Page 15 of Trick

“I’m told he plans to charm us with prose tomorrow. He seems to have quite an effect on his audience.”

“Pass the salt, please.”

“I see how your eyes dissect him.”

“Him, who?”

“And your chin crinkles like parchment when you’re riled, dearest. Don’t allow a few harmless candles to do that. Laugh at it.” She wiggled in her seat, shifting toward me. “Here, I’ll show you how to laugh.”

I set down my napkin before she could do anything of the sort. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m finished.”

Mother’s face fell. She stiffened in her chair. “Fine. Go.”

Her curt tone made me flinch with regret. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she swerved away and inserted herself into a conversion with Summer’s queen.

At the same time, a window of opportunity presented itself. The mingling, dancing, and inebriated guests created a dense throng—easy to slip away from. I flattened my lips but seized the chance, shoving back my chair, inclining my head toward the dais of occupied Royals, and descending the platform. After glancing around, I blended in and skirted along the perimeter to the exit.

I’d arrived at the feast with several escorts. Outside of sneaking through the secret passage from my room to meet Eliot, I lived and breathed among guards and coteries and entourages. Oftentimes, it was a wonder they didn’t stalk me into the bathroom.

But for once, I didn’t care about propriety. I made haste without bidding Eliot a covert farewell. On the way, my shoulder grazed someone else’s. A noble wearing a horse mask turned my way and winked behind the visor.

“Princess,” he crooned, ducking his head in a less than discreet manner.

I set my jaw and inched past him, then squeezed behind another groping couple and slipped through a crack in the main doors.

Beyond the threshold, I suppressed a sigh of relief. For as many residents dwelled in a castle, it grew quiet at night. One needed to strain to hear the clanking of armor, murmured conversation, and stuttered moans, all distant as though tucked behind cupboards.

Nevertheless, I hardly wished to be overheard and get caught. I wanted to preserve this moment, this rare freedom from prying eyes.

I grasped several layers of skirts and fled. My breath beat out a staccato rhythm, and the fabric of my dress brushed the floor. Torches slanted from the walls, flames hopping into the air and embossing the passages. I wandered, embarrassed by my attitude toward a stranger, worried about my friend’s heart, and guilty over my rudeness to Mother.

My heels tapped the floor. At least fifteen minutes must have passed before I realized I’d detoured into an unfamiliar section of the palace, a passage of glinting mirrors and iron-banded chandeliers. If one stood at the right angle, one could see infinite reflections of oneself.

I scrutinized my likeness. Mother was right. My chin did crinkle when someone got on my nerves.

Remembering the jester’s dancing style, I attempted a shimmy, then gave up. Bracing my hands on my hips, I shook my head and chided myself, “You jest, Briar.”

“On the contrary, Princess. That’s my job.”

My eyes flew to the edge of the mirror. I froze as a silken male voice spoke.

“She leaves her throne.

She leaves her home.

At night, she roams.

The dark, her own.

Alas, Princess.

You’re not alone.”

5

Briar

Proof that I should not dance, not even by myself. I stood rooted in place, my cheeks burning with mortification. In the mirror, I watched him materialize behind me.

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