Page 8 of A Game of Veils

While I concentrate on appearing cool and collected, I give each woman’s deluge of praise a cursory listen in case there’s some useful insight into Marclinus’s tastes and opinions. They all blur together, none particularly notable. Most mention his leadership and bravery and how captivating he is at court.

Lady Cadenza, the girlish noblewoman who hasn’t lost an ounce of her giddiness, blathers on for a few minutes about every facet of his stunning looks, from his “hair a richer hue than gold itself” to his “strapping form” that according to her is particularly magnificent when astride a horse. She finishes with a breathless overture about how much she’d like to wake up to his dazzling face every morning.

Lady Rochelle with the boundless curls seems a bit rushed about her petition, but she refers to Marclinus’s kindness to her family in a time of need. Possibly he’s occasionally less of a jerk than he’s appeared so far.

I’m not yet ready to take comfort from that idea.

When the last of our number has spoken, the imperial heir contemplates the line of women before him with a satisfied expression. He clearly enjoys having his ego stroked.

His voice comes out jaunty. “You all are quite eager to join me in matrimony, and I wish I could honor every one of you with the title. But I’m afraid thirteen wives would be a bit much even for a man of my talents.”

As a titter of laughter passes through the crowd, Marclinus glances toward his father, adjusting his hands against the arms of the throne.

Emperor Tarquin turns his head in what might be a subtle shake before speaking in a dry tone. “I was glad to hear so many of our candidates recognize your importance as a ruler in addition to as a husband.”

His son’s expression shifts slightly. I’m not sure exactly what message the emperor conveyed, but I’m abruptly certain that he’s had the final say in their choice.

“Just so.” Marclinus leans forward on his throne. “Even Princess Aurelia from far-off Accasy praised my leaderly prowess. And yet Lady Cadenza, you didn’t say a word about anything other than my appeal on the eyes. Should I assume you see me as nothing but a handsome face?”

The giddy noblewoman blanches. She takes a step forward, wringing her hands. “No, not at all, Your Imperial Highness. I—I only meant— I was overwhelmed being so close to your magnificence— I have every faith?—”

Marclinus interrupts her with a dismissive flick of his hand. “You were the only one who mentioned nothing beyond the superficial. It shows a lack of ingenuity as well. I must narrow down my options, and you gave the weakest effort.”

While Lady Cadenza stands there stunned, he makes another brief gesture that I don’t understand until one of the imperial guards marches forward from his post at the edge of the room.

Even though this woman—this girl—would have usurped my place with my promised husband, a pang of sympathy forms in my chest. I brace myself for protests and wails as the guard reaches for her arm to escort her out.

Except that’s not what he’s doing at all.

In a motion so swift I barely understand what’s happening before it’s already over, he unsheathes the dagger at his hip and slashes the blade across Lady Cadenza’s throat.

A startled noise I can’t quite stifle bursts from my lips. A couple of the other noblewomen shriek, those closest to Cadenza stumbling backward to avoid her crumpling body and the blood splattering across the tiled floor.

Her head hits the tiles with a fleshy smack. Her eyes have already glazed, unblinking as the blood pools beneath her.

An urgent muttering rises up among the nobles. All of the other ladies pull closer together, away from the murdered woman.

A few of them, including Lady Fausta, aim accusing glares at me, as if I carried out this slaughter by being the better example Marclinus pointed to.

Emperor Tarquin stands. The entire audience room falls into tense silence.

I clamp my jaw in place against the scream I’d like to let out, willing my expression to stay blank. Any horrified response beyond my brief display of shock could be taken as treason.

I can’t stop myself from tracking the crimson puddle creeping farther at the edge of my vision.

The emperor glowers at his courtly subjects. “These are trials of devotion, and those who fail to convince us of their dedication must be eliminated from my court and our country. All these ladies will have their chance—as well as the consequences of the gamble they wished to make. I sincerely hope that none of you have so little faith in your own or your daughters’ loyalties that you would attempt to withdraw them now?”

Not a single voice speaks up.

Nausea wraps around my innards like clammy fingers.

He’s saying every trial will end in death. Every trial… until only one of us remains?

The emperor offers us all a smile that can only be described as smug. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

I ease backward, wanting to put myself farther from his gaze while I struggle to hold on to my placid mask.

A servant approaches and dips into a quick bow. “Princess Aurelia, I’m to show you to your room. Your luggage has already been conveyed there.”

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