Page 19 of A Game of Veils

It appears finding a common ground offends them more than it endears me to them. So be it.

I hold Bastien’s gaze steadily. “You’ve had plenty of wisdom to share. I’ll simply remind you that you don’t know me at all.”

Tucking my hands into my skirts, I step around Raul again.

He huffs a breath, starting to turn, but Bastien touches his arm. “She isn’t worth more bother.”

All the same, Prince Raul’s voice carries after me as I hurry toward my bedroom door. “Go ahead and run, Lamb. You won’t get far.”

Chapter Seven

Aurelia

Beyond the broad windows that stretch from floor to ceiling all along one side of the expansive room, a private forest sprawls within the walls of the imperial compound. I rest my hand on a glass pane, peering down at the treetops.

Other than the fact that they’re green, they don’t bear many similarities to the forest that surrounded my family’s castle back home—rounded and bushy rather than towering and majestic. The morning sun glares off their still, pale leaves.

It’s hard to imagine a stroll through those woods being much of an escape.

I force myself to turn back to the rest of the room. I’m not sure what’s more absurd: the fact that the so-called parlor is immense enough to make me feel small as a sparrow or that it’s somehow claustrophobic at the same time.

With dozens of members of the imperial court meandering around the sofas and low tables, I can’t walk more than a few paces without bumping into someone. The cloying warmth that’s risen in the room might not bother them in their airy clothes, but my skin has turned sticky beneath my fern-green dress. My appointment with Madam Clea to commission new gowns isn’t until this afternoon.

Nearly all of the courtly figures are wafting some version of lush perfume. The scents of innumerable flowers, herbs, and musks collide in a thick stew. I have the urge to find one of the few windows that will open and shove my head out into the fresh air.

What I really want is to be able to curl up in one of the chairs in Father’s office and hash out the political factors I need to keep in mind. To flop onto my sister’s bed and vent about the catty looks every lady in this place has been sending my way. To walk through the familiar gardens with my friends and share the awe and the horror of the past day.

I can’t quite imagine it, though. The only person I never had to hold myself back with was gone long before I ever knew I’d end up here.

Melancholy wells up inside me for a moment before I shake it off and square my shoulders. Wallowing in what-could-have-beens won’t get me anywhere.

My gaze lands on Lady Rochelle, standing by herself between two clusters of chattering ladies. Her head droops beneath its cloud of blond curls, her posture making her large-boned frame look more awkward than statuesque.

Not every lady has been staring venom at me.

I amble over to join her. My spirits can’t help lifting at the way her expression brightens when she notices my approach.

Maybe we both need each other a little.

“Take a turn around the room with me?” I suggest.

Rochelle chuckles. “There is a lot of it to see.”

As we stroll along the row of windows, she brushes her fingers over her lips. “The palace chefs really outdid themselves with that breakfast. I thought I wasn’t that hungry, but then I couldn’t stop until I’d cleaned my whole plate.”

“It was pretty fantastic.” To tell the truth, my first breakfast in the imperial dining room might have been the most mouthwatering meal I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know if I should take that as a consolation prize or a sign that everything about this situation is mad.

Rochelle glances at me. “Is the typical food in Accasy much different?”

I consider the question. “There’s quite a bit of variety. Darium recipes have made their way even that far north.” Mostly to meet the demands of soldiers and overseers stationed in our territory. “Our native fare tends to be a little heavier and more directly spiced rather than relying on sauces.”

She hums to herself. “I wish more cuisine from the outer territories came to us in exchange. It’d be interesting to try.”

Has she given much thought to why that isn’t the case? To why her country imposes its customs on the rest of us and never the other way around?

Why would anyone in the palace care when the treatment of our people doesn’t affect them at all?

At the far end of the room, several paintings hang on the wall. Various austere figures in imperial purple gaze back at us.

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