was whirled around and shoved against the alley wall.
Pain exploded against her shoulders, and a strong, unyielding arm pinned her throat.
Somehow, he’d pulled them deeper within the shadows, away from the crowd’s prying eyes.
Her hands flew up, clawing at the arm crushing her windpipe.
His dark eyes bored into her, growing colder behind his spectacles.
Up close, they were more striking than she had expected.
“You shouldn’t be taking things that don’t belong to you,” he growled.
Squirming under his grip, she thrashed her head back and forth, but he applied more pressure until he forced a pathetic squeak past her lips. He was taller than she had realized, and his presence filled the entire alleyway.
“Please,” she wheezed, but it was all she could manage. Still, she could breathe, and if she could breathe—she could still fight.
Summoning her strength, she jerked to the right but only succeeded in scraping her skull against the brick.
The cap twisted, pulling the pins loose from their hold.
A few loose strands fell over her face, and the fabric shifted against her, clinging for a moment before the hat toppled to the ground, the pins scattering with a soft metallic tinkling sound.
Dirty blonde hair spilled down around her shoulders and over the arm shackling her to the wall.
His gaze faltered—only for a moment. Nin sensed the hesitation, the air crackling with something she didn’t quite understand. Her pulse leaped. The tick in his jaw slackened, and the weight cutting off her air supply loosened.
She coughed and sputtered against his hold, fearing what he might do next. But when she peered up behind her curtain of hair, his face had paled, and his eyes widened. The severity in his expression had been replaced by something startled and haunted.
He stared at her as though she were a ghost.