4
T he west wing of the palace was a sprawling mass of marble arches and sky-high windows that extended beyond my vision. It was the only part of the palace open to the public, or the part of the public that could afford to rent the place.
I had only been there once for a soirée hosted by a particularly illustrious personage, but it had been ages since I’d stepped foot inside the banquet hall. A grand crystal chandelier that rivaled the Sternfelds’ hung above a long dining table set with twenty-five places of glittering dishes and silverware.
A handful of girls were already seated. I felt smaller and smaller as Genevieve and I approached.
“Relax, Amarante,” Genevieve said.
I loosened my grip on her hand, my palms clammy. “I’m sorry. I’m sweating all over you.”
“Don’t worry. This isn’t officially the start of the Season. Stepfather will let you withdraw before the Debutante Ball, I’m sure of it.”
I was glad for Genevieve’s assurance, but doubt still gnawed at my mind. Everything looked official enough.
A gasp sounded from behind me.
“Amarante? Who let you in the palace?” Julianna demanded. She marched toward me in a gown of tangerine orange, a lace fan clenched in her hands.
This was icing on the cake.
“You did,” I retorted. “I have to spend two entire months attending these dull events because you threw a tantrum in my backyard.”
Julianna glared. “I wouldn’t have if you didn’t ruin my hat and make me drink dirt! And you!” she said, turning to Genevieve. “You seduced Mr. Sternfeld!”
Genevieve was at a loss for words. I scowled. Seduce Mr. Sternfeld? Charm, delight, and captivate, perhaps, but not seduce.
“Don’t you dare talk to my sister like that.”
“Oh?” Julianna said, waving her fan in front of her nose. “You aren’t going to start a brawl at the palace, are you?”
I gritted my teeth, tempted to rip the ribbons off her hair and see what she had to say to that, but Genevieve touched my arm in warning.
“Just leave us alone,” I said, turning on my heel. But my march away was cut short when I stumbled over something black and furry. A yowl echoed through the banquet hall.
“Misty!” An auburn-haired girl in a scarlet dress rushed over to the black cat I had unceremoniously tripped over. She shot me a venomous glare.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” I stuttered. The girl’s beauty would’ve been entrancing if she weren’t scowling at me like I was something stuck to her shoe.
Julianna pushed me aside. “Don’t mind her, Narcissa,” she said to the girl. “That’s Amarante. The one I told you about.”
Whatever Julianna had told her, it brought a sneer to Narcissa’s face. “Oh. Her,” was all she said.
Without another word, the two of them glided off to the table.
I was ready to pounce on all three of them, the cat included, before Narcissa settled herself next to the head of the table.
“What is she doing so high up?” I asked, aghast, as Genevieve and I took our seats. At the entrance, Cedric Sternfeld came in with Olivia trailing several feet behind, as if this were the last place she wanted to be. I couldn’t relate more.
“It appears she’s a high-ranking lady,” Genevieve whispered.
“More like a high-ranking b—”
Genevieve shot me a look.
“...brat,” I finished.
“Some guts you have insulting the duchess’s daughter,” came a cheery voice.
A girl with mousy-brown hair grinned at us from across the table. She wore a frilly peach dress that looked rather out of place against her plain features and thin arms.
“The duchess’s daughter?” I said.
“Lady Narcissa Whittington,” the girl said, enunciating each syllable as if savoring it. “Heard she’s spoiled rotten. Rumors have it she and the crown prince are engaged.”
Genevieve and I stared .
“Apologies, let me introduce myself. I’m Victoria Strongfoot, but you two can call me Tori.” She stuck hands over the table, one at me and one at Genevieve. Before we could shake them, Tori struck her forehead. “Horse feathers. I’ve done it wrong.”
“Done what wrong?” I asked.
She cleared her throat. “Good evening, I am Lady Victoria Strongfoot. Enchanted to meet you.” She punctuated this sentence with a graceful bow of her head and a demure smile. After a beat, she broke the facade. “I’m not quite used to this, if you can’t tell.”
“Why aren’t you?” Genevieve asked politely.
At this, Tori snorted. “Well, long story short, my Pa was a blacksmith who made weapons and armor for the Royal Guard. A couple of months ago, he crafted a magnificent sword for Captain Greenwood.”
“The captain of the Royal Guard?” I said. My knowledge of palace personages came primarily from Lydia’s gossip. My stepmother said Captain Greenwood once was a desirable bachelor, partly because he was close friends with the king, queen, and Duchess Wilhelmina. She also said he had an affair with Queen Cordelia. I hardly knew what to believe.
