Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Pray to Mars and get new scars.
Pray to Venus for a kiss between us.
—A CHILDREN’S RHYME
As I suspected, the games in Marguerite’s privy chamber involved no cards, no chess pieces. Instead, her ladies were spread on cushions on the floor. Roland had a lute in his lap, a cup of wine at his feet, a heady grin as he laughed and plucked his strings to the delight of a ring of courtiers.
When I was announced by an usher, Roland glanced in my direction, then ducked his head to flirt with a handsome man in his circle. I joined another group, nodding whenever I felt I was supposed to.
On the other side of the room, Roland was not particular with who he complimented, who he teased. His flattery was well spread. The pretty lady-in-waiting who stole his attention next was fair-haired and doe-eyed. Her low bodice exposed to him as he taught her notes on the lute.
We’d spent our first full day in Lionesse touring the lush grounds and feasting, and during every conversation we avoided each other’s eyes.
I couldn’t shake the mortification of this morning: lifting myself from Roland’s chest as sunlight shattered across his body, how tightly we were pressed together.
Realizing I had spent the night in his bed.
Roland grumbled in his sleep and frowned, pulling me closer.
I crept from the bedchamber before he woke.
Suddenly, a pair of arms knit themselves through mine.
Marguerite. She leaned close to whisper. “Do accept my apologies for yesterday, Mistress Mortlake. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course. I understood it for what it was. A jest.”
“A jest,” she repeated. “Yes.” Her voice was a finger running down my spine. That same pleasure and discomfort at once. “Roland still seems unhappy with me.” She shot a frown toward where he sat.
“He doesn’t look unhappy now.”
“Yes, Diane is lovely, isn’t she?” Her head nestled into my shoulder. She was quick to find intimacy—too quick. It made me wary. “Tell me, Bianca. I have a sense—forgive me if I’m wrong, but I have a sense about people, and you seem like someone who sees through him. His charms don’t affect you.”
“No,” I agreed.
Her lavender eyes slid to me. “No,” she repeated, but she was amused.
Toying with me. “Roland and I understand each other in a way no one else can. There are very few like us. Oh, maybe several others in the entire world, if that. And you? Your talents are even rarer. That must be a terrible burden, to be so alone.”
“What, exactly, do you understand about each other?”
She smiled prettily, showing off small, pearly teeth. “We are both primarily concerned with the vanities of other people. Our lives are spent making them happy.”
“Roland has his own vanities, I assure you.”
“As a lover he doesn’t. Being with him was the most I’ve ever been cared for.
He knows what will bring you pleasure. If it is him pressing you against a wall and taking your hips and having you there, he knows it.
If it’s his face close to yours whispering ‘sweetheart’ as he moves slowly inside you, he knows it.
” I burned as she pressed closer. “When his mouth is between your legs, he knows precisely where to press to draw out your sighs. How do you think he maintains such a reputation? I’ve never known his equal, and he has never had an equal besides me.
” She pulled back and smiled again, more cruelly this time. “Now, shall we play?”
I saw a red emotion in her. Was it fury, lust? No. I peeled layers away. Soften that red, and it was the blush in Diane’s cheeks as Roland whispered to her. Soften that, and it was my own white-knuckled envy, my hands clenched, the blood chased away.
Possessiveness, then.
When a boy passed by with a carafe of wine, I poured myself a cup. I longed to transform into a creature with scales. Or anything small. It was only as the wine moved through my body that I felt more at ease inside of it.
To my dismay, Marguerite guided us all to stand in a larger circle, and I was waved over from the fringes of the room.
Roland drained his wine, leaning the lute gently on a cushion.
The doe-eyed lady-in-waiting handed out animal-shaped masks, with no eye holes to see out of.
Mine was some kind of spotted cat. Roland’s was, of course, a peacock.
Then Marguerite brandished a pile of red ribbons.
Each lady was told to take one, while the men remained empty-handed.
Marguerite clapped her hands in excitement. “In a few moments, we’ll put our masks on, and I’ll take the ladies’ ribbons and hand them to the person they desire most in this circle. The ladies must then follow their ribbon to the source.”
“What if a lady desires more than one person?” asked a maid clutching a lion mask.
“I said most.”
Roland’s eyes struck mine across the room. “What if we’re handed multiple ribbons?”
