Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Nin swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as she stood before the full-length mirror.
Lucille painted her face with white powder, adorned with small, black patches—one in the shape of a star to cover the mole near her mouth and a heart to conceal a scar on her forehead.
They clung awkwardly to her face, but according to her studies, she knew they were in fashion to hide unwanted marks, or in her case, features that would give away her true identity.
Her hair was gathered on her head, decorated with curls and roses, and dusted with more powder. Her painted lips and the rouge on her cheeks were a stark contrast to her pale skin. Layers of clothing sat on her frame—a chemise, petticoats, and hip pads.
Nin hardly recognized herself.
In two weeks, she had put on a bit more weight, and the stays molded to her body more comfortably.
A gown of golden sunshine glimmered under the chandelier, highlighting the delicate pleated backing that flowed into a train.
A light blue sash wrapped snugly around her waist and tied into a bow in the back—with a matching silk choker resting on her neck.
Rose blooms cascaded from her right shoulder across her chest and down her pale, yellow gown.
Their pink, ivory, and mauve petals complemented the silk sheen of her skirts.
A small rose with translucent, shimmering ribbon embellished her elbow-length sleeves.
She finally saw what the others had seen in her all along:
Princess Marianne éloise de Montclair.
And for the first time, she bloomed into a beauty she didn’t think was possible.
She blinked, unable to process the image and emotions clashing within her. Somehow, they wiped away all signs of her usual self. She frowned.
Behind her, Lucille took a step back and beamed through the mirror.
“I think you’re ready, dear.”
Sweat beaded at the back of her neck.
“I hope I am,” Nin said with a tight smile.
She wished she could exude more confidence, but practicing in a confined room was different than facing the court and masquerading as the princess. As much as she wanted to escape the suffocating room, what waited beyond was more frightening.
“You are ready,” a masculine voice interjected behind her. “I believe in you, but you must believe in yourself.”
For some reason, her stomach gave a small flip when Cedric appeared in the mirror next to her. His deep, dark eyes softened behind his spectacles, reflecting a proud glimmer.
Nin flushed.
Ever since he apologized to her, he had been less demanding. She progressed more under his patient teaching, yet all the information she had forced herself to memorize threatened to make her dizzy. She hoped she could recall everything she needed to and not make a blunder of herself.
Courage—that’s what she needed, even if she must feign it. Pretending to have it was what had kept her alive on the streets thus far, and it would be the very thing that would keep her alive now.
“Yes, well… I suppose it’s now or never,” she said.
“We will take it slow,” Cedric reassured her. “We can limit your interactions with the court since you are still in recovery.”
“I would appreciate that,” Nin said, relief blooming in her chest.
“Are you ready?” Lucille asked.
Nin nodded. “Yes. I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”
All eyes were on her.
Nin was used to slipping through shadows and keeping to dark alleyways.
She depended on becoming invisible to slip into their pockets or coin purses to steal what she needed, but now she had no choice but to expose herself in the light.
The short-heeled satin shoes still pinched her toes, but she couldn’t show a single flicker of discomfort.
Head high. Shoulders back. Small but confident steps.
She didn’t look at the nobles milling in the hallways—not yet.
In her periphery, some flicked their fans open and whispered to each other.
Sweat dappled her hairline, but she couldn’t let a single droplet ruin her makeup.
Cedric strolled a comfortable distance behind her.
As her guard, he was able to shadow her, and his silent support gave her the courage to keep moving.
Nin had memorized the palace maps, but seeing the halls in person was a new, dizzying experience. They turned left, and her steps faltered.
Hundreds of versions of herself reflected off the gilded glass.
Crystal chandeliers hung from painted ceilings depicting cherubs flying through the clouds of heaven.
Golden statues of women swathed in robes held platters of crystal fixtures.
The light of the setting sun caught against the dangling prisms, bathing the long gallery in warm, sparkling colors.
This must be the Galerie of Reflection.
Unlike the cloudy, smudged windows in the city, these mirrors repelled dust, stains, and condensation, remaining brilliant and true.
Nin resisted the urge to gape, schooling her features into a serene mask.
She continued forward, her steps measured, her spine steel-straight, pretending as if she hadn’t hesitated for the slightest moment.
Turning left into the next hall, two gentlemen ushers with dusty blue coats, gold buttons, and shining black shoes stood to attention.
Their white-gloved hands poised over the golden handles as she approached.
At her silent cue, the doors opened.
The flow of soft conversation inside the State Dining Room waned into a murmur.
Nin held her expression firm when she took in the space.
She had thought her chambers were lavish beyond anything she could imagine, but it was nothing compared to the formal dining quarters.
Golden chandeliers radiated over the crowd of nobles.
Murals of angels curved over the ceiling, watchful from above.
A long ivory table stretched through the center of the room, set with candelabras and shining porcelain.
The flickering candlelight never produced wax to melt at its base, allowing the light to glow all evening.
Several noblemen and ladies looked her over, their expressions guarded, and their eyes narrowed as she entered. Nin forced herself to lift her chin, to meet their scrutiny instead of shriveling beneath it.
Three figures entered together, and the courtiers straightened as one, falling into a hushed deference for the newcomers.
King Ancell the Third was the first to lead.
A dark velvet coat embroidered with silver adorned his tall frame, a red ceremonial sash crossing his chest—a mark of his unmistakable authority.
He wore a coiffed white wig pulled back neatly, his stride purposeful and imposing, commanding the room with only a few steps.