“That’s the one. Old Greenwood liked the sword so much he asked the king to grant my father the title of ‘Lord’. Lord of nothing, I tell you, but Pa was ecstatic. Became a gentleman of leisure right then and there and vowed to never step foot in his workshop again! He told me, ‘Victoria, now that your old Pa is a lord, you ought to learn to be a proper lady. Marry proper. Find a nice, wealthy gentleman and start a new generation of Strongfoots who’ll never have to work a day in their lives’,” Tori looked mistily into the distance. I found myself squinting in an attempt to see what she was seeing. “I’m not too keen on finding a fellow to marry, but I’ll do anything for my Pa. So here I am, talking to you two.”
“Oh. I’m Amarante, by the way.”
“And I’m Genevieve.”
“I figured,” Tori said with a nod to our place cards.
“Say, since you’re technically a lady, shouldn’t you be sitting somewhere up there?” I asked, gesturing toward the head of the table.
Tori guffawed, drawing a few disgusted looks from passersby. “Sure, when witches are allowed back in Olderea. The duchess wouldn’t want me with my lord of nothing father up there. She’s very particular about preserving the distinction of class, ironically.”
“Ironically?”
“Haven’t you heard? Her Grace came to the palace as a mere scullery maid, befriended the queen, married a duke on his deathbed and became one of the most powerful and well-respected women in court. She’s in charge of the Season this year instead of the queen. Said Her Majesty wanted her to do it for some reason.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t expect to like Her Grace very much. My Pa says she’s a sharp sort of woman who knows too much for her own good.”
“Seems like you know a lot about the duchess,” I said, quite drawn in to our new friend’s stories. She spoke as if she were a palace insider and not a blacksmith’s daughter thrown into prosperity.
Tori’s cheeky grin reappeared. “I know about as much as everyone else.”
“Not us. We’re new to all this,” Genevieve said.
“Is that so? I couldn’t tell,” Tori said. “You two look as proper as anyone else in the room. ”
“Propriety can be learned,” I said with a smile. “Our father is a bit like yours, though he doesn’t have a fancy title. He’s a merchant.”
Tori nodded. “Heard there’s been a boom in trade ever since Olderea opened its ports to Aquatia. Who would’ve thought? That kingdom is full of magic.”
“They’ve arrested someone for going to the Witch Market this week,” I said in a lower voice. “Why would we accept goods from Aquatia if magic is illegal here?”
She shrugged. “To keep good relations, I suppose. It’s because Queen Cordelia is Aquatian. Olderean merchants are only accepting non-magical items, I heard. But who knows? That may change.”
Before I could say more, a dignified woman dressed in a brilliant red gown emerged from the hall. The chatter quieted. She had a thin nose, thick auburn hair, and rosebud lips that curved into a smile when she approached.
Her teeth gleamed like the large gold locket around her neck, stamped with an emblem of a snake twisted amongst thorny roses.
“The Whittington insignia,” Tori murmured from the corner of her mouth when she saw my interest in the piece.
When Duchess Wilhelmina reached the table, we all stood. I thought I saw a girl swoon.
“Good evening, ladies.” The duchess’s voice was deeper than I anticipated.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” we collectively murmured.
She inclined her head, her diamond earrings glittering. “Welcome to this year’s Season. As you know, it is tradition for all young ladies who have come of age to participate in this two-month event to celebrate their journey to womanhood. This year, Queen Cordelia has allowed me to be your hostess. I have chosen two ladies to help me mentor you during this year’s events.”
At her word, two women entered, one thin and one plump. They were introduced respectively as Madam Lucille, the music mistress and Lady Hortensia, a courtier. Madam Lucille looked more like a nun in her somber high-necked frock, but Lady Hortensia looked her part, adorned with layers of beaded jewelry and lacy hems.
The two chattered some nonsense about how they looked forward to mentoring us and how they had never seen a prettier batch of debutantes. After Madam Lucille and Lady Hortensia seated themselves with us, Duchess Wilhelmina once again took the stage.
“A catalog of events will be sent out soon. But for now,” the duchess said, clapping her hands, “let the banquet begin!”
A row of smartly-dressed waiters filed into the hall, carrying silver platters with shallow plates of leafy green salads.
For the next thirty minutes, Duchess Wilhelmina instructed us on the proper way to sit and the correct utensils to use for each dish. It was all immensely dull and confusing, and time seemed to muddle itself in my brain. In the midst of it, Olivia Sternfeld left the room after whispering to a maid. She never returned. Whether it was the dullness of the event or her crippling shyness, I did not know, but I certainly envied the girl.
At the start of the last course, a few waiters came to replenish our beverages. I watched absentmindedly as one of them refilled a girl’s glass, the water rising up and up and...
The girl shrieked when her glass overflowed, water pooling onto the tablecloth and dribbling down onto her violet skirts. “What have you done?” she demanded, frantically wiping her dress. “This gown is worth more than your yearly wages you clumsy cow!”
