Page 137 of A Game of Veils

I simply have to keep going forward, and maybe something good will come of it in the end. Even if it’s hard to imagine how any of my plans will make a difference even for myself, let alone all the people counting on me back in Accasy.

After the meal, we meander down to the gardens. Just outside the palace, Marclinus catches Leonette’s lean arm and draws her away from the rest of us. They vanish down one of the paths between the hedges.

Are all of the private chats going to happen out here, or is he setting up something different for each of us?

The question gnaws at the edges of my mind as I pick up a glass of juice from one of the servants’ trays. I need something to do with my hands.

I’m dreading more bland, fawning conversation from nobles hedging their bets and attempting to curry favor with a possible future empress, but the figure who drifts over to join me first provokes a different sort of apprehension.

Prince Neven ducks his white-blond head and then peers down at me with a slight grimace. “Good morning, Princess Aurelia.”

Well, he’s not insulting or glowering at me yet. I suppose that’s a good sign. I haven’t spoken to him since I cajoled him out of the hall of entertainments when he was on the verge of unleashing his anger on Emperor Tarquin.

That night, as soon as he realized I was just tricking him into leaving, he simply spat a few curses at me and stalked off.

“Good morning, Prince Neven,” I say, matching his even tone. “No studies today?”

He shakes his head with a flick of a glance around the garden. “It’s a day of rest for me too.”

“I hope it proves invigorating.”

His gaze slides back to me, a hint of a furrow forming between his eyebrows. His hands twitch at his sides as if he’s resisting the urge to fidget.

Finally, he speaks again, a little rougher than before. “I’m sorry for how I spoke to you the other night. I know you were acting in my best interests. It’s just not always easy to see what those are in the moment… sometimes not until other people point it out to you.”

The corner of my mouth ticks upward with my first genuine smile of the day. “Your foster brothers had a few things to say, I gather.”

He shrugs with a hint of adolescent defiance, his gaze sliding to where Bastien and Lorenzo are standing together by one of the hedge sculptures. “They don’t need to fuss over me quite as much as they do. But that doesn’t mean they’re always wrong.”

“They care about you a lot. It’s nice to have that concern, even if it’s sometimes annoying. Although I suppose three older brother figures is probably a little more stifling than the one older sister I have.”

As the words leave my mouth, I realize I might have inadvertently prodded a sore spot. He lost an actual older brother to Emperor Tarquin’s cruelty ten years ago.

Neven’s expression tightens. “I have an older sister too. Back home. But I only get to see her once a year, so she can’t exactly get overbearing.”

Before I can decide whether to mention his late brother, he gives me a quizzical look. “Had your sister eased back on the hovering by the time you were older?”

I suppose I haven’t offended him, at least.

My last conversation with Soreena floats up from my memory, and my smile falters. I hope she’s not still beating herself up over failing to shield me from this fate.

Gods only know what she’d feel if she realized what I’ve actually been through just to confirm my marriage.

“Maybe a little,” I say. “I think she’ll always want to protect me—she’s simply had to recognize that there are times when she can’t. But there are benefits to having older-sibling overseers too. The support and encouragement.” I summon a quick grin to show I’m happy to take on that role as well, if he wants me to. “Good luck with your musician.”

Neven’s cheeks turn pink. He mumbles a “Thank you” before he moves on, but his posture looks more relaxed than it did when he approached me.

Perhaps I’ve given one person a little more peace than they had before.

He ambles toward his foster brothers, and I tamp down the urge to follow the same route. Last night’s recriminations and expressions of devotion have tangled into a chaotic jumble. What if their feelings have shifted all over again?

I can’t risk putting my muddled emotions on display in front of the entire court.

Instead, I wander toward a fountain with a sculpture of Prospira spilling a bounty of water and marble fruit from her extended hands. Maybe that was an unwise direction too, because looking up at the godlen of abundance reminds me of Rochelle’s dedication brand.

Before I can settle on a new destination, the noble company I anticipated begins to cluster around me. This baroness wants to know what I think of the combination of colors in a nearby flowerbed. That marchioness compliments me on my dress, even though it's one from Madam Clea's untailored stock that Melisse had to spend half an hour pinning to make sure it fit properly enough to befit a princess.

One of the viceroys tells me I handled myself admirably with the panther last night, and I admirably resist the urge to throw my drink in his face.

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