Page 74 of A Game of Veils

I glance down just as Fausta flits deeper into her friends’ midst. I have no doubt she’s responsible for the ragged tear that now splits the mauve silk of my gown from mid-thigh to calf.

My teeth set on edge. I spin toward her, half a dozen cutting remarks leaping to my tongue to tell her off once and for all—and my gaze catches on Marclinus lounging in his throne-like chair by the end of the table.

He’s come early today. He’s watching the bunch of us while he twirls his butter knife in his hand as if it’s flying between his fingers.

I’ve never been very concerned what Fausta thinks of me, but I still need to keep the imperial heir’s favor. He’s seen me unshakably serene and composed. I’d like to maintain that image.

Another flurry of giggles breaks out from the ladies. Bianca swans by at the back of the pack, adding a tsk of her tongue. “You really should be more careful with those fine gowns, wild princess.”

I swallow my frustration, the comments I’d like to make searing in my throat.

Well, now I need to put on a new dress. The walk will give me time to simmer down.

The moment I step out of the dining room, I can’t stop my hands from balling. Why does Fausta have to be such a wretch to all of us? Does she really hate the ladies she grew up with so much that she’s happily ushering them to their deaths alongside me?

By every appearance so far, yes, she does.

And she also hates me so much simply for existing that she sees every petty inconvenience she can create as some kind of victory.

It’s of no consequence. I have other gowns. But the events of the past few days and the knowledge that we should expect the next trial sometime soon have worn away at my temper.

I’m breathing slowly, willing the anger down, when I catch voices up ahead. Male voices, a mix of jovial and sneering, with mocking guffaws mixed in.

“Why do you even bother coming to breakfast, silent man? Shouldn’t you be asking the cooks to grind all your meals into mash like a swaddled babe?”

“My theory is you had them carve out your tongue because your singing was so horrifying.”

“Right—he had to make sure no one ever asked it of him!”

My jaw clenches harder. I round the bend just in time to see one of the younger noblemen elbowing Prince Lorenzo in the ribs while his companions snicker.

Lorenzo is striding straight ahead, his gaze fixed on his destination, his well-built form rigid. There’s obviously no point in him even trying to communicate with these jackasses.

They’re not looking for a conversation, only a punching bag.

All at once, I’m twice as furious as before. And right now, there’s no emperor or heir around to judge me for my remarks.

I pick up my pace to meet them with a muffled rapping of my shoes against the carpeted floor.

“Come on, open wide and let’s see the horror for ourselves,” one of the men is cajoling Lorenzo.

I plant myself directly in front of their gaggle, my feet wide and hands on my hips. “It’s not often I hear such blatant disrespect for the gods. You all must not care to receive any good favor from them.”

Both Lorenzo and his hecklers draw to a halt. The prince twitches his head in what might be a shake of refusal, but I need to put someone who deserves it in their place today or I might explode.

The nobleman who was elbowing Lorenzo furrows his brow at me. “What are you talking about? We’re just having a bit of fun, a little jest.”

I scoff. “A bit of jest calling a sacrifice made to the godlen a ‘horror’? Insulting the purpose of that sacrifice? Inganne might appreciate playing around, but somehow I think she’d draw the line there.”

The men shuffle uncomfortably, most of them looking suitably chided. One fool, I think the fellow who was speculating about the prince’s eating habits, doesn’t know when to shut up.

“What’s it to you either way?” he says. “You don’t make any laws around here.”

I give him the most disdainful look I can summon. “Forgive me if I’d prefer to walk these spectacular halls without hearing them sullied by blasphemous idiocy.”

That provokes a couple more snickers, these ones are aimed at my target. His friends jostle him teasingly. With a huff, he marches around me, continuing on to breakfast with the others hustling after him.

Lorenzo pauses for just a few seconds, scowling at me with the force of a thunderstorm. His hand jerks at his side. I was okay. Don’t need protecting.

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