“Apologies, Miss Samantha.” The waiter who spoke couldn’t have been older than me. He bowed his head of lustrous black hair and offered Samantha a napkin. She snatched it, dabbed her skirts, and flung it back at him. He caught it with ease and proceeded down the table.
The duchess, oddly enough, did not seem to notice this encounter. Even Madam Lucille and Lady Hortensia were preoccupied chatting amongst themselves.
An arm reached past my shoulder with a water pitcher. I glanced up, recognizing the waiter’s black hair. He didn’t seem too bothered by Samantha’s rebuke. I supposed he had to be thick-skinned to be a waiter.
But apparently not well-coordinated.
A shock of icy water cascaded into my lap. I gasped and jerked up. My chair crashed behind me.
“Apologies!”
Half-melted cubes of ice clattered to the floor as water rained down my skirt. Genevieve and Tori looked at me in horror.
“Good heavens, what is going on?” The duchess’s voice cut off the gasps and exclamations. I hardly expected her to speak after her silence during Samantha’s episode.
“It was my fault, Your Grace,” the waiter said, bowing at the waist. “An accidental slip of the hand.”
Two spots of color appeared on Duchess Wilhelmina’s face when he straightened. She took a shuddering breath before speaking in an even voice. “Show the young lady to a place she can clean up,” she said. “Then leave at once.”
He bowed again. Beckoning to me, he walked with decided steps through the arch from which the duchess had entered. I had to trot to catch up, my steps echoing loudly in the dead silence. When we had both safely exited, I finally found my voice.
“Er...Are you sure waiting on the upper class was the right career choice?”
He didn’t turn around fully, but a dimple appeared on his left cheek. “You’re not angry with me?” he said. Nothing about his manner betrayed any reaction to being scolded. His back was straight. There was even a bounce in his steps.
“Not particularly,” I said. Truth be told, I was a little annoyed. Wet skirts didn’t put me in the best of moods, but I wasn’t going to lash out at someone I barely knew. The waiter kept walking as I held the drenched fabric away from me, leaving a trail of water droplets in my wake. “I would appreciate a napkin, though.”
“Here. Take this.” Before I could react, the waiter stripped off his jacket and handed it to me, one hand still holding the water pitcher. It was then I noticed he was a rather handsome fellow with almond eyes, sculpted features, and an easy smile.
I blushed, taking his jacket. “Thank you.”
The waiter stood by as I attempted to blot my dress. The material of his jacket proved to be less than absorbent. Still, I managed to wring my skirts dry until it resembled a mangled bed sheet.
There was an audible silence when the two of us reentered the banquet hall. Time passed agonizingly slowly as the waiter lifted my chair right side up and gestured for me to sit. I shoved his jacket into his hands. He leaned over to set the water pitcher before me.
“Enjoy the banquet, Miss Amarante.”
He winked and departed. I sat for a second to compose myself before looking up. I hoped the exchange went unnoticed, but the curious face of Genevieve, the suggestive one of Tori, and the disapproving look on Samantha’s were clear signs that it hadn’t.
“Heavens. You were flirting with him,” Samantha accused.
“I was not,” I said, affronted.
“Looked like he was flirting with you,” Tori said.
I flushed. “No, he was not.”
“Looked a bit like he was,” Genevieve admitted.
“Nobody was flirting!”
I didn’t realize how loudly I spoke until the words were out of my mouth. A few debutantes looked my way and I ducked my head, praying that the clinking of silverware was enough to cover my voice further along the table. Heavens forbid the duchess heard! Genevieve stifled a laugh.
Samantha looked at me haughtily, her expression not unlike Narcissa’s. “Don’t you know better than to tangle yourself with the likes of him? The whole point of the Season is to find an eligible match,” she said.
Tori turned to her with a sharp look. “What are you trying to say? Working class is dirt to you?” she said. Samantha huffed and turned away.
Tori shot her one last glare before addressing me. “It’s a shame nobody here appreciates a working man. If you want to flirt with that waiter, flirt all you want,” Tori said generously.
“Thanks, I suppose,” I said in a strangled voice.
“There will be no flirting in my presence, ladies,” a commanding voice said. I jumped.
The duchess was standing behind me, frowning. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. I craned my neck to look at her.
“I-I’m sorry, Your Grace,” I stuttered, startled at being addressed by the duchess herself .
“I expect you all to behave like proper young women tonight.” She did not sound pleased. Her eyes flicked to my place card. “Especially you, Miss Amarante Flora.”
I bowed my head. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I’ve heard about you,” the duchess said, looking at me through her lashes. “You caused quite a scene in your own backyard, yes?”
My face burned. I could already see Julianna’s smug face.
