Page 75 of Where Shadows Bloom

Could there really be some sort of danger, like Lope supposed? My mind raced, picturing him slitting open the throats of women or drowning them or hiring someone else to do the crime. He was the king, after all. Who was there to make sure he obeyed the law? Hewasthe law.

His thumb brushed against the back of my hand.

I glanced up. Standing there was my dancing partner from before, Madeleine, with her long golden hair cascading over her bare shoulders in beautiful ringlets. She dipped into a deep curtsey.

“Your Majesty,” she said. She regarded me with a brilliant grin. The rouge on her cheeks and her lips made her look lovelier than any princess I’d seen in a painting. “Lady Ofelia, I am so blessed to be in your presence again.” Her blue eyes flitted back toward the king. “Sire, with your permission, might I kiss your daughter’s hand? She is so radiant tonight.”

“You may,” said the king, before I’d even opened my mouth.

Madeleine took a few careful steps closer, gently takingmy hand in hers. She pressed her lips to the back of my hand, then to my wrist, each kiss careful and soft.

I pulled my hands out of both of their grasps, setting them firmly in my lap. The ballroom was too much. The music was too high now, too loud. I could feel the eyes of the courtiers and the king upon me, making my skin bristle. Even my heart seemed to be echoing my thoughts,Lope, Lope, Lope.

“Mademoiselle des Hirondelles,” said the king. “My daughter is feeling a little out of sorts tonight. Pray, would you take her for a dance? Or provide her with some company?”

I imagined it, standing on the dance floor again, moving stiffly and painfully as if I were a puppet, all for the king’s enjoyment. No, I couldn’t bear the sound, the dancing, the laughter, the people.

All I wanted was to be in my mother’s arms again.

It struck me. Icouldsee her again. In a fashion. Even if it was just an image, even if she was weeping... I’d feel less alone with her than I would here in this ballroom full of strangers.

“Might—might Mademoiselle Madeleine and I step out for a bit of privacy?” I asked the king in a low voice. If I was to leave this hall, he’d find it far more believable if I left with another.

He lifted a glass toward me with a smile. “Enjoy yourself. And return by midnight.”

We passed through the crowd of courtiers, who continued their dancing, like tops set in motion, unable to stop. I thanked a hundredfold gods that the valet did not make some grand announcement that I was leaving the ballroom.

The valet shut the door behind us. As before, the faceless guards still watched over the ballroom door, and frightening as they were, I felt a little more at ease without their judging eyes upon me.

I tugged Madeleine down the hallway away from the guards.

“My lady, you honor me,” she said, her thumb stroking the back of my hand.

Down the corridor to the right was my bedroom. To the left was the Hall of Illusions.

I halted in the middle, lifting the chain of pearls from around my neck and draping it over hers. She gasped and raised her hands to the precious necklace.

“Wait in my bedroom for me,” I told her, my voice more shaky than romantic and confident, as I’d hoped. “I only want a quick walk in the halls before I see you. It helps me feel like myself.”

A lie—no, a story. And in this palace, lies and promises and truths and stories gathered and mingled as much as the courtiers did.

“Pray, do not be long,” she whispered. She blew me a kiss and then scampered away down the hall.

In the other direction, the corridor was lit by the occasionalcandelabrum or sconce, like a carpet of golden lights as I approached the only guarded door.

There was one guard there, small and slim but wearing the austere, faceless uniform of the most fearsome knights. His head was drooped slightly, and his grip on his spear was slipping. As I stood before him, he said nothing, only breathed. He remained to the side of the door, leaning against the frame—sleeping.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I told the gods as I reached for the door handle.

The door groaned.

The knight gasped, sweeping up his spear and swinging it wildly. The rod smacked against my arm and I yelped in alarm. The figure in gold drew back, his head swiveling as he looked me up and down, and he let out a little squeak.

“Oh, heavens!” he yelped. “Lady Ofelia, I—I’m so sorry!”

Play the part. Tell the story.

My apology froze on my lips.

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