Page 40 of A Game of Veils

My hand taps down forehead, heart, and gut before balling over my sternum. Gods only know what the godlen whose brand I bear—the master of travel, communication, and weather—would make of this scenario.

I extend my thoughts toward the sky. Jurnus, the road I’m on has become twisted. How should I weather this storm?

The clouds drift on before my eyes. Then one draws my attention with a twitch of my pulse.

It stretches across the sky toward me in a thin but straight line, like something steady and true.

I can only think he means that I should stay the course. Remain loyal to my principles.

Raul is an idiot. He’s going to let his dick lead him away from the path we were already walking. Giving in to those urges can only muddle the situation.

I’ll stick to the track we first agreed on, wear the princess down in every other way I can, and we’ll see who topples her first.

Chapter Fourteen

Aurelia

It isn’t difficult to get lost in the sprawling hallways of the imperial palace. I set out to do so, curious to see what I might discover if I ventured off my typical routes, and I can honestly say I’m now not entirely sure how to get back to where I started.

As I wander down yet another vast hall, a door opens at the other end. A lady I vaguely recognize—I think she’s a marchionissa—slips out.

Even from a distance, I can see the flush in her cheeks, the mussing of her pinned-up hair. She pats it down hastily as she hustles away in the opposite direction.

I must have made my way into one of the sections of the palace containing the court’s private quarters.

I don’t think much of it, continuing on my way, until I’m just a few paces shy of the doorway the marchionissa emerged from, and the door opens again.

This time, it’s Prince Raul who steps into the hallway, tucking his elegant shirt into the waist of his trousers in a way that immediately tells me what he and his married lady companion were getting up to.

Our gazes lock. Raul’s icy blue eyes spark in a discomforting way that makes me want to flee, but I force myself to stop.

If I’m going to obtain the princes’ help to get me through the coming trials, I need to ingratiate myself with all of them. I didn’t make much progress with Bastien this morning. He played friendly enough after my appeal, but his remarks sounded far too calculating.

He’s still suspicious of me. Prodding him for more information when he was already skewing his answers would only have given him more justification to feel that way.

I smile at Raul with a wryness to acknowledge the tension of our past interactions. “I’ve finally stumbled on someone I know. I seem to have lost my way. I don’t suppose you’d summon the kindness to direct me to the parlor?”

A slanted grin crosses Raul’s breathtaking face. “It seems to be an afternoon of servicing ladies. I could do even better than giving directions.”

From the look of the marchionissa, it’s not a hollow promise. If flirting is the closest I can get to friendliness from this man, perhaps I should entertain it a little rather than shutting it down.

I lower my eyes modestly. “I think the directions will do for now. Do you think you can manage to get me to the gardens with my honor intact?”

Raul chuckles at the coy remark—and the implication that I might be more open to his advances later. He swipes his hands together in front of him, and my gaze catches on the blotches of scars marking the knuckles.

I only noticed the one hand yesterday. The other’s scars look fresher, like skin that’s only recently shed its scabs.

I can’t stop my medical inclinations from kicking in—and maybe I shouldn’t want to. The more ways I can establish good will between us, the better.

I nod toward him. “You’ve injured both of your hands recently. If there’s any lingering pain or you want to ease the scarring, I have a salve that speeds along the healing process.”

Raul follows my gaze and snorts. “Scars add character. I’m perfectly fine.”

For a second, I think his tone has stiffened, but then he touches the small of my back and nudges me down the hall. “Let’s get this lost lamb back to the flock.”

He guides me along with an air of total assurance. I glance up at him, ignoring the tingling of my skin at the nearness of his impressive form. “You must know the palace awfully well by now. Prince Bastien says he arrived when he was seven years old. Was it the same for you?”

“The emperor’s chosen age for fosters,” Raul says in a nonchalant tone. “I turned up a year after Bastien did. Hard to believe it’s been fifteen now. But I’ve found whatever ways I can to make good use of the time.”

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