The next morning, breakfast is delivered to my room, along with my possessions. I spend the morning ordering servants about. The wardrobes are filled with all the dresses I’ve designed. A vanity has my powders, perfumes, and jewelry placed upon it.
I’m not especially fond of reading, but I did bring several books with me to the palace. Most are works on philosophy, mathematics, agriculture, and other topics of importance. They exist to hide the only three books of interest. To the outward eye, they appear harmless: three tomes full of plants and herbs used for medicinal purposes. But in each one, there are several chapters on poisons and antidotes, highly useful for me because I will have to kill the Shadow King once I’ve secured his hand in marriage.
Hektor’s death was messy, disgusting, so very difficult to hide and clean up. I’m reluctant to stab anyone ever again. Poison is a much cleaner way to kill, and it will prove much easier. Not to mention, it’s nigh impossible to root out the poisoner.
I order the maids to place the books on an empty shelf in the room.
Then I step back to admire the entire ensemble.
Yes, it’ll do.
A maid helps me to dress. I select a deep blue overskirt to wear over matching pants. The fabric is a simple cotton, unlike the taffeta of last night’s outfit. Lace hems my ankles, the pattern that of a trail of roses. Instead of boots, I opt for day slippers. My blouse laces up the front in a fashion similar to a corset. It will be highly scandalous, and I suspect none of the men at court will be able to keep their eyes off me.
That’s the point. When a man sees something that several other men want, he can’t help but want it, too.
The maid pulls all my hair up onto the top of my head, heating tendrils into curls spilling down my neck and over my ears.
Just when I’m starting to feel ready for the day, another servant is admitted into my rooms.
He bows low. “My lady, the king hopes you will join him and the rest of the courtiers in the orchards for tea.”
“Have I missed lunch?”
“I’m afraid so, but the king expected you would. He assumed settling into your new room would take most of the day.”
I’m glad to know the king is thinking of me even when I am not around.
“If I may also add, my lady, the king doesn’t usually make an event of afternoon tea. I expect he’s arranged it all for you.”
“For me?”
He crosses his white-gloved hands behind his back. “It is my understanding that this is your first time at court. There are many new people with whom to become acquainted.”
That brings a small smile to my lips. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t disappoint His Majesty by not showing up.”
 |
BRICK–LINED TRAILS WEND UNDER trees filled with cherry blossoms. A thin creek trickles by to one side, and the birds fill the air with their music.
Plenty of cushioned seating has been added outdoors, and a long table filled with thin sandwiches, sliced fruit, biscuits, cakes, and other sweets is constantly replenished by servants.
Excitement sparks through me at the thought of all the opportunities ahead. My father isn’t here to ruin things this time, and I’m surrounded by the most influential people in the world.
A group of ladies sits by the creek, sharing the newest gossip. Three gentlemen stand huddled together under one of the cherry trees, teacups in hand, laughing over something one of them said. A few couples have branched off from other groups. I watch a pair of courting ladies walk with hands clasped together, the hoops of their skirts touching. Really, the ladies at court could do with some fashion advice from me. I hope I will start some new trends.
With all the courtiers distracted by their current companions, no one takes notice of my arrival yet.
I make a show of walking toward the refreshment table, letting my eyes wander in search of the king, when something barrels into me from behind.
I nearly lose my footing, but I catch myself, though a huge pressure impedes my overskirt.
A reprimand is already on my lips as I turn, but I’m brought up short. There’s a dog panting before me.
At least I think it’s a dog. It also has a startling likeness to a bear. In both size and color.
“Hello,” I say, bending over and holding out my hand.
The dog takes a few sniffs before nudging my fingers with its nose.
An invitation to pet it if I’ve ever seen one.
I’ve always wanted a dog, but my father forbade it because he has such a terrible reaction to them.
I stroke it—him, I correct after a quick look down to confirm the sex
—behind the ears.
“Good boy,” I say, “though I’d appreciate it if you got off my skirt.”
He lies down, covering even more of my skirt, his wet nose digging into the fabric.
“What are you doing, silly creature?” I adjust myself to avoid losing my balance and end up bumping into something with my foot.
A ball the size of an apple. Hidden beneath my skirts. I reach down for it.
