Page 90 of A Game of Veils

I shouldn’t have needed to worry about complacency in the first place. I should have been able to assume that my betrothal was set as agreed upon, not a promise dangled like bait.

I suppress all those thoughts behind my agreeable smile as Marclinus picks up the thread. He leans forward in his chair with a cool grin. “So we’re giving you all the chance to confirm that you’re still fully committed to seeing through the rest of the trials ahead, now that you’ve had a taste of them. Please present yourselves one by one and beg me for the opportunity to continue.”

He wants us to beg?

Even as bile lurches up my throat, my legs are propelling me forward. I haven’t forgotten the lesson Fausta schooled us in on the very first day of the trials.

Whoever gets to the imperial heir first has no acts to follow.

There’s a slight scuffing of shoes against the floor behind me, as if Fausta started to throw herself forward but caught herself on seeing I’d leapt in first. Her trickery might have come back to bite her in one small way—she was so stunned by seeing me well it set her off-balance.

But I still have to figure out how to convincingly plead for the chance to go through all the additional torments Marclinus and his father have in store for us.

Prostration seems like an excellent place to start—and a way to buy my whirling mind a few more seconds to pull together a coherent plea. I drop to my knees at the edge of the dais in front of the imperial heir, bowing my head so low my hair drapes across the floor.

“Please, Your Imperial Eminences,” I say in my humblest voice, deciding it can’t hurt to speak to both of them even if I’m focusing on Marclinus. The heir might be making some of his own decisions, but it’s Tarquin who holds most of the power. “I did not even know just how much earning your good favor mattered to me until these past several days. The challenges you’ve presented have impressed me to no end with how discerning you are. I have no thought left in my mind, no concern to occupy me other than what will serve you both, but especially Your Imperial Highness, best.”

Someone, maybe Bianca, lets out a faint scoffing sound. I don’t dare raise my head yet to take in Marclinus’s expression.

“Thank you for honing my purpose and giving me the chance to prove my worth. There is nothing I want more than to keep doing so, in every way you can conceive of and to whatever lengths you desire, so that you know I will put in the same effort throughout any future I get to spend with you. Please, simply tell me what you would want of me next, and I will oblige with all I am.”

The effusive lies leave my stomach churning. I remain prostrate in front of the imperial heir, awaiting his response.

A slow clap carries from the throne. “Very pretty, Princess Aurelia,” Marclinus drawls. “You set a high standard to meet. It would be my pleasure to continue discovering how you might please me.”

No doubt. I will down the shamed flush that flares in my cheeks and rise with one more dip of my head. “I’m immensely grateful for your generosity, Your Imperial Highness.”

Naturally, the moment I step away from the dais, Fausta prances in to plead her case next. She practically sobs with her statement of how much the opportunity means to her and how she’s appreciated getting to know Marclinus to new depths.

The imperial heir takes it all in with the same air of cool amusement. He’s not in so much of a leering mood today, but his more subdued attitude leaves me on edge.

What else is he plotting?

Nothing quite yet, it appears. The other four of the remaining ladies beg with abandon, and Marclinus approves of us all without even looking toward his father. Perhaps they’d already decided in advance that my appeal was the only one they truly needed to evaluate.

After the last of the ladies has spoken, Emperor Tarquin gets to his feet with an authoritative air. “I’m gratified to see how much passion these ladies have for my son and heir. Before we have any further excitement, I believe it’s time to eat.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Aurelia

My nerves stay jittery throughout the luncheon, but the worst threats I encounter are Fausta’s and Bianca’s glowers. They seem to have gotten over their shock and are now attempting to finish the job they started by glaring daggers at me at every opportunity.

They’re only going to be more vicious now—more determined to remove me from the competition. And given Fausta’s gift for illusion, however small, I’ll need to stay twice as on guard.

I can’t trust even my senses around them.

When I leave the table, I find Rochelle waiting near the doorway, her hands clasped awkwardly in front of her as she endures her former equals’ stares.

“I thought I’d see if there’s anything you might need,” she murmurs once I reach her. “If you’d like me to fetch anything from your room or run you a bath…”

Her presence is one small bright spot in this awful day. I smile gratefully. “A bath would be lovely, but in a few hours. Right now, I think I’ll retire on my own for a nap.” I can’t say my doze in the woods was exactly restful.

Rochelle bobs her head. “Shall I come at the fourth hour of the afternoon?”

“That sounds perfect. You can let Melisse know so she’ll bring fresh towels.” I don’t want my original maid to feel I’ve cast her aside—or for Emperor Tarquin to think I asked for Rochelle’s service to edge his regular staff out.

By the time I’ve navigated the halls to my bedroom, both of my legs are throbbing. Gritting my teeth, I unlock the door, step inside—and freeze just past the threshold.

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