Page 161 of A Game of Veils

Perhaps they wanted to be here simply to ensure I realize how furious they are with me.

From their hostile glowers, we might as well have tumbled back in time to my very first day when this wedding should have taken place, with all of the intimacies we shared wiped away.

Marclinus squeezes my thigh beneath the table. The sight of his pale hand against the pale pink of my wedding gown makes my stomach lurch.

Why did I make that remark to Lorenzo about marrying him? Every time I take in my bridal finery, the illusion the prince conjured around my bed during that brief spell of joy comes back to me with a pang through my heart.

My actual husband takes my hand and gets to his feet, drawing me with him. With a skip of my pulse, I realize we’re about to move into the most important part of the night.

The part where I take my first step toward fulfilling all the silent promises I made to the people I left behind.

Marclinus’s jovial voice rings through the dining room. “Let us all move to the ballroom to continue our celebration with much merriment and music!”

Once we’ve reached the hall, he releases my hand. The highest ranking nobles hustle out around us, a few of them diverting the imperial heir’s attention with congratulations and promises of wedding gifts they’ve procured.

While he’s laughing with them, someone gives my elbow a tentative tap.

My head snaps around with a hitch in my chest, half-expecting to encounter the bitter gaze of one of the princes up close. It’s hard to say whether I’m relieved or disappointed to discover Bianca has come up beside me instead.

The vicerine peers into my face, her own expression inscrutable. Whatever her near-black eyes are searching for, I can’t tell if she finds it.

“You stopped when you were going over the wall and reached toward Lady Fausta,” she says in a similarly opaque voice. “Why? You were already ahead of her. You let Leonette get a larger lead.”

My throat closes up at the reminder of my brief moment of compassion—and the agony I couldn’t prevent.

I don’t know how to answer other than with the truth. “It seemed like an awful way to die. I didn’t think it should have to be that way.”

I can’t say that I don’t believe any of my rivals for Marclinus’s hand should have been executed. But at least most of their deaths were quick and clean.

Bianca’s mouth tightens. I can’t tell whether she’s upset by my answer or simply agrees with my implied regret. She dips her head and falls back into the crowd around us.

Once we reach the ballroom, Emperor Tarquin glances around. “Prince Lorenzo, let’s have your gift bless the dancing tonight.”

My smile remains fixed in place. Of course. Why wouldn’t the emperor want the most talented musician in the palace providing the music for his son’s wedding festivities?

I fix my gaze on Marclinus as we take our places in the middle of the room, not wanting to see what shadows might have crossed my former lover’s face. Will this performance be more agonizing for him than when he played as my feet bled, or less because he no longer has any reason to care what happens to me?

The prince strikes up a tune as beautiful as any I’ve ever heard from his vielle. Marclinus sets one hand on my waist, grasps my fingers, and whirls me around.

For the first minute or so, it’s only us dancing while the rest of the court watches, leaving a circle of open floor for us to claim. A sly spark lights in the imperial heir’s eyes. His hand drifts down to give my ass a teasing squeeze. When he spins me around again, he lets his fingers trail over my chest.

It doesn’t matter that my skin recoils. I just keep beaming at him.

It’s almost time.

After our initial display of marital union, other couples pick up the melody alongside us. Soon, most of the court is dipping and turning beneath the sparkling glow of the crystal chandeliers.

In the brief lull between the first song and the next, Marclinus eases back from me and glances toward his father, who’s approaching through the crowd of nobles.

Emperor Tarquin nods to me with a smug smile of his own. “Let me say again how pleased I am that you’ve so thoroughly proven yourself a worthy partner, Aurelia. It’s our tradition in Dariu that as emperor I have the honor of the second dance at any palace wedding.”

As I already knew. I dip into a slight curtsy and lift my left hand for him to display me to our audience, flicking my thumb over the side of my rippled ring as I do. A subtle gesture, nothing anyone should make note of.

Emperor Tarquin raises my arm higher as he turns me toward the watching nobles, our fingers sliding briefly together. When he releases my hand so we can take our dancing positions, I stroke my ring once more.

The emperor might not be quite as energetic as his son, but he’s still sprightly enough that I have to focus on matching his pace. Which is good, because it means I can’t wallow in a single other worry. My pulse pounds faster with every emphatic tap of our feet.

At least Tarquin has no interest in groping me. Once the second song ends, he nudges me back toward my husband, whose grin has definitely become more of a leer.

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