Page 139 of A Game of Veils

His tone is teasing but skeptical. I don’t want to lay it on too thick.

I give a light laugh. “I suppose that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I’ve wanted appropriate dresses to fit in at your court, and food as it’s provided, and my afternoon baths. But in terms of importance, gaining your good opinion is certainly by far at the top of the list.”

He considers my words for a few minutes of silence. I’m starting to wonder if I’m supposed to provide the next topic of conversation when he speaks again. “Not all of the court ladies have been welcoming to a newcomer from the north.”

Oh, he’s actually noticed that from his gilded seats, has he? I couldn’t read concern or accusation in his tone.

I peek at him sideways, trying to judge his expression. “I’d imagine that’s to be expected, especially when I’ve come from so far away. Most of them will never have met any Accasians at all. It’s been delightful to see them warming up to me.”

“You have no complaints to make about anyone in particular.”

I suspect doing so would reflect worse on me than whoever I point my finger at. “No. I trust that all will work out in the end as it should. But of course I will keep my experiences in mind going forward.”

To my surprise, the imperial heir chuckles. “Accepting and yet canny. An interesting combination. What would Elox say about holding grudges?”

I allow myself a little tartness. “They aren’t grudges. It’s useful information to guide me on the best course toward a peaceful and constructive existence.”

“A very polite framing.”

He grins at me, and just in that moment, I don’t feel any malice in it. It’s as if he honestly thinks we’re sharing a joke—as if he wants to share the humor of the situation with me, rather than imposing some jape without a care what I make of it as long as I laugh on cue.

I do laugh, my mind whirling with uncertainty. Is he trying to disarm me so I’ll give something away? Set me at ease so he can throw me off balance all over again?

Or is it possible that some small part of him might be open to listening to me occasionally after all?

Naturally, the next moment he douses my flicker of hope with a harsher laugh. “I am glad it wasn’t you the panther sank its jaws into last night.”

No condolences or expressions of sympathy. Because as soon as he dismissed Rochelle as a contender for his bride, she ceased to count as a person to him.

Probably she never did. I’m not sure I ever will, even if he takes me as his wife.

My whole body goes cold. I force another titter, as if the woman who did die doesn’t matter to me either. “As am I, Your Imperial Highness.”

The rest of what Marclinus asks me about my observations of the woods and his court, I answer equally politely and mostly on instinct. Yesterday’s numbness has come over me again, detaching me from the sounds entering my ears and the movements of my mouth.

At the ringing of the city bells to mark the hour, the imperial heir leads me back to the edge of the garden. Emperor Tarquin stands several paces away by one of the carved limestone planters, as if he just happened to have walked that way at this moment. But he’s alone.

At least, he appears to be. Remembering Bastien’s comments about his host of guards, I pick out a hint of movement by the nearby hedges.

Does he go undefended even in his own bedroom? Doubtful.

Marclinus nods to his father. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he says, perhaps to both of us, and saunters off toward his court nobles.

I move to follow him, but Tarquin holds up his sinewy hand to stop me. He motions me over until I’m standing just a couple of steps away and looks me up and down. His gaze is all assessing, none of the leer I’d expect from his son.

His eyes settle on my face, as keenly penetrating as always. “Our princess of the wild north. You’ve adapted to the change in expectations well.”

So many of my expectations have been turned on their heads in the past two weeks that I’m not sure what he’s referring to. A vague answer is all that’s required anyway. “I came here to serve the imperial family as well as I’m able.”

His next remark clarifies his meaning. “You thought you’d be greeted with a wedding rather than a series of trials. But you’re close to that wedding now. I hope there’s no resentment over the tests we’ve required or their lack of forewarning.”

Resentment? Try bone-deep revulsion and seething rage.

I push my mouth into yet another false smile. “Your Imperial Eminences must evaluate who will make an ideal partner as you see fit. It’s a relief to know that after the final trial, there should be no doubt of who that partner is.”

“Indeed.” Tarquin smiles back at me, but I don’t feel any warmth from it. “You are well-spoken enough to sit beside my son’s throne. I’m sure of that already.”

He motions for me to continue through the gardens, so I go. My knotted stomach leaves no room for actual relief.

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