Page 45 of A Game of Veils

Bastien studies me as if searching for a lie. What other significance could he imagine the ring has?

Everything I’ve said to him is true, but he seems set on distrusting me. Despite his brief apology in the library, he’s gone straight back to looking at me like I’m a villain.

I hold out my hand. “So I’d appreciate having it returned to me.”

The prince closes his fingers around the ring. “I don’t know. I think it might be good for you to experience what it’s like having something that matters to you taken away.”

My jaw clenches against a surge of emotion, rawer after the dream I just came out of. “What makes you think I’ve never experienced that before?”

Bastien scoffs as if it’s a ridiculous question, and Lorenzo’s face hardens. Even Raul’s eyes turn flinty despite his seductive airs.

Maybe it does sound absurd when they’ve lost a decade and a half of their lives to the empire. But I’ve had far worse than a ring wrenched from my grasp.

I’m not sure how to play this situation. What can I do that will sway them toward sympathy rather than hostility?

The thought of letting them walk away with the ring makes my chest clench up. Even with the dagger, I’ve got no hope of overpowering all three men. And I doubt I’ll ever turn them into allies after tonight if I attack them that blatantly.

Or if I turn to the imperial justice system. Gods help me, I don’t know if I even believe that Emperor Tarquin would side in my favor rather than declaring it better for me to set behind all traces of my kingdom.

The fatigue of my broken sleep rolls over me alongside a suffocating swell of anguish. Why does every second of every day here have to be some kind of battle? Why can’t I keep one small thing that I care about safe?

Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I instinctively stiffen my resolve against them. Every bone in my body balks at the idea of weeping in front of the princes, letting them see their cruelty has affected me.

But it has. They already think I’m weak. Maybe they’ll find some kind of a conscience if they see how much I’m struggling.

I swipe at my eyes, and the burn intensifies. Moisture gathers with every blink. “Please. I’ve never been this far from home before. I’ve never been separated from my family for so long. I realize it’s nothing like you’ve been through, but I don’t know—if I don’t have even that one thing to hold on to—gods, I miss them so much?—”

My words break off with a hitch of a sob. The tears trickle out, streaking down my cheeks. And I find I can’t stop.

I thought I’d just make a show of a little misery, but the moment I open a crack in the dam holding back the emotions inside me, all the grief and horror and homesickness crash over me in a wave. My tears turn into a torrent.

I clap my hand to my mouth against a wail, not quite muffling it. Shame sears through my despair—that I have so much weakness in me still, that these men are seeing it—but it isn’t potent enough to push back the deluge.

Somewhere inside the maelstrom, I find the wherewithal to at least drive my point home. To prod them for answers of their own.

My voice breaks around the words. “I don’t… know what… you want from me. I’d try. If I knew.”

But maybe all they want is to keep barging into my room, stealing my things, tossing their cutting words in my face.

Another sob tumbles out of me, and Lorenzo makes a rough noise. He stalks around the foot of the bed so stiffly I’d think he’s furious with me.

But if he’s annoyed by my outburst, I must have tugged at some compassion in him as well. He sits on the bed an arm’s length away and rests his hand on my shoulder.

His touch is nothing but gentle. When I glance at him through my tears, he squeezes my shoulder and looks past me to the other two princes.

His expression still looks gloomy. He motions to his foster brothers with sharp twists of his free hand.

I can’t follow the entirety of his message through my blurred vision and with my limited knowledge of his self-made vocabulary, but it’s clear he’s saying something about me. One hasty gesture he repeats a couple of times makes me think of an exchange, an item passed between two sides.

Bastien exhales with a disgruntled sigh and appears to answer with a few skeptical twitches of his own hand around my ring. Whatever Lorenzo answers, the other prince’s mouth sets in a flat line.

Raul watches the silent conversation, his smirk returning. I don’t trust the gleam in his eyes when he returns his attention to me.

“He has a point,” he says to Bastien.

The unexpected support from Lorenzo has taken the edge off my despair, even if I’m not sure exactly what they’re discussing now. I brush aside the last lingering tears, gathering my self-control.

Bastien turns to me. “Perhaps we could make a trade of it.”

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