Page 33 of A Game of Veils

The words I wish I could have said to Marclinus this morning rise up. “I don’t like to see anyone suffering.”

Raul sputters a laugh. “You came to the wrong place, then, didn’t you, Lamb?”

He strides forward so swiftly I don’t manage to stumble backward before he’s tucked his arm behind my back. “Since you want me to leave so badly, why don’t I stroll right out your door and see what that does for your reputation?”

I’m not sure what kind of reaction he’s trying to provoke this time, but my sympathy crackles right back into a surge of my own anger. My hand whips out before I can think better of it.

I slap him across the side of his face hard enough to leave a reddish blotch in its wake. As Raul jerks away, my fingers curl toward my palm. “That should settle any question of my willingness. Grab me again, and we’ll see how your nose likes my fist.”

The prince stares at me for a moment as if he’s been shocked into silence. His jaw has tightened with what I’d take for wrath, but he mostly looks incredulous, as if he can’t believe what just happened.

Then his eyes blaze with a different sort of heat.

A chuckle tumbles out of him. “Lambs who try to spar with the wolves end up getting eaten that much faster.”

He strides out of the room as quietly as he arrived, leaving me clutching my robe and wondering what deeper mess I’ve mired myself in now.

Chapter Twelve

Aurelia

By the time Melisse arrives to see if I need any assistance before dinner, I’ve discarded my bathrobe for a proper gown. Regardless, the ghost of Prince Raul’s touch lingers on my skin.

He’s rattled me, which would have been his intention. But I can’t set aside the curiosity his intense presence provoked.

“Melisse,” I say as my maid insists on giving my hair one last brushing before we head to dinner, “you told me about Prince Raul’s gift the other day, and I saw him use it, but you didn’t mention what he sacrificed for it.” I haven’t noticed any visible indication.

“Oh.” Melisse’s cheeks flush where her reflection hovers behind mine in the mirror. “I mean, I wouldn’t know from experience, but they say he… he’s been gelded.”

My head jerks around of its own accord. “He had the clerics castrate him?”

My maid’s blush deepens. “They say. It doesn’t seem to have held him back any in the area you might think, does it? From the gossip among the ladies, it seems… it might actually be a benefit. No need to worry about protection from certain sorts of consequences.”

He couldn’t get them pregnant. I suppose that would be a boon for a lady who disliked taking mirewort to prevent it—or who didn’t want the herb to interfere with her chances of having a child with her husband.

He decided having just turned twelve that he’d never have children of his own. What could he have said to the cleric at his dedication ceremony to convince them he understood what he was giving up?

Or maybe Emperor Tarquin told them to accept whatever his foster sons offered. I’m sure he’s amused to know one of his charges won’t supply their royal line with additional heirs.

If it’s true, Raul’s imposing physique is even more impressive. From my medical knowledge, castration usually slows growth in any male not already fully matured.

Perhaps he was an early bloomer, or perhaps the cleric left him with enough to retain a few benefits.

As Melisse sets the brush aside, I graze my fingers over my cheek where the prince touched it a couple of hours ago. A heated shiver passes through me that’s at least as unnerving as it is enjoyable.

The loss certainly hasn’t diminished his confidence in his masculine appeal.

I gather myself, pressing my hand against the sigil of Elox on my chest. Releasing every shred of emotion the prince stirred in me, good and bad, into the well of serenity I’ve cultivated with my godlen’s guidance.

When I set off for dinner, I’m impenetrable again.

A few steps into the dining room, I pause, taking in the revised layout. The longest table now stands in the very middle of the room. Only eleven chairs are placed around it: five on each side and one at the foot.

The two regal chairs where the emperor and his heir will sit have been placed a few feet back from the head of the table, as if they don’t mean to eat, only to watch. Indeed, the other, smaller tables encircle the main one from all sides, making it the center of attention as well as the room.

Eleven chairs. Eleven potential brides left.

My gut knots with trepidation, but I push myself onward. One of the pages directs me to my assigned chair.

---