“Oh, is this what you’re looking for?” I ask.
The dog jumps to a standing position, tail wagging, finally freeing my skirt. I cock back my arm, throw the ball as far as I can, and watch the giant mongrel race after it.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, a wisp of shadow.
The king is watching me. His shadows darken once our eyes meet, swirling more thickly about his form. I wonder if they change with his thoughts. If I could learn to read them if I studied them long enough.
He stands in the shade cast by one of the trees, leaning his frame against the trunk. Today he has his hair brushed back from his forehead, and I can’t begin to guess what sorcery manages to hold the strands in place with such volume. He wears a long-sleeved black dress shirt, matching gloves, a waistcoat of deep blue brocade, and a black cravat.
I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling at the dog until I feel my features shift into surprise.
And then I watch the dog trot over to the king and drop the ball at his feet.
With a quick adjustment, I right my overskirt and sweep toward the king, stopping when I’m five feet away. I cross my arms over my chest.
“Is that your dog?” I accuse, even though I already know the answer.
“Good boy, Demodocus,” the Shadow King says, picking up the ball and tossing it away again. Demodocus races after it once more. To me, he says, “You have a good arm.”
“And you have impressive aim.”
He lifts a brow. “Surely you’re not accusing me of intentionally throwing the ball at you.”
“That’s exactly what you did.” But why? “If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask for it. Though I’m disinclined to give it now that I know you practically ordered your dog to tackle me.”
The corners of his mouth turn up. “It wasn’t your attention I wanted.
I was curious to see how you would react to Demodocus.” “Why?” I ask, baffled.
Demodocus gallops toward us before dropping the ball at the king’s perfectly polished shoes. He raises it in a black-gloved hand before hurling it toward a group of ladies sitting in chairs along the creek. Demodocus streaks in front of them, racing to catch his prize, and a volley of shrieks rises into the air.
The king arches his neck slightly, as though this proves his point.
Whatever that may be.
“You react well to the unexpected,” he says at last. “And you like animals. That’s two things I didn’t know about you before.”
“And you are devious.” Siccing his dog on unsuspecting ladies. “Now surely you’d already guessed that about me,” he says, pushing
off from the tree. He steps into the light, and I step backward with the movement, keeping the appropriate distance. His grin grows as he looks me up and down.
“Something funny?” I ask.
“I’m merely admiring your attire once again. Tell me, is the corset not meant to go underneath the blouse?”
“It’s not a corset. It’s merely styled after one. I like the way the laces look. Why hide them?”
The king takes a moment to digest that. “You are going to cause all kinds of trouble in my court.”
I can’t tell if he’s worried or amused by that.
“Just look at how you’ve already changed things. If you will excuse me.” He turns to the side. “Demodocus! Come, boy!”
Demodocus reaches the king, and the two take off at a brisk jog through the trees, shadows streaking after the king like a comet.
Already changed things? But whatever could he mean?
I put my back to where the king disappeared and instead focus on the other forms in the garden.
Oh.
The ladies at court—they’re dressed in head-to-toe black. Not a speck of green in sight.
They’re imitating me from last night. How did I not notice this immediately?
I caught the eye of the king. He asked me to dance, and now he was seen talking with me in the orchards. People are staring openly at me now. And—
And a group of older lords and ladies is walking toward me. There are five of them, each somewhere in their forties or fifties, I expect. They look important. I can tell by the way they don’t spare glances at anyone else around them, the way individuals move for them to pass.
And in the way other people who were about to approach me halt to let these five reach me first.
“Lady Alessandra Stathos, isn’t it?” the man at the front of the group asks, holding out a hand. “My name is Ikaros Vasco. I am the head of the king’s council.”
I offer my hand, and he bows over it with a head of hair more white than brown. Lord Vasco has aged well, save for wrinkles about his eyes.
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Vasco.”
He doesn’t bother to introduce the rest of his companions, who must be the other advisers to the king.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about you,” he says when he rights himself. “Second daughter to an earl. Never seen in society until last night. Although there are a few gentlemen at court who claim to know you, having done business with your father.”
He’s looked into me. Gone digging into my background. Of course he did. It’s his job to know everything he can about those whom the king spends his time with. The real question is, was the king the one who ordered my past looked into? Or is the council acting on its own?
