Page 12 of A Game of Veils

My maid offers nothing further, but why would she know what the emperor is planning? Why would she spill his secrets even if she does?

I search for another question I could ask that won’t sound too pointed or paint me in a concerning light. “I hope His Imperial Highness doesn’t already have a favorite among the local ladies—that I do still have a chance.”

“I don’t think he’s at all settled on anyone, Your Highness,” Melisse says hastily. “He hasn’t seemed like the settling down type—I mean, of course he wants to be married—we were all very much looking forward to your arrival.”

She stops with a blush staining her peachy cheeks. I’m not quite sure what to make of her stumbling response other than I’m guessing my ogling husband-to-be may have been getting cozy with quite a few of the ladies of the court.

With his good looks and the power he represents, I doubt he’s lacked for offers to warm his bed.

The memory of him lounging in his throne reminds me of the four men who flanked him, who he paid no mind at all to and the emperor introduced like an afterthought.

I knit my brow. “Who are the four princes—the ones His Imperial Majesty called his foster sons? I hadn’t heard that he’d expanded his family.”

Melisse brightens as if relieved to be able to weigh in on a less precarious topic. “Oh, it’s not like that at all. They’re princes from the other countries of the empire—Rione and Cotea and all those. He fostered a second-born child from each of the royal families to establish better relationships between their kingdoms and Dariu.”

Better relationships? I restrain a shudder.

I’ve heard of past emperors doing this. My great-grandfather’s younger brother was summoned to the imperial palace when they were only kids.

What they really are is hostages. The emperor leaves the other kingdoms’ rulers with the knowledge that any uncooperative move they make could be taken out on their child.

I’m second-born—but my great-grand-uncle is the last Accasian royal I’ve heard of in that situation. Maybe after that, Emperor Tarquin and his predecessors felt we were so beaten down there was no need to fear rebellion.

How long have those four princes been stuck here under his watch, subject to his whims? I can understand those circumstances having put them in a perpetual sour mood.

It’s probably not me they resent but their entire situation.

“Do they participate much in the court?” I can’t help asking.

“Well, it’s not the same since they aren’t Darium—and I don’t know how much they—ah, that is—” Melisse flushes again, foot partway in mouth as she must recall that I’m not from Dariu either, but she manages to recover with a sly glimmer in her eyes. “Prince Raul—he’s the one who’s especially… filled out”—she motions with her hands to indicate height and muscular breadth—“seems to get along very well with the ladies.”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “Mostly the married ones, they say.”

My mouth twitches with amusement at her conspiratorial tone. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I mean, that’s only what I’ve heard. And Prince Lorenzo—he’s something to look at too, all dark and mysterious—plays music for the court sometimes. That’s his gift. He sacrificed his whole tongue to Inganne for it, so you can imagine how lovely it is to hear.”

I’d just been raising my teacup to my lips. At her last sentence, my head jerks up. “He gave his tongue?”

I don’t know anyone personally who offered a dedication sacrifice that large. The man mustn’t be able to speak.

Did he really think appealing to the godlen of the arts for improved musicianship was worth it?

Although for all I know, it wasn’t entirely his choice. At his dedication ceremony, he’d have been a boy just turned twelve and likely already living under the emperor’s roof. Even a decision meant to be so personal could be manipulated.

Melisse nods emphatically, looking pleased to have earned so much of my interest. “They all gave a lot, I think. Prince Bastien sacrificed a lung—for control over rain, for when Cotea has its droughts, I heard he said. His Imperial Majesty has him send off rain clouds if they threaten a festive day.”

I think of the auburn-haired prince who was slim to the point of gauntness. I wondered if he’d lacked food—perhaps it was a lack of breath.

“I’m not sure about the young one,” Melisse goes on with a thoughtful frown. “I mean, he gave a bunch of his back teeth, replaced them with steel. But he mostly keeps out of the way. There hasn’t been much gossip about him.”

“And I assume Prince Raul has some talent that appeals to the ladies?”

My maid gives a snort. “It sounds like he has lots of talents that don’t come from magic. His gods-blessed gift has to do with knowing what people are carrying on them. I’ve seen the court men get mad at him after he announced some questionable thing they meant to keep secret that they were concealing in their pocket or a belt pouch.”

Seeking out hidden objects could come in handy for one’s protection. I wonder how far his talent extends.

My fingers curl a little tighter around the cup handle. I sip the brew I intended to steady my nerves, letting the familiar warmth flow down my throat with its sharp herbal tang.

---