Page 36 of A Game of Veils

My neighbor buckles over with what must be anything but hunger. I gasp a breath, groping for the words to calm her.

It’s too late. She retches into her bucket, vomit splattering the metal sides.

Even as the horror of her fate hits me, I snatch up my napkin and press it tight to my nose. Just the sound of her retching has acid searing the back of my mouth. If I smell it too…

The lady at her other side succumbs with a heave of her own vomit. Across the table from them, another doubles over with a horrible sound that’s part sobbing, part gagging.

Marclinus straightens up in his chair, his eyes unnervingly bright. He points to my neighbor without so much as a glance toward his father. “She broke first. Put her down.”

The last word has barely left his mouth before a guard is yanking the woman out of her chair and slashing her throat.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the grisly sight. But I can’t stop myself from hearing the fresh splatter, now of blood, or the peal of Marclinus’s laughter.

When I dare look at the table again, Rochelle has just bent over her own bucket. My hands ball as I watch my friend heave and shudder.

There are still six of us who’ve kept our meal down. I hold myself rigidly still, waiting for the emperor or his heir to call an end to this horrific meal.

Instead, Marclinus lounges back in his chair, one arm around Bianca’s waist, his other hand caressing the side of the baronissa’s breast. He grins at us. “You can all keep going. We’ll see who outlasts the rest.”

Through my nausea, the last tiny spark of hope I’ve been holding on to sputters out.

He’s celebrating our suffering.

He likes the torment so much he’s asking for it to continue even after the main outcome of the trial—the culling of our ranks—has been decided.

I’m never going to convince him to give up this sadistic competition. I’m stuck here until I die or I take his hand in marriage.

Despair sweeps through me, but it dredges up a deeper resolve than has ever gripped me before.

I won’t die. I’ll see my purpose through, marry this hateful man, and bring my people the relief they’ve so long deserved. No matter what I need to do.

The image of Raul’s looming form rises up through my mind. Of Bastien’s accusing remarks. Of Lorenzo slashing his finger past my throat.

The disgust on their faces when Marclinus announced this trial.

The princes might have it out for me, but they’re the only people in the entire palace who’ve been remotely honest about how awful the emperor and his son are. As much as they seem to despise me, they hate the tyrants who might as well be their jailers even more.

They may be the only ones I can count on… if I can find enough common ground for them to let me in.

I’ve been cautious in my approach so far. I have to make the most of every opportunity going forward.

If I want to be sure of surviving the next week, I need to turn the enemies of my enemy into my greatest allies.

Chapter Thirteen

Bastien

Clutching the metal bar, I haul my body off the ground. The strain ripples through my shoulders and biceps with a familiar burn.

I bring my chin to the level of the bar, hold there through a carefully even breath that prickles through my single lung, and lower myself again.

I still have three more repetitions in my standard sequence, but the squeak of the opening door diverts me. I let go of the bar and turn around, swiping my stinging hands together.

My stance has tensed in case it’s one of the court nobles or a member of the imperial guard. I generally restrict my exercise sessions to the privacy of my bedroom, where there’s no chance of anyone mocking my thin body or my lack of endurance. Every now and then, though, I sneak down to the chambers dedicated to physical training to make use of the equipment I otherwise don’t have access to.

It's nearly midnight—both nobles and guards off duty tend to be asleep or deep in their cups by now.

No doubt they are tonight as well, because it’s Raul crossing the room toward me. My foster brother’s expression is typically intense, but there’s an unusual spring to his step as if this once he’s more energized than pissed off.

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