Page 141 of A Game of Veils

You three meet me at my room.

The last part I can only convey with a brief jab in the direction of my chambers. Hopefully he understands.

I don’t dare look at him directly to see how he reacts. I just meander away, weaving in the general direction of the door and then out into the hall.

I don’t know how long it’ll take Lorenzo to pass on the message to the other two princes and for them to discreetly leave. It seems safest to head straight to my bedroom. If anyone asks why I’ve left, I’ll say that I want to get as much rest as possible before the final trial.

As it turns out, I don’t pass anyone except for a couple of silent guards. In my chambers, I pace across the stained rug. Melisse spent most of the day scrubbing at the remaining residue from the refuse Fausta left strewn here, but despite that and the open windows, a trace of the sour smell lingers.

My rival has been able to break through my defenses so easily too many times.

I don’t know how low she’ll stoop now that the prize is inches from her grasp. I don’t know what tactics she might turn to next.

The only thing I’m sure of is that she’ll stop at nothing to be the one who wins tomorrow’s trial and Marclinus’s hand.

She was willing to break my bones and leave me to die in agony less than a week ago. How much worse can it get?

Gods help me, if I lose tomorrow, I want it to be because I wasn’t up to the challenge, not because some vindictive noblewoman cheated me of the chance.

After several minutes, my restlessness and the unpleasant smell lead me to the wall next to my bed. The spot Bastien indicated last night has the slightest indent.

I press there three times as he instructed me, and a portion of the wall sighs open.

The reveal seems like magic even though I knew the hidden door was there. Perhaps there is a little enchantment in the wall, helping to conceal it from unknowing eyes.

I step into the small alcove on the other side. A cramped passage leads off to my right. There’s definitely some permanent enchantment in here, because a dim glow wavers into being at my entrance, providing just enough light for me to make out the wooden boards that line the passage’s floor, walls, and ceiling and the bits of cobweb that cling to them. The air that seeps into my lungs has a stale oaky scent laced with dust.

It's clearly been a long time since anyone used these inner hallways regularly. Does Emperor Tarquin even know they’re here, or has mention of them been erased so thoroughly that even the owners of the palace have forgotten?

I don’t expect Melisse to return tonight, but I find a button on the inside of the doorframe and push it to swing the panel closed, just in case.

It only takes a few minutes before the soft scuffing of footsteps reaches my ears. Lorenzo comes into view in the lead, his face tense with worry.

Our middle-of-the-night conversation feels more like a dream than an actual memory, but he doesn’t look at all angry with me. Has he completely forgiven me for all of yesterday’s confusion?

I turn toward him, and he wraps his arms around me automatically, ducking his head next to mine. As if there’s nothing more natural than catching me in his embrace.

All the anxious thoughts that’ve been whirling through my head settle down, overwhelmed by the ache of longing that’s washed over me.

I wish this was where I belonged.

Behind Lorenzo, Bastien clears his throat.

Raul lets out a soft huff. “She called for us too, you know.” But his chiding sounds good-humored. His tone darkens as he shifts his focus to me. “What’s wrong, Aurelia?”

I pitch my voice at a whisper, not sure how close we are to the other rooms around mine. “There’s nothing immediate. I only wanted to ask, with the trial tomorrow—have any of you picked up on anything at all out of the ordinary happening around the palace? Or overheard any unusual conversations? If I had even a small idea of what I’ll be facing…”

Lorenzo eases back and shakes his head with an apologetic grimace.

Raul frowns. “I can’t think of anything. They kept all the past trials awfully quiet too.”

I look past Lorenzo to Bastien, the one who’s come through for me before. His brow has knit with concentration.

Then he shakes his head too. “I’m sorry. I’ve been wondering about it myself all day, so I’d imagine I’d have noticed if something had come up.”

He doesn’t need to apologize. He doesn’t owe it to me to help me through this mess.

But all the same, the longing rises up to tell them my suspicions about Fausta, to implore them to keep an eye on her…

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