“I’m afraid you have the law to blame for that,” I answer honestly. “My sister just became engaged. I wasn’t permitted to attend events until recently. The only people I’ve had a chance to meet are those whom my father does business with.”
“And their sons, it would seem.” I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I found it rather curious that none of the ladies at court have ever heard of you. I mean, your sister was here at the last ball. She stayed at
court. Made friends. And yet she never once mentioned you. It’s like you didn’t exist then.”
I smile politely as a lead weight rests at the bottom of my stomach. Trust Chrysantha to cause problems without even being here. Once again.
“And yet,” Vasco continues, “Myron Calligaris and Orrin, Lord Eliades, say they know you. They had a lot to say about you, in fact. Eliades couldn’t speak enough on your charms.” Vasco makes a face. “Calligaris had … other things to say about your character.”
I’ll bet he did. Myron is still bitter over my rejection.
My sister and my gentlemen friends are painting a horrible picture of me without even saying anything damning against me. But I can fix this.
“I’m afraid Lord Calligaris had asked my father for permission to court me before my sister was engaged. As a law-abiding gentleman, my father was obliged to refuse his request.” I let my face fall into a look of sadness. “I’m afraid Lord Calligaris blames me for it. Can you believe it? It’s as though he has no respect for those who set and carry out our kingdom’s laws.”
Which, of course, would be the five men and women before me.
Lord Vasco nods with new understanding. “Indeed. I shall have to revisit my earlier conversation with him.”
And before then, I shall have to remind Myron about what will happen should he divulge the nature of our previous acquaintance. Ladies aren’t permitted lovers before marriage. Just one of the many laws I will change once I’m sitting on the throne.
Just a hint of a rumor like that would ruin me and all my plans.
“Do enjoy your time at court, Lady Stathos,” Vasco says. “I’m sure you will be happy to see many old faces, but might I suggest—if you’re hoping to spend more time with the king, that is—that you make some female friends. Hmm? And perhaps try for some more traditional attire?” He looks down at my clothes with some distaste.
“I already have female friends, Lord Vasco. Perhaps you didn’t question as many ladies as you ought to have at court.”
“Is that so?” he asks.
“Yes, if you will excuse me.”
I have three seconds to survey the orchards. First my eyes land on the group of ladies who screamed when Demodocus bounded in front of them. I mentally shake my head. Not them. Then my eyes light on a gathering of lords and ladies in a huddle. They look far too friendly for me to be seen there.
And then I spot two ladies apart from the rest. They sit on a bench before the creek a ways down, enjoying some quiet away from everyone else.
Yes, they’ll do.
I stride with purpose toward them. I feel the council’s heated gaze on my back. They watch me the entire distance, which thankfully is much too far to be overheard.
“Hello,” I say when I reach the pair. “My name is Alessandra Stathos. Might I join you?”
The first girl brightens instantly, and I let my shoulders slump with relief. This is exactly the kind of response I needed the council to see.
“Of course, please sit! I’m Hestia Lazos. Please, call me Hestia.”
I like her instantly, for that alone. Only friends exchange first names. Then I take in her attire. She’s wearing pants underneath her overskirt. I doubt she had the outfit on hand. I wonder how many seamstresses had to stay up all night in order for her to wear it the next
day.
Hestia’s coloring is a rich umber with yellow undertones. She wears her hair short, only about an inch from her scalp, the strands wrapping in tight coils. The lack of length shows off her gorgeous earrings, a pair of garnets encased in complicated brasswork.
“And this is my good friend Rhoda Nikolaides.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stathos,” Rhoda says. She wears a black gown with terribly heavy-looking petticoats. She barely manages to fit on the bench with the thickness of her skirts. Though all the nobles are dressed in fine clothing, I can tell that this lady is fabulously wealthy. Her skirts shine so brightly, I can practically see my reflection in them. Her hair is done up in a coiffure so intricate, it would take no fewer than three ladies to manage it. The strands are the same color as my black hair, but her skin is a bit darker, more amber than my dark beige.