“Well, that’s the fun of it, Lord Chancellor,” Marguerite purred. “You’ll choose. Now, masks on, and be quiet as I connect you all. When the ladies reach the end of their ribbons and find the one they want most, masks may be removed.”
I slipped gratefully beneath the mask, and in the darkness Marguerite’s voice echoed: “He knows what will bring you pleasure.” My ribbon was already stretched taut, and I knew who she had handed it to. There would only be one ending for me.
Marguerite’s gown swished as she flitted amongst us, and then she clapped her hands again and bid the women to follow our ribbons.
There was rustled fabric and giggling, the occasional grunt of pain as courtiers bumped into each other, but I froze, listening to the wet sounds of kissing and contented sighing as couples who had already reached each other folded into corners of the room.
I lifted my mask slightly, just to confirm what I already knew.
Some of the ladies were still in the center of the circle, hunched over in laughter as they untangled knots in their ribbons.
And directly across from me, Roland held a bouquet of five ribbons.
No one had reached him yet, but Diane, wearing a hind mask, was farthest along.
I dropped the silk tying me to him. It fluttered elegantly to the floor. What if he chose me out of pity, out of friendship? What if he didn’t choose me at all? If Marguerite knew how I desired him, that must mean he knew, too, in whatever capacity his magic allowed him to know such things.
There was one man who had no ribbons handed to him at all, his mind an eddy of kindness and nerves. I swept up to him, whispering frantically, “I’m so very sorry, I believe you dropped my ribbon.”
Beneath his horse mask, he flushed a deep red. He tugged it off eagerly. He was dark haired and olive skinned, with a sweet, gap-toothed smile and gentle eyes.
Across the room, Diane had crawled to Roland, reaching him first. Her fingers swept blindly over his shins, up to his thighs. When he’d pulled her to her feet, she lifted onto her toes to untie his mask.
“Oh,” I heard him say. “Hello, you.”
Over my shoulder, our eyes met again, his narrowing slightly. Then he ducked, laughing into Diane’s ear, lips catching her chin, her throat, her mouth. She smiled every time he pulled back, smiled again when he pressed forward for more.
I detested this game. King Philippe lived eternal, only to rule over this?
The man in my arms noticed my scowl and laughed. “What is your name?”
“Bianca. Yours?”
“Guillaume.” He spun me around, my back pressed against his chest. It was unpracticed, but I forgave the clumsiness. “Our court must seem strange to an outsider,” he whispered in my ear. “We are all unabashed. Night after night, we trade partners.”
I watched as Roland teased Diane’s mouth open with his tongue.
Suddenly, his eyes leapt open. Our gazes clashed: mine, as I lifted my neck to invite Guillaume’s lips, and his, as his finger’s tightened around Diane’s waist. With a glare toward me, he bent to kiss her again.
Guillaume’s hands fumbled over the folds of my gown. In someone’s mind, amid the overpowering lust and excitement of the room, were twists of frustration, envy. They spun from Roland’s direction, but he looked perfectly content. I could even see the gentle curl of his smile.
Marguerite suddenly coughed. Then a second time, louder, to break us all apart.
Couples stepped away from each other, running the back of their hands across swollen mouths.
Guillaume scratched behind his ear and offered me a timid grin.
Diane murmured to Roland, and he leaned down to hear her better. Laughed at whatever she said.
I gathered my gown to leave. I would study the records again, I decided, dig deeper in the library for more magical texts. Perhaps someone had written about exaltation and Prospero just hadn’t found it.
No. I was not composed enough for that. I would become a cat and tuck myself away into some narrow space—because I was mortified, guilt-ridden, exposed, and nothing could come from this but my own pain.
Marguerite silenced the room with a single clap.
“Some of you were not truthful,” she scolded, stalking forward and running her hand along courtiers’ arms. “I’d like to amend the game.
” Her gaze swiveled around the room and landed on me.
“There will be three ribbons now, for three couples. These three couples desire each other more than anyone else here. Shall we find out who they are? Come. Masks on again, and we’ll start. ”
I knew what she was doing. She was determined to humiliate me.
When I confronted her about King Philippe’s immortality, I wanted to remember this moment, when she’d seen the hidden shame in my heart and decided it would amuse her to step on it.
She would hand a ribbon to Roland and his lady-in-waiting and leave me standing all alone.
Her hand rose. “And you, madrigal! Yes, there in the corner. Sing for us, please.”