A new slew of letters is delivered to me the next morning. For the most part, they’re additional invitations to luncheons and balls and banquets. But one letter stands out. It’s from Father.
Dear Alessandra,
Word has just reached me that the king has publicly announced your courtship. You have my congratulations. I’m proud of you. Though, I admit I’m disappointed that I had to hear the details from Lord Eliades instead of you. (The poor man appears smitten with you. He was quite upset over the news. It would seem we already have an excellent backup plan in place should you fail with the king. Orrin is very rich, after all.)
I pause in reading to shake off the thought of having to marry Eliades. He’s quite handsome, but I wouldn’t last two minutes alone with the man. Not if he thinks charity and saving kittens are the most interesting topics of conversation. I continue reading.
Your sister was most glad to hear of your courtship as well. She—
I skip that paragraph.
Finally, I should tell you a constable came by the house, accompanied by Faustus Galanis, Baron of Drivas. You remember Lord Drivas, don’t you? I believe you befriended his son, Hektor. Surely you remember the poor lad went missing some three years ago? Lord Drivas is now convinced his son is dead, and he and a Constable Hallas are conducting an investigation. They asked me quite a lot of questions about your relationship with Hektor. I think they’re hoping you might have an idea of where he could have gone after he ran away.
I’ve told them you saw Hektor only a handful
of times when he came by the estate with his father, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they should wish to question you personally. Anything you can tell them about the last time you saw Hektor would probably prove most useful.
And by the devils, please tell me he was not
one of your bedmates. It wouldn’t do at all if that came out during their investigation. Not when you’re making such headway with the king!
Do be careful, darling, and perhaps do what you can to speed up that courtship. Hmm?
Sincerely, Your Loving Father
My hand has the letter in a death grip by the time I read the signature. Why the devils would an investigation suddenly be brought up? They couldn’t have found Hektor’s body, could they?
No, I assure myself. No, they couldn’t possibly …
 |
IT WAS DIFFICULT GETTING Hektor’s body out of my room after I killed him. The only stroke of luck was that he insulted me in my bed, and that’s where he drew his last breath. That made it possible to roll him into an empty trunk. I latched the biggest lock I could find onto it and shut the key inside with Hektor’s body before closing it.
No one was getting inside that trunk without a hatchet. But that still left a mess in the room.
I burned my bedsheets in the hearth and told my lady’s maid that my monthly bleeding soiled my mattress. I was surprised she believed the lie. I hadn’t bled in months due to my tincture that prevents pregnancy.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before Hektor started to stink, so the very next day, I rang for a couple of servants to carry my trunk into the carriage. I told them I was off to meet several friends for a picnic, and I drove the team of horses myself.
Once I found the perfect spot, deep into the Undatia Forest, I waited for the cover of darkness. Ever since meeting Hektor, it wasn’t unusual for me to be gone overnight, and neither the staff nor my father would think twice about it, though I knew I would get an earful from Father later.
Digging the hole was the most undignified thing I’ve ever done. It took nearly all night, with many breaks to rest my aching muscles. By the time I deemed the hole deep enough, I realized my mistake.
It was too deep, and I could not get out.
I screamed in my panic, stuck in that hole with nothing but a shovel. I thought to perhaps dig myself stairs, but I wondered if my strength would leave me entirely before I managed it.
It started to rain.
Finally, I thought clearly enough to remove my boots from my feet. I jabbed the heels into the earth and used them to crawl my way out. My muscles spasmed within my body, and my dress was damp with mud, my nostrils full of dirt.
But I would not allow myself to die in the grave I’d dug.
When I finally shoved the trunk over the lip of the cart, the lid cracked open, and Hektor stared up at me as I started to cover his face with dirt.
I was careful. The rain washed away the horses’ tracks. And when I returned early the next morning, all that was left was to destroy my dress and make it to my room without being seen.
I handled Hektor as I have handled everything else in my life: alone and with the utmost thoroughness.
They could not have found him. Even if someone went traveling into the Undatia Forest, there’s no way they could know they were standing on a grave.
In which case, Lord Drivas must think that Hektor has simply been gone too long to be away on holiday, and he’s somehow found it within himself the desire to find his son. Not that he should care that much— what with Hektor being the fourth spare to his heir.
Something’s changed, but I shan’t let it bother me. To do any searching would only attract more attention to me. I will prepare my answers carefully for when Lord Drivas and his constable come knocking. Otherwise, I shall carry on as before.
|
SOME DAYS LATER, I stare up at the night-painted ceiling in the queen’s sitting room. Once I am queen, I think I will have it redone. I can see the stars outside any night I wish. What I’d like to have painted are things I can’t readily see. Perhaps a landscape from each of the five kingdoms Naxos has conquered. Soon to be my kingdoms.
“There,” Hestia proclaims. “Did I do it right?”
I look down at her handiwork. “No. The stitches should be even, and you’ll want to pull them tighter. This will fall apart as soon as you try to put it on.”
She sighs. “All right. Tighter and more even. I can do that. But how do I fix what I’ve already done?”
I grab the needle from her and pull until the thread slips from the eye. I place the point under the last stitch and use it to pull the thread free.
“Repeat,” I say, handing the needle back to her.
Hestia settles back into her seat and concentrates. She’s wearing a gown in a lovely shade of turquoise, which I wore yesterday. I wonder if
imitating me in all regards is getting her anywhere at court.
Rhoda, however, is dressed in a bright yellow gown that shows off all her curves to their best effect. She is taking my advice to disregard her mourning period quite well.
