Page 62 of A Game of Veils

“Good night,” I manage in a stiff voice, because it’d be odd if I didn’t acknowledge the men right in front of me at all, and step around the trio as gracefully as my mechanical grip on my body allows.

The princes are startled enough that I’ve made it a few steps past them before their footsteps scuff against the carpet, spinning and hurrying after me. Bastien mutters something about how “she was making excuses to get away from you,” which doesn’t make much sense either, because I haven’t attempted any justifications.

He calls after me in a low but disdainful tone. “Where are you going, Princess?”

I keep my response efficiently short. “Kitchen.”

He snorts, as if there’s something ridiculous about my answer. “Still so hungry after that feast? Off to raid the palace cupboards? And it seems you don’t even trust your maid to fetch a snack for you.”

I don’t know why he has a problem with any of that. What’s it to him? Shouldn’t he want me to eat the emperor out of house and home if I take a mind to?

It’s easiest to say nothing. I keep my mouth clamped shut, bark braced between my teeth, and my feet moving onward, step after step.

The stairwell is just up ahead. I’ll be able to hold on to the railing going down. It won’t look strange at all as long as I don’t clutch it like a drowning woman.

Bastien picks up his pace, his boots thudding against the thick carpet behind me in time with the fever blaring beneath my skin. “You’re not answering because you’re up to something. I think you need a little company on this expedition.”

The thought of the princes tagging along through my entire awful trek sends a renewed shudder through my gut that I almost can’t rise above. My frustration slips my control instead. I spit the words through my clenched teeth. “Fuck off.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence and then a rough noise of consternation melding with an amused tsk of the tongue I can tell is Raul.

“Watch out, Bas. You’re bringing out that wild fire. I knew it had to be in her somewhere.”

I ignore him too, veering toward the staircase.

Unfortunately, all three princes march after me down the broad steps. My palm skids against the gilded railing, sweat beading there in the brief moments I grasp on for balance.

Bastien comes up with a retort about a minute too late. “Cursing at me isn’t going to stop me from keeping an eye on you.”

No, I hadn’t really expected it would. I go back to ignoring him, drawing relief from the knowledge that the kitchen doorway is just around the next turn.

No clatter of pans or clinking of dishes reaches my ears—the staff will have cleared out for the night. No one needs to know I slunk in there… except for my increasingly irritating pursuers.

Lorenzo must convey some comment with gestures, because Bastien speaks again in a more hushed cadence as if replying. “She obviously lied. She didn’t flee because she was ever so tired. Half the palace is already in bed, and here she is roaming.”

Through my sickly daze, it sinks in that he’s talking about my excuse for leaving Lorenzo in the orchard. He’s claiming that I made up a story.

I can’t tell him off without revealing how close to incapacitated I actually am. After Emperor Tarquin and his heir—and I suppose Fausta and Bianca—Bastien is the last person I want aware of my weakened state. Especially when he’s acting like such an ass.

I’m not sure I could defend myself without the calm center I’ve held on to cracking and everything else falling apart.

“Why so rigid tonight, Lamb?” Raul says in a cajoling tone. “I know you enjoyed my company yesterday.”

I swerve through the kitchen doorway in silence. I might have to repair every smidgeon of progress I’ve made with these men after tonight’s performance, but at least I’ll be alive and well to do it.

My years of potion-making in the kitchens of my family’s royal residences have left me familiar with the typical layouts. The Darium approach to organization isn’t much different. It only takes a swift scan of the vast counter space to spot a basket in one corner with several bulbs of garlic poking their white faces from the top.

As I stride stiffly over to pluck one up, my gaze catches on a kettle tucked away on one of the storage shelves. The images brought by my gift shift and flow through my thoughts.

I’m going to require some boiled water.

I slosh a little from the kitchen taps into the spouted metal pot and set it on the main stove. The fire within must be intended to burn all night, perhaps with magical enhancement to ensure it never dwindles too much. The heat that wafts over me barely feels warm compared to the blaze of my fever.

The princes have followed me into the room. Bastien scowls at me. “If you’re hoping to confuse us by grabbing random objects?—”

I don’t bother to wait to hear what new accusing remark he’s going to make. The flavor has leeched from my bit of bark—its numbing effect on my pains will be dwindling.

My headache pounds harder on my way to the small door at the far end of the kitchen. My fingers stumble over the deadbolt but manage to shove it over.

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