Page 125 of A Game of Veils

I tuck it away and wait to see if the princes will return so we can hash out the answers to my uncertainties. When several minutes pass without any sign of them, I spare the wall one last look, but I’ve lost all enthusiasm for uncovering secret passages.

The hallway I slip out into is empty. I hustle back to my own bedroom, passing a few of the court nobles along the way but none of the princes I was so recently entwined with.

I gather myself even more before I open the door, expecting to find at least one of my maids inside. To my surprise, the knob turns at my touch before I’ve brought the key to it.

Didn’t I lock it when I last left? Did Melisse or Rochelle forget to after a recent trip inside?

Apprehension prickles down my back. I nudge the door open without leaving the threshold.

The heavy curtains have been drawn shut, leaving the room dark. So the first thing that hits me is the smell.

A rancid odor wafts out to meet me, as if the kitchen waste buckets were emptied inside.

After a couple of tentative steps, I think that might be exactly what’s happened. Decaying vegetable ends and slimy strips of gristle lie strewn across my bed covers, the rug, and the heap of dresses that’ve been yanked out of my wardrobe.

With another step and the stench thickening around me, I realize that’s not the only damage. My new Darium-style gowns have been torn and gouged to tatters.

With a lurch of my heart, I dash to my trunks.

The one that holds my books, tea box, and other odds and ends has obviously been rummaged through, with more refuse dappling the outsides and one of my teacups lying in shards. The trunk with my clothing is worse. It looks as if someone dug a blade through the layers of dresses and undergarments I brought from home, turning them into a slurry of shredded fabric and fetid food scraps.

A cry catches in my throat. I stagger backward, searching the room for answers.

The thought darts through my mind that one of the princes might have done this in vengeful anger. But I don’t think Raul or Bastien was that furious until they stumbled on me trying to open the hidden passage, and there’s hardly been time for them or Lorenzo to desecrate my room since he stormed off.

Besides, why would they specifically ruin my clothing over everything else? Any of the three men would know that out of the contents of this room, the tea box and my brewing apparatus are my most prized possessions, and those have barely been touched.

My gaze slides to the door. The door someone left unlocked.

Rochelle wouldn’t have been that careless. But Melisse, who revealed how spurned she feels just yesterday…

It wouldn’t have taken Fausta or Bianca much to bribe her into leaving the way open for them, would it? I can picture either of them—or perhaps both—tossing the contents of those buckets around the room, ripping through the layers of silk with gleeful ferocity.

My stomach turns, both from the stink and the viciousness of the assault. They couldn’t destroy me, so they destroyed the next best thing.

And now I have to clean it up. Procure new dresses. Pretend this latest attack hasn’t fazed me at all…

Footsteps patter down the hall outside, and I realize I left the door ajar. I hurry back over to it, not sure I’d want anyone else witnessing the disarray inside.

Rochelle stops when she sees me in the doorway, a tight smile springing to her face. “Good, you’re here! Their Imperial Eminences want the last four potential brides to come straight to the grand hall. They’re starting the next trial.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Aurelia

When we reach the grand hall, it looks as if most of the court has already gathered around the edges of the expansive room, waiting for the latest spectacle. The crowd of nobles parts at my arrival, opening a path for Rochelle and me to venture deeper into the space.

Chandeliers beam overhead, lighting up both us and the enchanted paintings across the ceiling that swirl and shift before the eyes. I can’t take the time to admire them.

Up ahead, a low platform, no more than half a foot high, has been constructed on the wooden floor. Its circular surface stretches perhaps twenty feet across, dappled with small tiles cut in irregular shapes of pale purple and yellow. Like an erratic mosaic that forms more the impression of a picture than anything identifiable.

Fausta and Giralda are already standing by the platform, their maids hovering nearby. The emperor and his heir sit on gilded chairs off to our right, placed on another platform that’s nearly as tall as my shoulders.

Why do they feel they need such a lofty view of our performance here? What is any of this about?

As I approach, Fausta’s gaze settles on me. A sharp little smile crosses her lips, so triumphant that any uncertainty I had about who vandalized my room vanishes.

I don’t have much opportunity to gather my jangled nerves. Steady taps ring out as Leonette strides to join us, her dark face set in its usual serious expression. She nods to all of us as if to say, Well, here we are.

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