Duchess Wilhelmina took my silence as confirmation. She shook her head. “I cannot blame you for being uneducated, coming from such a family. It is unseemly to isolate yourself with such lowly personage, Miss Flora. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, but Your Grace, you told me to go with him.”
Not even a clink of silverware interrupted the silence that ensued. I wished I hadn’t said anything. Arguing with the duchess? I must have gone mad.
“Stand up,” the duchess said softly.
My legs stood on their own accord, barely able to support my weight.
“Look at me when I address you, Miss Flora.”
I lifted my chin. The duchess’s gaze was steely, intensified by her slate-colored irises. I made out the harsh creases between her brows. Hers was not a face that had seen much joy.
“Repeat after me,” she said crisply. Her voice rung out in the banquet hall. “I will not flirt with inconsequential men.”
My breath caught at my throat. “B-But, Your Grace—”
“I said, Miss Flora, repeat after me.”
I clasped my hands behind me, wishing that the silence were not so deafening. “I...I will not flirt with inconsequential men,” I said .
“Louder, Miss Flora, for the young ladies in the back.”
“I will not flirt with inconsequential men.”
Snickers sounded from the head of the table. Julianna’s was the loudest. I hated how my eyes prickled.
“Very good. Do well to remember that.” The duchess swept away, heels clicking against the marble. She clapped her hands. “Now, let us start dessert.”
THROUGHOUT DESSERT , Genevieve threw me concerned looks I pretended not to notice. Tori opened and closed her mouth, as if wanting to speak but thinking better of it. It was a good thing she did because I was too mortified to do anything but eat my slice of cake, hoping that each swallow would push down the tears that threatened to spill onto my plate.
Why should I cry? It wasn’t as if I wanted to impress the duchess in the first place.
When the banquet ended, we all were escorted outside to wait for our carriages. The night air and hazy lights eased the tension in my throat and I managed to join Genevieve and Tori’s lighthearted debate on whether Lady Hortensia’s gown was lime green or chartreuse. My comfort, however, was short lived.
“What a humiliating scene!” Julianna’s voice pierced through the murmur of conversation as she sauntered toward me. A few debutantes stopped and stared.
“Julianna,” Genevieve said, crossing her arms. “We were talking.” My stepsister looked almost hostile, which I would have marveled at if I weren’t dizzy with indignation.
“I cannot imagine what Madam Lydia was thinking, letting you attend the Season,” Julianna said, tossing a curl behind her shoulder. She sneered at me, her eyes lingering on the wrinkled, wet stain at the front of my dress. “Flirting with the staff. Really, Amarante, have you no shame?”
Tori stepped forward. “Have you no shame bullying people when you know perfectly well they did nothing wrong?” she said.
Julianna scoffed. “And who might you be?”
“ Lady Victoria Strongfoot, daughter of Lord Strongfoot,” Tori said.
“Oh. The blacksmith’s daughter. You say those titles as if they mean something, peasant girl,” Julianna said.
“Repeat that and I’ll—”
I pulled Tori back before she did any damage. “What do you want, Julianna?” I said, glaring. Hadn’t she humiliated me enough?
“I wonder what the Sternfelds would think if they hear about this,” Julianna said with a sly smirk. “How improper for a soon-to-be lord to be associating with such...promiscuous young ladies.” Her eyes slid from me to my stepsister. It didn’t take long for me to get her meaning.
She was jealous of Cedric’s interest in Genevieve. What would happen once news of my blunder spread to the neighborhood? Genevieve and I would be labeled as shameless flirts. Lord Gideon made it evident last week that he disapproved of us. The gossip would no doubt push him over the edge and Cedric would no longer be able to look at Genevieve without judgment.
And Lydia. What would Lydia do once she discovers that my mistakes cost Genevieve her reputation and the affection of a rich suitor?
Julianna grew even more smug at my reaction. I had never wanted to box her face so badly. Even so, I controlled myself. Starting a brawl at the palace wouldn’t improve my situation .
“So? You’ll gossip whether I want you to or not,” I said steadily, though I was anything but.
Genevieve took my hand. “The Sternfelds have better judgment than you think, Julianna,” she said coolly. “It’s your word against ours.”
I squeezed my stepsister’s fingers, relieved to have her support. My only hope was Julianna would buy our bluff.
Julianna’s face grew tomato red. “Forget the Sternfelds! They clearly have no taste in good society,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Just you wait, Amarante. Everyone who is anyone will hear about your behavior tonight.” With that, she harrumphed and stomped away.
I let go of a breath. It was just me she wanted to humiliate now, but whether she meant to or not, Julianna would ruin Genevieve’s coming out if she ruined mine.
“Nicely handled,” Tori said as she watched my neighbor’s retreating figure.
Genevieve touched my arm. “Don’t worry, Amarante. She probably doesn’t mean it.”
How I hoped that were true.