Chapter 6
Chapter six
There was still no word from his network of spies as to who stood behind the attempts on the princess’s life.
The Silver Flame, their only lead, had gone quiet, but Cedric knew better than to trust the silence.
The radical group had its fingers in noble pockets, whispering against Princess Marianne’s engagement to Prince Rodrigue.
Whoever the culprit was, the princess would remain safe for now—but Cedric wasn’t certain the stand-in would be.
The contagious nature of a mild rose fever would keep everyone away, including the royal family, so that they may continue their duties in full health.
Although Cedric had only two weeks before the court began to question the princess’s continued “illness”.
After, there would be demands for more physicians, murmurs of suspicion, and perhaps even the king himself insisting on seeing her if they believed the princess was severely ill, especially when her wedding was approaching.
He prayed it would be enough time.
Cedric entered quietly through the concealed door, arms full, and found Nin sitting at a table eating breakfast, with Lucille standing by the wall.
He paused at the threshold.
Gone was the thief covered in grime and threadbare clothes, and in her place was a sparkling young woman.
Her dirty blonde hair, once wild and tangled, smoothed into an updo with gentle curls resting at the nape of her neck.
A plain gown the color of cornflowers sat a little large on her thin frame, but it brought life to her complexion.
If not for her sun-kissed skin, she would have been completely indistinguishable from the princess.
Then she turned in her seat, cheeks puffed with food and crumbs clinging to her mouth. When she spotted him, her eyes brightened, and she waved a croissant at him. The flaky crumbs sprinkled over the white tablecloth.
“Oh, hello there, Cedric!” she greeted him without swallowing first. Then, she grabbed her porcelain cup with all the grace of a thief snatching a coin purse and slurped down her tea.
Cedric bit back a grimace, his stunned stupor officially broken. He glanced at Lucille, but she shrugged at Nin’s manners—or lack thereof.
Nin, however, continued to stuff her face happily, oblivious to every rule of etiquette she was breaking that would horrify the court.
The sound of nails clicked against the marble floor.
A small mound of white fluff bounded through the concealed door after him, a pink bow at its neck.
The Bichon Frise skidded to a halt beside Cedric, tongue lolling, then stilled.
Her ears flattened as a tiny snarl rumbled at Nin from across the room.
“What is that?” Nin asked, using her croissant to point at the dog.
Cedric’s mouth flattened. “It’s the princess’s companion. Her name is Bijou, and she sleeps at the foot of the princess’s bed,” he said evenly. “But we thought it would be better to introduce you two now.”
Nin shifted in her seat, eyeing the growling dog. “She doesn’t seem to like me much.”
Cedric stepped in front of Bijou, hoping the little dog wouldn’t launch herself at their only stand-in for the princess. “She senses something amiss, but she can easily be won over.”
Lucille knelt and produced a treat on cue. “Like this,” she said gently, offering it to the dog before placing another in Nin’s hand.
Hesitant, Nin leaned over in her seat and extended her fingers. Bijou stepped cautiously until she snatched up the treat.
“Good,” Cedric said.
Nin attempted to pat the dog on the head, but Bijou ran from her and hid between Lucille’s legs. It was still progress, nonetheless.
“She’ll remain nearby during your lessons. She must grow accustomed to you,” he said.
With that, he strode toward Nin and dropped a stack of books and papers onto the table with a heavy thud, the polished china rattling in protest. Nin froze mid-bite with wide eyes as another crumb slipped from her lip.
Cedric stared, pressing down on the sigh that threatened to escape. This was going to be a very long two weeks.
“A princess never has crumbs falling from her mouth like a savage boar,” he clipped.
Nin wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Good morning to you, too,” she muttered. “You almost seem more chipper than yesterday.”
Cedric ignored her and handed her the white cloth she had neglected on the table. “The napkin. Please.”
She took it and smeared it across her lips. Cedric exhaled a huff through his nose. “I will reserve dining lessons later. For now, we will start with the basics.”
Nin eyed the books warily. “Is all of that for me?”
“Yes. This is everything you need to learn—and more—within the next two weeks.”
Her throat bobbed, tension flickering across her face.
“We are here to help you,” Lucille said to Nin, her eyes flashing disapprovingly in his direction. “You won’t have to do it alone.”
Nin peered at the half-eaten croissant in her lap, as if pleading with the morsel to take on the task in her stead. Her fingers hovered around it protectively, her lips pursing.
“If it helps,” he said, retrieving a letter from the top of the stack, “your brother has already been taken care of. I had my most trusted men retrieve him this morning. He’s been moved to a private residence, with servants and a physician assigned to him.
This letter is from your brother, confirming his state of care. ”
“You… did this already?” she whispered.
Nin took the letter with parted lips, her hands trembling as she read it in silence. After a pause, she placed it over her heart.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
Cedric nodded stiffly. “I’m a man of my word. Now… are you ready to begin?”
Nin tore a piece of the croissant and stuffed it in her mouth before reluctantly placing the rest on her plate. Standing, resolve kindled in her features as she planted one hand on her hip.
“Yes,” Nin said, “I’m ready!”
