Page 48 of A Game of Veils

The rest of the chairs around the room are filling up before me. Just moments after the last spot at our table has been taken, Marclinus rises to his feet. At the flourish of his arms, the chatter around the room falls away.

He beams at his audience, so much glee shining in my betrothed’s eyes that my stomach starts to roil before he’s even spoken.

A matching feral delight rings through his voice. “Good morning to you all, good people of my court. With this new day, we are beginning a new trial.”

He makes a dramatic gesture toward the line of us along the one side of the table. “Not long ago, the ladies eager for my hand enjoyed a night of indulgence. Now we will evaluate their self-restraint. From now through sunset tomorrow, they will refrain from ingesting so much as a drop of water or a crumb of food.”

Someone farther down the row stifles a sound of dismay. An ache forms in my throat as his words sink in.

Nothing to eat or drink for nearly two days.

The lack of food will be uncomfortable but not unendurable. I’ve heard of devouts and clerics fasting for longer in an attempt to leave behind the concerns of the body to commune with the gods.

Going that long without anything to wet our throats? By tomorrow evening, our bodies will be dangerously close to dehydration.

I’ve never felt more grateful for the water with its light steeping of tea leaves that I mixed this morning. I intended the herbs I picked to fortify me for the day ahead, but the liquid they soaked in could be my actual saving grace.

The memory of sipping from that glass draws my gaze down the line toward Fausta’s petite form. My jaw tightens.

She knew. Or, more likely, Bianca caught wind of the next trial and quickly saw to it that her friend would go into the day with some initial refreshments to give her an edge over the rest of us.

Will she keep sneaking relief to Fausta over the next two days?

As if hearing my thoughts, Emperor Tarquin lifts his voice from his end of the table. “Naturally, the guards will closely monitor all of the competitors to ensure they follow the rules of the trial. You will be accompanied anywhere you go, including your bed chambers. Cheating will not be tolerated.”

Marclinus rocks on his heels. “But for those who prove their forbearance, you can look forward to a fabulous feast tomorrow night!”

He claps his hands. “Now the rest of us will dine.”

As he sprawls back in his chair, servers move around the room. Plates wafting the savory scents of fried eggs and spiced meat clink against the tabletop in front of the breakfast-goers across from us.

My mouth starts to water. My stomach gurgles, empty of anything other than tea after the long night.

Raul catches my eye and digs into his meal with flamboyant gusto. He sniffs the food with a happy sigh, hums ecstatically as he chews, and makes a show of smacking his lips before he spears the next morsel.

A couple of seats over, Prince Neven notices his foster brother’s display. He shoots a glare my way and takes an extravagant bite of his own breakfast, all but groaning to emphasize how delicious it is.

The lady at my right has turned wan, watching their goading alongside me. She wets her lips, and her stomach rumbles loud enough that her cheeks flare pink.

Raul tips his goblet to his lips with exaggerated swallows, and my mouth feels even drier. But my gaze settles on the band of cloth he’s wrapped around his knuckles.

Focusing on his hands rather than his food helps me ignore my hunger. His other hand bears the same narrow bandage.

I don’t remember seeing those during his middle of the night visit, although Bastien drew most of my attention then. And I wasn’t exactly at my most alert. Has he injured himself again?

What is Raul doing that’s scarred his knuckles that way? Or is it something someone else is doing to him?

As he waves a tidbit of meat in the air with his fork as if to waft the tempting smell toward us, I find myself studying the set of his broad shoulders, the working of his jaw as he chews. For all he acts like the most confident of the four princes, impervious and imposing, there’s so much tension simmering behind that front.

Lorenzo has swayed between warm and cold, and Bastien’s been nearly frigid, but Prince Raul is all fire. I know what’s driving him better than the others.

There’s so much emotion in him that might be shifted in my favor if I could only convince him that I’m not his opponent.

Those thoughts percolate in my head for the rest of the torturous meal. When Emperor Tarquin gets to his feet and dismisses us, I head straight to the nearest imperial guard I see patrolling the room.

“I know we’re not to go to our rooms alone,” I say, “but I forgot something I promised to give a friend. Would you escort me?”

Chapter Seventeen

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