Page 104 of A Game of Veils

As we reach the dining room, Rochelle hurries ahead of me to check with the other staff about where I should sit. I’m meandering after her when careful fingers graze my arm.

Bastien’s voice reaches me from behind, dropped to a whisper. “I overheard the emperor talking to the kitchen staff a little before lunch. He was asking them to bring up a couple of extra crates of wine beyond the usual. I don’t know if that’s significant, but…”

As he trails off, dread pools in my gut. This is the second day since we ladies pleaded for Marclinus to let us continue the trials, and three since we last had a full test of our devotion.

I couldn’t have expected the reprieve to last much longer.

I dip my head in thanks, not sure if the prince even sees my acknowledgment before he ambles onward as if he was simply brushing past me.

Rochelle motions me over to the head table and pulls out my seat for me. Since two nights ago, Marclinus has moved his chair back to the foot of the table. I’m glad to see this time I’m not seated at the end next to him but vaguely middle-ish.

I end up in between Iseppa and Giralda, neither of whom are willing to chat much with me after Bianca’s efforts at cooling the court’s opinion, but neither of whom have ever been overtly hostile either. I keep a close eye on my food and my drink regardless—and only pretend to sip my wine.

If something important is going to happen with our beverages today, less intoxication is almost always safer than more.

Neither the emperor nor his heir make any unnerving moves during the meal. Tarquin keeps up a subdued conversation with the older members of court seated around him. Marclinus is his often-typical jovial self, laughing and teasing both those nearby and occasionally hollering quips to the nobles at other tables.

As the servers clear our dessert dishes, the emperor motions for those of us at the head table to stay in our seats. Other staff move into the center of the room, pushing back some of the furniture and arranging several chairs around a smaller, round table where they set out more than a dozen bottles of wine and a ring of goblets.

My pulse thuds faster in shaky anticipation. Some members of the court have drifted out of the room, but many linger around the edges, watching with open curiosity.

We’re about to become another spectacle.

Marclinus gets to his feet and beckons us. “Ladies, join me for an extra drink. You deserve a chance to relax after all your efforts.”

Somehow I have trouble believing that the tableau he’s creating has anything to do with us relaxing.

The six of us remaining move to the circle of chairs, Fausta striding ahead with a regal air though I can’t see that any of the options gives an advantage over the others. At least with her seated first, I can ensure I’m not sitting next to her.

The imperial heir settles into the last of the chairs and snaps his fingers at the waiting server. She takes the first bottle and fills all of the goblets to the top. Emperor Tarquin positions himself beyond our ring, his piercing gaze traveling over each of us.

There are only six glasses, I can’t help noticing as the server sets one right in front of me. Is Marclinus not partaking of this drinking session?

“Don’t be shy,” he says to us in a cheerful tone. “Drink up!”

I raise my goblet tentatively to my lips. The wine isn’t one of the typical vintages we drink with meals but something sweeter, headier. It goes down smoothly, but I can tell it’ll pack a punch.

Unfortunately, there’s no option for moderation now. As I sip, Marclinus motions to us all with energetic impatience. “Come, now. Look how much we have to get through! You’re not really celebrating until you’re at least three glasses in.”

Three goblets of this stuff and I might be on the floor.

I can’t avoid his orders, though. By seating us at a new table with nothing else around, there are no napkins for me to spit into or dishes that might conceal an errant dribble.

What’s he after with this trial? It doesn’t seem like him or his father to put us through a repeat of our previous over-indulgent dinner, only with purely liquid this time. And there are no buckets to contain the results of a few drinks too many.

By the bottom of the second glass, my thoughts have taken on a fuzzy edge. By the third, I seem to lose my sense of balance for a moment here and there, leaving me swaying to one side and the other. From the giggles and wobbles around our table, I’m definitely not the only one so affected.

Marclinus offers us a pleased smile. “That’s more like it. No need for nerves, no need for caution. You can say whatever you like to me without a single worry. Lady Leonette, how have you been enjoying these trials?”

The normally solemn woman now has a small, uneven smile curving across her dark face. “You’ve certainly given us a lot of variety and challenge.”

“Indeed I have; indeed I have. Lady Giralda, I’d love to know—what about me do you find most obnoxious?”

A chill seeps through my tipsiness, but the other woman guffaws and then covers her mouth. “You’re not at all obnoxious, Your Imperial Highness. You’re just perfect.”

“Wonderful.” Marclinus taps his mouth by his scar and gestures to the server. “How about another round? Any objections?”

I’d like to make one, but I’m abruptly sure of the nature of this test. He’s looking to get us drunk enough that we might let some supposedly traitorous thought slip out.

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