Page 42 of A Game of Veils

As I turn my back to a hedge and tug at the ribbons, Rochelle comes up beside me. “Here, I can fix it quickly.”

“Thank you.” I hold still with much gratitude as my friend secures the lacing again with a firmly knotted bow.

She speaks under her breath as if embarrassed by the admission. “My sisters and I often help each other at home—there’s more of us than maids.”

Not the richest of noble families, then. I’m not surprised by the admission after what I’ve seen and heard from her so far. She’s never seemed truly comfortable putting on courtly airs.

How in the realms did she end up in the middle of this miserable game?

I wish I could ask her that without giving away my own reservations too blatantly.

When she’s finished her efforts, I find the bodice melds to my torso even more neatly than it did before. My belly looks almost as sleek as Fausta’s.

I smooth my hands over it. “You’ve done an impressive job. I think I’ve come out of this mishap looking better than I might have if it hadn’t occurred at all, thanks to you.”

Rochelle gives a soft laugh. “Your figure isn’t difficult to enhance. None of us in my family are great beauties. When you don’t have much to work with, you learn certain tricks for making the most of what you have.”

Her self-deprecation sends a twinge through my gut. “You have plenty of appealing features,” I tell her firmly. Her pale blond curls may be unruly, but they’re certainly eye-catching with that striking color. Her face is reasonably comely. And she does have a figure, even if it’s a little awkward.

More confidence might be enough to solve that problem.

Rochelle shrugs. “It’s all right. I never think about it much except when I’m here. Back home, we’re out roaming the fields and pastures as much as we can get away with, and the birds and bunnies don’t care how pretty a picture we make.”

I smile at the wistfulness in her voice, feeling it echo inside me. “There’s a huge, old forest behind the main royal castle in Accasy. I’d sneak out for a walk there every day that I could. Sometimes you need a little time away from all the trappings, just you and the untouched world.”

A glimmer lights in Rochelle’s eyes, her smile widening. “Yes. I don’t think many of the other ladies here appreciate that. These tamed gardens don’t quite compare.”

As if on cue, two of our fellow competitors wander over to join us with rather timid expressions. One is holding two wine goblets, the second of which she offers to me. “I appreciated your advice during last night’s dinner. It’s—It’s good to know we can still look out for each other.”

I take the goblet and turn it between my fingers, resolving to swap it for a fresh one off one of the servants’ trays when I have the chance. Even if her gratitude is genuine, I’m still standing between her and the marriage she’s vying for.

Between her and her very survival, quite possibly.

I’m not sure I’d accept a drink even from Rochelle, as much common ground as we’ve found.

“I’m glad I could help,” I say. “We all deserve the best possible chance.”

In these wretched, ridiculous tests, I can’t add with Emperor Tarquin and Marclinus standing nearby.

A ruddy-faced man with a similar large-boned but slightly awkward build to Rochelle’s ambles over and sets his hand on her shoulder. His gray-blond moustache flutters as he speaks. “You’ve been more than kind to my daughter, Your Highness. I hope your poise can rub off on her.”

Rochelle’s face pinks beneath her freckles. “We were all a little taken aback by the announcement at first—” she starts in a meek tone.

Her father barrels right over her explanation. “You’ve never wanted to reach for enough. We have a good name! You can do it proud. Just keep that head high.”

My friend’s smile looks resigned. “Of course, Father.”

Ah. I no longer need to wonder why she was thrown into the competition.

Perhaps I can offer a diversion from the uncomfortable turn the conversation has taken. My thumb rubs the side of my ring absently as I look around.

My gaze skims the flowerbeds and pauses on the emperor and his heir. They’re standing in profile to me by a hedge sculpture like the imperial hawk spreading its wings over a column. Emperor Tarquin is holding a wine glass of his own.

I furrow my brow and drop my voice to a hush. “Did His Imperial Majesty’s hand just wobble? It almost looked as if he’s having trouble carrying his goblet.”

My four companions all cast hasty glances that way. Rochelle’s father frowns. “I hadn’t noticed.”

I glance away with a brief laugh. “It was probably nothing. I was only startled because he normally seems so strong and steady.”

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