Page 89 of A Game of Veils

Raul clamps his lips together with a trace of a wince.

Rochelle peers at him and the other princes with obvious curiosity, but she takes his order to heart despite my defending her. Setting a steadying hand on my upper arm, she sets off for the palace alongside me.

“The princes found you?” she murmurs when we’re out of hearing distance. “I didn’t realize you’d talked much with them. They seem very… invested.”

I mustn’t be imagining their intensity if she noticed it too. I give the answer that makes the most sense while still being acceptable. “They know as well as I do what it’s like to end up here from homes beyond Dariu’s borders. It’s hard not to bond a little over that kind of common experience.”

“Oh! Yes, of course, I didn’t even think of that.” Rochelle flushes. “Honestly, most of the time it feels as if you fit in at the palace better than I do. I almost forget how new you are to court.”

I reach to set my hand over hers against my arm. “I take that as a compliment. And thank you for doing your best to cover for my disappearance. If I’d had any way to get word to you?—”

“I know. That’s not your fault.” Her expression turns fierce. “How are you going to deal with Fausta?”

My stomach twists at the thought of the petite redhead—at the memories of her caustic words and vicious blows last night. “Keep my distance and be twice as cautious. I can’t accuse her without revealing that I was healed against Emperor Tarquin’s orders, and gods only know what the emperor would do to me—or the medic who helped me—then.”

Rochelle lets out her breath in a huff. “I always knew she could be conniving, but to go that far…” She cringes. “I think it’s going to take a while before the other staff really see me as one of them, but if I overhear anything about her or Bianca that sounds ominous, I’ll let you know right away.”

I wish the loss of her title brought her more immediate benefits than just avoiding murder. Gods willing, it won’t take too long after the trials are finished—assuming I can avoid being murdered during them—for me to send her where she truly wants to be.

We cross the gardens and clamber up the stairs to the audience room, where Marclinus demanded everyone’s presence. Pain throbs from my recently healed foot and shin.

In the hall, Rochelle gives my arm one last squeeze and heads toward my bedroom. She’s no longer welcome as a participant in courtly affairs—and it’s better for both of us if no one has a chance to pay attention to that picnic basket before she can stash the dirt-stained gown amongst my things.

Willing back the discomforts of my body, I march into the audience room.

In the first instant after I cross the threshold, I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time to my very first day here, when I entered this room before the entire court just like I appear to be doing now.

Back then, I hadn’t the faintest clue what I was actually walking into.

I stride with measured grace to where the other five ladies still vying for my betrothed stand arrayed before the two imperial thrones. When Lady Fausta glances over and sees me, her face blanches almost as white as it looked after she’d exhausted herself conjuring the illusion of the dove.

Like she’s seen a ghost.

I hold my satisfaction tight inside and aim a pleasant smile at my fellow competitors. When I reach the front of the room, I dip into a curtsy meant to encompass both of Their Imperial Eminences.

The ache in my weakened legs sears deeper, but I straighten up without a wobble.

Marclinus is watching me with one of his cooler expressions. He’s toying with a dagger, running the point beneath one fingernail. “Princess Aurelia. You deprived me of your company for most of the morning.”

As if on cue, the hourly bell rings out, marking just how close I came to missing his deadline.

“My apologies, Your Imperial Highness.” I lower my head for additional deference. “It wasn’t my intention to neglect you. I took a stroll through the woods to meditate on how I might best continue to please you and lost track of the time. It was a pleasure to see a little wildness celebrated here as it is back in Accasy. Perhaps we can take a similar walk together sometime.”

Marclinus hums noncommittally. The brief tightening of his mouth emphasizes the scar notched through his upper lip.

An uneasy prickle runs over my skin. How much of his favor has Fausta’s attack cost me, even if she didn’t accomplish her greater purpose?

I keep my gaze trained on the imperial heir, but I can’t help noting the moment each of the princes arrives in the room to join Neven on the platform in their usual places. Marclinus doesn’t so much as glance their way.

He didn’t care about them being on time. This was a test for me more than anyone else, even his other prospective brides.

And I don’t think it’s over yet.

Marclinus flips his dagger and slides it into the sheath at his hip. He speaks in a languid tone. “The six of you ladies have all proven yourselves admirably so far. The cream that’s risen to the top. But we haven’t finished our evaluations yet.”

Emperor Tarquin lifts his dry voice from where he’s been watching the proceedings from his own throne. “If anything, your continued dedication to my son is more important now than it ever was. We certainly wouldn’t want to see complacency or faltering enthusiasm after making it this far.”

Who the fuck does the emperor think could be complacent after what they’ve put us through?

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