Page 21 of A Game of Veils

I’m confused for a second before I recall what Melisse told me about the prince’s power. Is Marclinus asking whether any of his nobles is carrying hidden weapons or other potential threats?

The imperial heir didn’t sound at all concerned. He might simply be tugging on the prince’s chain, reminding Raul that he can order him around.

Raul scans the nearby nobles, many of whom have tensed at his attention. He calls back to the imperial heir, matching the other man’s careless attitude. “No signs of sedition, Your Imperial Highness. But Viceroy Antun must not appreciate your hospitality enough, considering the size of that flask in his vest pocket, and I think Baron Otho should give his wife a break until he clears up whatever that nixel leaf is for.”

Several chortles ring out through the room. Nixel is mainly used to treat certain contagious sores of the nether regions.

Whatever Marclinus was looking for, Raul’s performance appears to have satisfied him. “Duly noted,” he says with amusement, and turns to one of the nearby lords.

How many times have they carried out that little charade to embarrass the lesser nobles? It looked like the imperial heir enjoyed it more than the prince did.

A quiet but firm voice speaks right by my ear. “And if you have any tricks up your sleeve, we’ll catch on to those too.”

My head twitches around to find Prince Bastien standing by my side. His dark green gaze roves over the milling nobles in front of us, but it’s obvious he was talking to me.

He’s caught me alone—while I watched Marclinus and Raul’s gambit, Rochelle has meandered over to a side table to procure herself a glass of wine.

Even though he only stands a few inches taller than me with his slender frame, the intensity Bastien gives off makes his presence loom larger. I study his chiseled face at the edge of my vision, copying his indifferent stance. “I’m not here to play tricks.”

“Or it could be said you came to attempt the greatest ruse of all.”

His odd animosity pricks at me. Why exactly is he so offended by my arrival at the palace? I didn’t ask for my betrothal to be turned into a sick contest.

“I think I’m here for many of the same reasons you are,” I say calmly, even though he didn’t seem to appreciate having our situations compared last night.

Bastien lets out a light scoff. “You had your whole life to make the choice to place yourself in this room. I was all of seven when they came for me. So don’t even try to claim we’re alike.”

He—and the other princes—were dragged to the palace when they were that young? My throat constricts.

Before I can decide what to say next, Bastien’s posture goes rigid. He’s staring across the room even more intently than before.

Several paces away, a few of the noblemen have closed in around Prince Lorenzo. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but their grins have a mocking edge.

One of them prods the silent prince in his well-built chest and lifts his voice just a little louder. “And you’ve nothing to say to that, do you?”

His companions burst into taunting laughter.

Lorenzo shakes his head, his mouth pulled into a resigned grimace. He pulls away from his hecklers.

As he starts across the room, Bastien strides away from me to join him. Lorenzo catches sight of him when he’s halfway there and makes a quick motion with his hand that stops the other man.

He must have told Bastien he didn’t want any kind of intervention. From the set of Bastien’s shoulders, I don’t think he’s happy standing back.

Watching them, I have to wonder if an awful lot of the animosity I’ve seen is simple protectiveness. Bastien can’t have that many years on the others, but there’s no mistaking the older-brother vibe.

It reminds me of my sister’s first pained gasp when my parents received the missive from the emperor confirming his interest in the betrothal. The fierceness of Soreena’s voice while I bit my tongue. You can’t possibly marry her to that monster!

I rub my finger over the rippled surface of my ring. It’ll all be for the best in the end.

As long as I win.

That thought has barely crossed my mind when Marclinus raises his wine glass and his voice. “My court, my eager ladies—it’s time for our next trial!”

Chapter Eight

Aurelia

The din of parlor chatter has faded to a faint buzz. We’ve crowded into one end of the sprawling room, with me and my eleven competitors gathered at the fore of the crowd.

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