Page 29 of A Game of Veils

“Why, Princess Aurelia,” Bianca says in a saccharine tone she doesn’t even try to make sound genuine, “have you gotten lost all alone? How sad.”

I keep my own smile mild. “Not lost. Simply admiring the imperial art collection.”

“Ah. Yes. Certainly the most compelling feature of this part of the palace is the art.”

She pauses a few paces away from me and lifts her slim black eyebrows. “If you were thinking of paying a private call on His Imperial Highness, I’m afraid he’s quite satisfied already.”

After an interlude with her? Given her animosity toward me, I suspect there’s at least as much chance that she’s spinning fables to intimidate me as telling the truth.

“I’m glad to hear he’s well, since I had no such intention,” I say evenly. “I’m quite content to wait for my wedding night.”

Bianca presses her hand to her lips against an elegant snort. “How confident you are with so many trials still ahead of you. As if you can offer him anything that would suit him better than the ladies of his own country and court.”

“He had those ladies before, and yet he asked me to come all the way from Accasy. I’m sure he can make up his own mind about who would make him happiest.”

A full laugh spills out of her. She shakes her head. “You naïve little girl. If you think his choice will have anything to do with what makes him happy and not what serves his purposes best, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

She saunters off down the hall, and I don’t bother to call a retort after her. It’s not as if she has any interest in helping me.

That entire conversation was about serving her purpose—to needle me in every way possible.

I draw my gaze back to the tapestries before me. One depicts a view over Dariu’s capital city, the beige and tan buildings rising in stately rows beneath the stark blue of the sky. An ache fills my throat at the thought of the much more colorful streets of the capital I left behind—the oranges and yellows and pinks that brighten Accasy’s homes.

No doubt the Darium court would consider them gauche. I haven’t felt a trace of that sort of friendly warmth within these walls.

Back home, some of those bright buildings have lain empty since before I was born, cobwebs clogging the windows, roofs sagging. Haunting memorials to families displaced or “eliminated” as utterly as the two ladies whose throats I’ve seen slit.

We could see their windows filled with light and merriment again. See every town and village thriving as they haven’t in centuries.

It all depends on me.

I drift farther down the hallway, taking in sweeping landscapes and fanciful scenes from tales of the godlen. None of Elox, I’m not surprised to see—most feature Creaden in his lordly acts or Sabrelle spurring on a battle.

When footsteps next approach, they’re the heavier tread of a man, though a little errant in their rhythm. Marclinus emerges from around the corner with his fine purple shirt carelessly askew and a goblet clasped in one hand.

I paste on a sunnier smile than I offered Bianca and turn to meet him. “Your Imperial Highness. How wonderful to see you.”

The imperial heir’s gaze rakes over my body in one of my new, filmier dresses. The fabric is hardly transparent, but the openness of his leer makes me feel uncomfortably naked.

So much for what Bianca claimed about all his needs being “satisfied.”

Her other comments stick with me, though. I’m aware he must want a wife as a political tool as much as anything else, but maybe I haven’t focused on that aspect enough. On showing how my differing experiences from the ladies of his court are an asset rather than a flaw.

Marclinus grins widely at me, swirling his goblet in his hand. A tang of wine wafts from it, but he looks sober enough, if a little looser than he seemed yesterday.

“Did you come up here looking for me?” he asks. “But no tea this time?”

He sounds amused rather than disdainful. I suppose he’s in a better mood than during my previous overture.

Does that mean he’d be more open to hearing an appeal?

I glance down at my hands as if wishing I could make a tray appear. “You didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it. I wouldn’t want you to think I have no concern for your tastes.”

“Hmm. I won’t deny I can be rather changeable at times.” He laughs as if this is a great joke and then crosses the last distance between us. Slipping his hand around my elbow, he nudges me to walk with him down the hall.

I keep my stance relaxed through sheer force of will, fighting the urge to recoil from his nearness. He might be stunning to look at, but everything else I’ve seen from this man so far inclines me to maintain as much distance as I can get.

I have to bring out another side of him. A better side of that changeable nature he admitted.

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