Chapter 5
I’ve never understood art. I came to this gallery with my class when I was nine or ten, and we sat in this same room full of paintings and listened to a stuffy old woman explain how many of the works embodied Candora’s rich history and traditions.
It would have made sense if the paintings depicted the country’s rolling green hills or the jagged peaks of the north, but most of the art was abstract. Odd.
The curator back then waxed long about the many priceless paintings donated by wealthy members of the nobility and how their patronage helped preserve the heart and soul of Candora, though I never figured out how a painting of varying purple circles related to the country’s heritage.
As I wander through the gallery tonight, pretending I know what I’m looking at, my thoughts drown out the chatter of the other auction guests.
The gallery hasn’t changed much in the two decades since I was last here, and I still don’t understand art, but I understand better what the curator was really saying.
Paintings are valuable because someone decided they should be.
Candora is steeped in tradition, and for most of this country’s history, it was the monarchy—and the nobility by extension—who decided what was valuable.
Since Queen Freya’s ascension to the throne last year, she’s been turning that on its head in slow, deliberate steps, doing her best to give a voice to the common people and limit the power of those who have it just because they were born to it.
Her goals are remarkably similar to those of the anti-royalists, but to a less extreme degree.
Freya is adjusting the rudder, not rocking the boat.
I pause in an uncrowded part of the gallery to stare at a large white canvas with a single stripe of mustard-colored paint swiped across it.
Why would an aristocrat add fuel to a fire that’s threatening to overtake Freya’s plans and make the changes happen at an exponential rate? What could they possibly have to gain?
These questions have been plaguing me since the first moment we learned about the anti-royalists receiving funding from a noble, and I feel like every step forward just takes me down the same never-ending circular path.
None of it makes sense, and until we figure out who is sending money, I worry the answers will stay just out of reach.
“Do you have something against the color yellow, Storme?”
I curse under my breath and turn to glare at the prince behind me. He wasn’t there a second ago. “You should have been here ten…” My words trail off as I take in what he’s wearing. Chinos. A worn gray jumper. And… “Is that a baseball cap?”
Hex’s lips lift in a breathtaking smirk, made more riveting by the way he keeps his head down so I can’t see his eyes beneath the cap. “Do you like it? I stole it from Freya, who stole it from one of her famous American friends. Gives it some added character, I’d say.”
I can’t decide what irritates me more; that he completely ignored the clothing directions I gave him when I texted him about coming to the auction, or that he looks so casual and comfortable when I’m stuck wearing a body-hugging dress for the second day in a row.
Virek overruled me when I tried to choose a blouse and a pair of slacks for the evening, telling me that the bidders at this event will be from the highest tier of wealth and will dress as such, and I need to avoid drawing too much attention to myself.
He’s not wrong—many of the suits and gowns around me likely cost more than three months of my rent—and yet a prince of Candora is here wearing canvas shoes with a hole in one toe.
And a baseball cap.
“How did you get inside looking like you walked off the street?” I ask, unable to hide my frustration in my sharp tone.
Lifting his chin, he finally meets my eyes with his icy blues. “They’ll let anyone into these things as long as they have fat wallets.”
I am well aware, which is why I have an allotment of RIA funds to solidify my attendance.
I had to prove I’m able to reach a minimum bid to come inside, and I’ll have to bid at least a few times unless I want people to suspect my reasons for being here.
But as Virek reminded me before I left headquarters, my goal is not to win any of the items, so I need to stay strategic in my bids.
The conceited prince in casual wear is going to make concentrating on that difficult.
“You went directly against orders,” I hiss, then force my annoyance down before someone notices.
Smirking, Hex lets his eyes rove over the gathering.
“I thought things would go smoother if no one realizes who I am, and you clearly didn’t need me to get you into the auction.
I’ll be more valuable incognito.” He leans closer, somehow looking even more smug than he did a moment ago.
“Did you really expect me to show up in a tux? Come on, Storme. You know me better than that.”
