Page 6 of A Pact of Blood

“It is always a pleasure and an honor to accompany you.”

I tuck my hand around his elbow and walk with him into the hall, my nerves still jangling with the awareness of just how little privacy I have from the man I most need it from.

Chapter Three

Bastien

The smile that sent my spirits soaring just a few days ago now leaves my gut in a knot.

I force myself to watch Aurelia where she’s sitting at the far end of the long main table in the palace dining room. Naturally, Marclinus has claimed his rightful spot at the head of the table, where his father used to sit. He’s placed his new wife beside him.

She joins the nearby nobles in laughter at some joke he made that I didn’t catch. Her dark blue eyes shine, and amusement lingers on her lips. A few minutes later, she pats Marclinus’s arm with apparent fondness. When he tugs at one of the lower whorls of her bronze-brown hair, pinned up to reflect her married status, she lowers her gaze coyly.

I shove another bite of roast chicken into my mouth. The sugared berry sauce tastes like dirt as I chew and force myself to swallow. My stomach has balled even tighter.

Is her performance as a devoted and loving wife just that—an act? I want to believe it is, to convince myself that not everything she revealed to my foster brothers and me was a lie.

But if she could put on a performance this convincing with our vicious new emperor… how can I say the stalwart, compassionate princess she showed us wasn’t the real act? That the vulnerabilities she revealed and the affections she offered weren’t every bit as calculated as I’d like to think her current behavior is?

Her dalliance with Lorenzo, Raul, and me did serve her well, after all. If we hadn’t cared enough to help her in the trials, she might have died multiple times over. She even won some of our most closely guarded secrets out of us—so she’d have leverage if we ever accused her of disloyalty?

I clearly can’t trust my own judgment when it comes to her. She had me so head over heels that I put not only my but all my foster brothers’ futures on the line, imagining she’d rather be with us on the fringes of the world than with Marclinus and his imperial riches.

If the palace guards had stumbled on us before we managed to clean up the evidence of our scheme… if my gamble had failed and they’d detected our magic… what punishment would Tarquin have inflicted on his hostages for attempting to flee?

We could all be dead right now—even Neven, when the kid was only following my lead. My ill-advised confidence.

Gods help me, what revenge would the emperor have inflicted on our home countries for our disobedience?

My mind slips back to my last brief visit home, to the strained meetings with my parents and my brother alongside the imperial delegates. I can picture so easily the relief on my mother’s face every time I was able to speak up and moderate the empire’s demands with careful diplomacy. The tight hugmy father gave me when we were given a few moments alone echoes through my chest.

They’re depending on me to maintain what peace Cotea has with the empire. My fellow princes are relying on me to be the cool-headed one who steers us wisely.

I risked so much for the woman who’s now giggling at the tap of Marclinus’s finger against her chin.

How could I have let myself be so careless? Sostupid?

The tension in my stomach liquifies into pure nausea. I draw my eyes back to my plate, but I don’t think I can tolerate another bite.

When dessert arrives, I push around the currant-dappled pudding with my spoon until it looks as if I’ve had at least a few bites. Finally, the servants clear the dishes.

Marclinus stands, his sharp grin making me tense up. He claps his hands for our attention.

“We’ve had two days of the bleak blackness of mourning,” he says. “My father would have wanted us to honor his life with joy as well as grief. Let us convene in the ballroom for music and a little dancing as the mood takes us.”

The last thing I feel like doing is prancing around the ballroom, but I should at least make an appearance on the sidelines for an hour or two. If I avoid the court activities completely, Marclinus might wonder why.

I don’t need my behavior to face any more scrutiny than it already would if Aurelia lets a hint of what she knows slip.

We file into the vast room with its high, painted ceilings. The enchanted artwork above us shifts as if the colorful figures are frolicking to the lively tune the court musicians have started playing.

It’s one small blessing that Marclinus hasn’t called on Lorenzo’s musical talents yet. Even if Tarquin’s demands over the past couple of weeks hadn’t exhausted my friend, Aurelia’sbetrayal hit him even harder than the rest of us. He’s been holding it together, but I’d rather not see him put under any more strain.

I amble along the wall past the glinting mosaics embedded in the plaster surface. Many of the nobles have already coupled up on the dance floor despite the day’s solemn events. It’s a much more somber spectacle than usual, all the gowns and suits in mourning black spinning across the polished floor. You’d almost think these were serious people who cared about more than fashion and food.

Just moments after I’ve picked my spot to stand and watch, a willowy woman around my age glides over to my side. My gaze flicks over her reddish-blond hair and pale skin, stirring my recollection.

Lady Betisse. Daughter of Marchion Litius, making her one of the more prominent unattached women of the court. Her parents were wise enough not to complain about Tarquin’s choice in filial bride, so she escaped the trials.

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