Queen Constance, embellished in silver silk, and glittering jewels, strolled beside him. Her serene expression honed with awareness when it settled on Nin.
Nin’s pulse raced, her limbs frozen under the queen’s lingering stare. Did Her Majesty already suspect her?
The question clung to her mind as the last young man caught her eye. He was younger than the king but had the same jaw and the same shape to his mouth. His shoulders were broader, and his golden hair swept back into a black ribbon. And most alarmingly, his features resembled her own.
The Crown Prince.
Nin’s heart drummed louder against her ribs. She feared the entire room could hear it. Rose Fever had kept the royal family and the court at a distance because of protocol and its contagious nature, but now she had no excuse to protect her. This was her moment to perform.
She stepped forward, steeling herself despite the nerves rumbling low in her stomach. Nin took the seat nearest the queen on her left, and a taut silence followed.
When the king lowered himself into his chair at the head of the table, the rest of the room followed suit.
The footmen moved in unison to place a steaming porcelain bowl with clear, fragrant broth before each person. Once the king swallowed his first sip, the rest of the table took their spoons and began the first course.
Conversation rolled throughout, but Nin was too occupied by her movements to focus on what anyone was saying. She barely registered how the soup remained at the perfect temperature despite how slowly she ate.
Only use the side of the spoon. Don’t tip the bowl. Take a delicate sip.
Cedric’s instructions echoed against the anxiety coating her thoughts. His presence loomed behind her, causing more sweat to form at her brow.
Nin wondered if anyone would mention her “illness”, but no one did.
Two courses followed, and not a single word was directed her way.
Instead, the table was swallowed by various conversations about hunting, politics, fashion, and gossip.
She swallowed a relieved sigh, daring to hope she could make it through the entire dinner in silence.
By the fourth course, that hope died when the king’s abrupt interest narrowed on her.
“It is good to see you restored to health, Princess Marianne. Are you fully recovered?”
Nin’s pulse vaulted toward the muraled ceiling, but she schooled her features into a poised expression. This was the moment. These were the first words she would say to the court—to the king himself. She could not speak too much or too little.
Cedric’s lessons rose through the haze of fear, settling her unruly heartbeat.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said with a slight bow of her head. “I am most grateful for your concern. Though I am not at my full strength, I shall eagerly endeavor to fulfill my duties.”
The king nodded, bringing a bite of roasted veal, glazed with jus, to his mouth thoughtfully.
“Good. I am pleased that you have made a recovery.”
Then the king moved on, redirecting his interest further down the table. Her grip on the cutlery loosened. Nin hadn’t realized she was gripping them tight enough to leave indents on her palms. She closed her eyes for a single beat.
She did it. She passed the first test. The threat had sailed by… for now.
Yet, from her peripheral, she sensed the queen studying her. She stared at her plate and swallowed thickly.
After the roasts were cleared, Nin blanched when a plate of small, tiny peas was set before her. Everybody else began eating, stabbing each pea with their forks, one morsel at a time.
She and Cedric hadn’t practiced with anything this fragile before. The tiny peas, dressed in butter and herbs, gleamed in the light—mocking her.
Her grip tightened over her fork as she prodded it gently.
It danced away. She tried again, applying a little more pressure, and the pea slipped like metal skating off ice.
The little traitor.
She hoped nobody would take notice of her awkward attempts, but she knew Cedric was observing her every movement.
Her stomach fluttered. Once, twice, and three more times she tried to pierce the pea, but it eluded her like a game of tag she was sorely losing. Frustration prickled her skin.
By all that was good in this world, she would not lose to a pea.
She stabbed a little more firmly.
Perhaps too firmly.
The fork rolled against the offending green vegetable with a sharp scrape against the plate. To her horror, the wretched pea launched into the air.
Nin froze, her breath trapped in her chest as it arced across the table and into a bubbly champagne glass.
Plink.
She didn’t dare move or breathe. Some heads turned at the sound, and others murmured curious whispers. Duke Le Blanc blissfully raised his glass to his lips and drank.
A beat passed.
Then he sputtered, his face turning the shade of a plum. He pounded a fist against his chest, and the whispers rose in alarm.
“Are you all right, Duke Le Blanc?” King Ancell inquired.
The duke couldn’t answer. His coughing grew frantic as his hands came around his throat.
“He’s choking!” his wife screamed beside him. “Do something!”
The room exploded with cries of alarm. The king shot to his feet, commanding the servants to act.
Two pounded on the duke’s back out of sync, and then another wrapped his arms around his waist.
With one squeeze and a choking gasp, the pea soared free.
And struck King Ancell squarely on the forehead.
A collective hush fell over the room.
The green morsel peeled off the King’s skin and plopped onto his plate. He glanced down at the offending pea and then slowly squared his shoulders, lifting his face to Nin.
Nin’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and rolled somewhere under the table. King Ancell’s dark eyes bored into her, his expression unreadable. She could not tell if he was embarrassed, disappointed, or angry—his face was a mask of stone.
“Escort Duke Le Blanc to his rooms and ensure he has fully recovered,” he said to the servants.
He flicked a steely look toward her. “And remove the plate from the Princess,” he continued coolly while taking his seat. “I believe she’s had enough of her meal. She will wait for the next course.”
Heat seared through her skin as the servants obeyed. They removed her unfinished plate, and every inch of her burned as several nobles turned in their seats in her direction. Nin then folded her hands in her lap, clenching them until they ached.