Unfortunately, I do. Sighing, I step forward and straighten the cap on his head.
Smooth the blond hair poking out from beneath it.
Slip an earbud into his ear, which elicits an eye roll from him.
“Could you at least try to act like you’re not better than everyone else?
” I murmur, forcing a smile instead of the steely-eyed glare I’d rather give him. “Virek, the prince is here.”
“Why?” Virek growls; he clearly wasn’t paying attention to me before now, but that caught his notice. “Storme, that wasn’t the plan.”
Hex tilts his head, studying me as I clench my jaw.
“It makes no sense for me to be here without him,” I argue quietly, which is exactly why Hex’s decision to ignore my black tie directive makes me want to punch him. In our vastly different outfits, we look ridiculous next to each other. “A high-end art auction isn’t exactly my scene.”
Virek groans. “It doesn’t have to be. Your story is simple: you overheard Blackmere talking about the auction last night and were hoping to have another conversation with him. You’re there to get him talking, Storme, not to pretend you’re one of the elites.”
“We’re here for Blackmere?” Hex asks, wrinkling his nose.
“You’re not supposed to be there at all,” Virek snaps.
I expect Hex to argue, but he looks at me instead, his eyes narrowing as if he can see the guilt that’s building in my belly and leaving me queasy.
Going against orders is the last thing I should be doing if I want Director Torvik to consider me for Virek’s job when he returns, but I can’t ignore what my gut is telling me.
This auction isn’t just a fun evening out for wealthy members of Candora.
Too many people at the party last night mentioned coming to the gallery, and someone—we don’t know who—said something about money under the table.
And tonight would follow the pattern Callum found in money moving to the anti-royalists.
I’ll keep an eye on Blackmere, like I’ve been told, but I need to watch everyone else as well in case Virek is wrong. That isn’t easily done, which is why I texted Hex.
“What do you need from me?” Hex asks, his eyes locked on me like he’s trying to read my thoughts.
“Stay out of Storme’s way,” Virek says.
“Pay attention,” I tell Hex. If I tell him anything more, Virek will realize I’m not going to be fully focused on his plan, which isn’t much of a plan at all. ‘Get him talking’ isn’t going to get us anywhere unless Blackmere is stupid enough to admit he’s a traitor to the crown.
Hex frowns and looks over the crowd again. “To what?” he asks in a low rumble.
“I’m not sure yet,” I whisper back.
The auctioneer steps up to his microphone and calls the guests to attention, giving me an excuse to step away from the intense way Hex is studying me.
Everyone gathers closer as the auctioneer presents the evening’s beneficiary charity—a legitimate and clean non-profit—and I applaud politely along with everyone else as my eyes jump from person to person.
It’s a smaller crowd than Markell’s party, but it’s too many people for me to watch all at once.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to gather enough resources to get any other agents into the auction, so this is all on me.
Me and Hex, who keeps his baseball cap on his head and his chin low, hiding his face.
I find Blackmere across the room and watch him for any signs of suspicious activity, but his bored expression as he listens to the auctioneer describe the first item up for bid looks genuine.
According to the intel we’ve collected on the future duke, he has a knack for making good investments and possesses a decent fortune outside of what he’ll inherit from his father, but he isn’t known for collecting art or giving to charities.
So why come tonight? Logically, Virek’s right in calling Blackmere a suspect, but my gut says otherwise.
The first few items go quickly once the auction begins—a small statue, a painting done by an art student at the university, an abstract self-portrait from one of Candora’s more famous painters—and so far everyone seems to be enjoying a casual night out and the excuse to flaunt their money.
The next painting is one by a French artist, and the winning bid makes my stomach twist in a knot.
To drop that much money on a canvas and paint when the sum could pay someone’s rent in Invem for a year…
“This next item is from one of Candora’s own,” the auctioneer says as two staff members set a covered painting on the display on stage.
Blackmere, who has paid more attention to his phone than to the auction so far, stands up straight with interest, his eyes on the stage as the auctioneer continues his description.