“Please call me Alessandra,” I say, following Hestia’s lead. Besides, I need to make friends quickly, don’t I? I haven’t had many opportunities to make friends, and it has been my experience that most ladies do not like me. Not when I’m their competition for the attentions of men.
But these two are all sincere smiles.
“At last we meet!” Hestia says. “I was going to approach you, but then I thought perhaps I shouldn’t, since I didn’t want to overwhelm you. What with everyone wanting to know who you are! And then I saw the council, which made the decision for me. I’m so relieved you’ve asked to
join us. I’ve been dying to ask you who made the gown you wore last night. It was simply darling!”
“And deliciously scandalous,” Rhoda adds. “I adore how adventurous you are with your wardrobe. It certainly caught the king’s attention quickly.” She smiles as though we’ve just shared some wicked secret.
They both look at me expectantly.
I say, “I actually design the outfits myself. I love to sew, and I hire a seamstress to help when I run short on time to make everything.”
“You’re joking!” Hestia says, her long earrings swaying with the turning of her head. “No wonder you wore it so well. You designed it with your own figure in mind. I wrote to my seamstress as soon as the ball was over and offered her triple her usual rate if she could finish this outfit for me. She did her best to heed my written instructions, but I still don’t quite like the fit of the pants. It’s simply brilliant to wear an overskirt over the top of them. Did you know? The reason the Pegain style faded away so quickly was that”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“most girls couldn’t handle having their bottoms so exposed. But you solved that problem, didn’t you?”
I don’t quite know what to make of the conversation, but a voice suddenly sounds from behind us, making me jump.
“Forgive me for interrupting talk of bottoms. I would gladly continue the conversation, but I simply must secure an introduction.”
The newcomer strides around the bench to stand before us. “Leandros Vasco. At your service, my lady.”
“Vasco?” I ask as he takes my hand and kisses it. “You’re related to Ikaros Vasco, the head of the king’s council?”
Leandros sighs. “I’m afraid he’s my uncle.”
I don’t see the resemblance. Leandros looks a couple of years older than me. He’s long and lean—like the king, but his hair is a light brown, which he wears down to his shoulders. His short beard is neatly trimmed. He wears a red silk waistcoat atop a black shirt, his cuff links in the shape of roses. His nose was broken once, but it was set well. Only a small notch near the bridge gives anything of it away. It manages to make him look dangerous and dashing all at once. Were it not for the fact that I have to give the king my full attention, Leandros is exactly the sort of man I would find myself dallying with.
Rhoda presses her lips to my ear. “Leandros wasn’t able to take his eyes off you at the ball last night. I think he’s already taken with you. But, then again, who isn’t?”
“I certainly can’t fault you for your relatives. It is a pleasure to meet you, Leandros,” I say, daring to use his first name. Just because I can’t bed him, it doesn’t mean I can’t flirt. Our eyes meet, and he suddenly sizes me up in a new light. As a possibility. It’s terribly mean to give him hope, but I just can’t help myself.
“And where are your companions?” I ask. I’d seen Leandros earlier in the orchards. Before Demodocus plowed into me. He was talking with two other men his age.
“Distracting the masses, of course.” He nods over my shoulder.
I turn to see his friends intercepting other gentlemen coming my way.
“Wanted me to yourself, did you?” I ask. “Can you blame me?” he asks.
I grin. “How long have the three of you been at the palace?” I ask, including the girls in the conversation.
“About six months,” Rhoda says, “but Leandros has been here far longer, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’ve lived at the palace for years. Being on the king’s council necessitates my uncle’s living here. I asked to join him. I’m not really fond of living out in the country.”
“Did you grow up with the king, then?” I ask.
Something on Leandros’s face looks saddened by the question. “During our adolescence, yes. We were quite close actually. Along with my friends.”
“Were?” I catch on to his use of the past tense.
“He pushed everyone away once he became king. He doesn’t trust a soul. I suspect that’s why no one is allowed near him.”
“I suppose,” Rhoda says after a pause in the conversation, “that I would be distrustful, too, if I were a king, knowing that the last one had been murdered.”
I don’t know much about the late king and queen or their murders, but I do know that the culprit was never caught. Some, of course, speculate that the new king is responsible. But that hardly matters to me.
It has no bearing on my plans.