Cedric studied her for a moment, faintly acknowledging her determination with a raised brow. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he said dryly, “we'll start with the simplest standards: how you speak.”
Nin crossed her arms over her chest. “Something wrong with how I talk?”
“The way you speak betrays you as an uncouth pauper,” he said, earning him a glare from Lucille.
Nin snorted, “Well, that’s exactly what I am!”
The corner of his mouth betrayed him. “And precisely what you must learn not to be.”
“Fine. Let’s get on with it,” she groaned.
Cedric pointed to the pink velvet settee where they could begin their lessons. She obliged, lounging back like a cat parodying a lazy drunk. His jaw ticked.
“Mademoiselle Nin,” Lucille interjected, stopping by the arm of the settee. She gestured in an upward motion, “Perhaps a little straighter?”
Nin obeyed with an annoyed huff, and Cedric had to remind himself that teaching a thief to become a princess was his idea. He took a steady breath.
“Listen closely. The court will not be kind to you, for it is rarely kind to the princess you intend to impersonate. Trust no one. Every word you speak will be scrutinized—every syllable must command respect.”
Nin mimicked his tone in a high-pitched voice, “Every syllable must command respect. All right.”
He glared behind his spectacles. “Sarcasm will get you nowhere. The court will see through you—and your life will be on the line. Do you want that?”
Her grin faltered, “No…”
“Then it would serve you well to learn fast.”
He drilled her for an hour, correcting her phrasing, pacing, and pauses. Lucille stepped in when prompted in order for Nin to practice with someone else. It would be the first of many lessons on which words to say and which to never say at all.
When he sensed Nin’s voice was becoming overworked from their rigorous practice, he moved on to curtsies. He and Lucille demonstrated, then stepped back.
“Stand tall,” Cedric instructed, circling her like a military commander during inspection. Her wide skirt whispered against his coat, and he quickly corrected himself to avoid contact.
“Back straight, chin lifted, shoulders relaxed but firm,” he continued, his hands ghosting over her back to correct her posture.
“Like so. Your hands may lightly brush the sides of your gown or gather your skirts. Feet together, toes pointing outward. Before moving, lower your gaze, as if you’re giving the faintest tilt of your head.
Never bow too deeply. You must preserve your dignity. ”
He stepped aside, motioning her to comply with his instructions. Nin’s brows furrowed as she adjusted her stance. She dipped low, her head bowed too deeply as she sank like a sinking ship.
When she ascended, she asked, “How about that?”
Lucille hid her smile behind her hand. “Oh dear,” she murmured and leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear. “Perhaps the first lesson should focus on standing?”
“Again.” He stepped forward, determined to resume what he had started.
They had no time to waste. “Raise your skirts only a few inches. Wrists soft, elbows tucked. Slide one foot back and bend both knees slowly. Enough to show deference, never submission. Balance is everything. You must have the grace of a swan—”
He paused as Nin waddled, her feet spread out as she bent her torso instead of her knees.
“—not a drunken goose.”
He exhaled, glancing at Lucille, who pressed her lips together to suppress a chuckle.
“When you rise,” he continued, “do so with head and shoulders leading, as though you’re floating to the surface of the water. Let your gown settle back into place. Release the fabric. Finish with graceful composure.”
“Like this, dear,” Lucille said, demonstrating the perfect curtsy.
Nin nodded, attempting to imitate the stance. This time, her legs wobbled, knees bending too far. Her fists clenched her skirts as if she might tear them apart as she lowered herself.
Cedric noted her misstep before she did. She pitched forward, arms pinwheeling with a squeal.
Cedric caught her elbow before she toppled over.
His hand encircled the circumference of her thin arm, soft instead of blunt angles and all bone as he had expected.
The warmth of her skin shot through him like a spark—dangerous and uninvited.
He released her abruptly, a sharp sigh escaping his lips.
Lucille studied him with one brow raised.
“Again,” he said with a snap, ignoring the chambermaid. “You must lower yourself with intention.”
Nin sighed, rubbing at her flushed neck. “So, I’m supposed to… half-fall? Just with more poise?”
His lips twitched despite himself. “Try again.”
The second attempt was better, the third almost graceful—though he still had to correct her posture. “Again,” he ordered.
“I had a feeling you’d say that,” she muttered.
Time disappeared. They broke briefly for lunch before picking up where they’d left off. He hadn’t realized how long they had been practicing until Lucille laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. She gestured to the clock on the mantel.
He sighed, still unsatisfied with Nin’s progress, but he dismissed her with a wave. “Very well. We will end your lesson here. Practice more after dinner, and then read the History of Aurelion Royals, chapters one through ten, before bed.”
“Ten chapters?” Nin exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
“Your orders have been given, and I expect you to be ready to be tested on what you read in the morning,” he said, turning on his heel, leaving her no room to argue. An enraged grunt of protest echoed behind him, but he slid behind the concealed door without a word.
It wasn’t until he was in his quarters that the full extent of his exhaustion crashed over him. Sinking into his chair, he rubbed his temple, praying for a miracle.