Rhoda sits on the other side of Hestia, asking Galen for his opinion on which thread she should use for the flower she’s stitching. He holds several colors out for her to examine, and they discuss the merits of each. I’m still baffled by how much she interacts with her manservant, but I like her enough not to say anything of it. I can be nice to Galen if it’s what Rhoda would want.
But I have to wonder if Rhoda notices the way Galen looks at her. He seems far too distracted by her sudden change in clothing. Or maybe it’s just her.
The door to the sitting room opens suddenly, and a stocking- and wig-clad servant enters, holding a box in his hands.
“What are you doing?” Rhoda demands, standing from her chair. “No men are permitted within this room.” Apparently Galen doesn’t count.
“Forgive me, ladies, but the king sent me. I have something for Lady Stathos.”
“Over here,” I say, my countenance brightening.
“My lady,” the servant says, dipping into a bow before me and holding out the black box.
I take it, the wrapping paper crinkling under my fingers. A bloodred ribbon wraps around the box before ending in a bow on top. The package is fairly light, and the gentlest scent of lavender-mint wafts up from it.
Kallias wrapped it himself.
“Oh, go on, Alessandra,” Hestia says, her voice growing higher. “Open the king’s present!”
I tug at the bow, and it falls away. Carefully, I unfold the paper. Somehow, it seems indelicate to tear it. Once done, I find the front and pull up on the lid, the hinges snapping upward without a sound.
My breath catches.
I have received countless jewels and precious stones from my lovers, but this—
Nestled in black velvet is a necklace unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The rubies have been cut into the shapes of petals, spreading outward into a blooming rose the size of a tightly closed fist. Black steel frames each gem, giving a beautiful border to the petals, allowing each jewel to stand out.
The ladies in the room gasp appropriately.
Rhoda bends over my shoulder to give the trinket a proper look. “My, my,” she says. “The king must be head over heels for you.”
Quieter, she adds, “Well done, Alessandra.”
Hestia is so close, her breath is fogging up the gems. I promptly close the lid and hand the box back to the servant.
“See to it that this is placed within my quarters,” I say. “Of course.” He goes back out the way he came in. “What’s he like?” Rhoda wants to know. “The king?”
All the needlework is forgotten as the ladies lean forward in their seats.
“He’s very smart and capable,” I say, thinking of all the meetings and problems he juggles. “And thoughtful.”
“Oh, do give us details!” Hestia says.
Drunk on the attention, I can’t help but give them some details. I tell them of how we eat our desserts first when we dine together. How he compliments me on my new attire. How he smells of lavender and mint. How fond he is of his giant dog. I also tell them falsehoods. I talk of how Kallias kisses my gloved hands in private. How he whispers into my ear of our future. Of a romantic outing under the stars when everyone else is asleep.
I have to really sell the idea of our courtship, after all.
“He’s a romantic,” I finish, loving the way the whole room tries to grasp my every word.
|
I RECEIVE A NOTE stating Kallias is unavailable for dinner together due to a late-running meeting. I suspect he is still hard at work attempting to put a stop to the bandit. Rumors are everywhere in the palace. Apparently there was another attack. The nobles are putting pressure on their king.
I sup alone in my rooms, arranging the necklace on the table next to me so I can admire it.
Afterward, a maid helps me out of my dress and into a nightgown. If she thinks anything about the nightgowns I’ve made myself, she says nothing of them.
Tonight I wear a creamy yellow number of silk. The sleeves—or straps, really—dangle off my shoulders, and the gown dips in the front to reveal just a hint of my breasts. Less than a hint, really. A mere line
meant not to give too much away, but enough to drive a man mad with wanting to see more.
If only I had someone to show it off to.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands behind me, supporting my weight, when he appears.
I jump to my feet before I can stop myself, my heart racing.
Even though I’ve seen him walk through walls before, it doesn’t exactly prepare me. I have a feeling it’s not something I could ever get used to.
I’m proud of myself for not shrieking at least.
I catch sight of the king’s face once he steps farther into the room and realize he’s glaring at me. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides. Despite the late hour, he’s clothed from neck to toe in his day attire.
“I thought you were done peering in on ladies while they were dressing,” I say.
His jaw shakes slightly as he says, “You’re clothed.” “But I might not have been. If you had knocked first—” “What the hell have you done?”
I cross my arms. I refuse to cower, king or no. “What’s the matter with you? I’ve done nothing.”
Unable to bear shouting at me from so far away, he comes forward until we’re mere feet apart. “The whole castle is buzzing with it! Did you or did you not tell the ladies in my mother’s sitting room that we’ve touched?”
Cold fingers walk down my spine. I’m unsure whether it’s better to lie or not. “Servants gossip. They exaggerate.”
“What. Did. You. Say?”
I step away from the bed. “I’m trying to sell our courtship. I embellished our interactions. I said we take midnight strolls together and that you’re more intimate when we’re alone.”
Why is he so worried? It’s not as if he has a reputation to protect.
He’s the king. Royalty may do as they please.
“Did you say that we’ve touched? What were your exact words?” he demands.
I rack my brain, trying to find the wording. “I said you kissed my gloved hands in private.”
“Gloved? You’re sure you said gloved?” “I’m certain. Why?”
He runs a hand through his hair, and the immaculate style falls away, the strands drooping to his ears.
“You cannot tell people that you’ve broken the law. You cannot—” “You have no right to be angry with me!” I snap, quite finished with
being reprimanded. “You tasked me with selling our courtship. That was the deal. If there were things I wasn’t allowed to do, you should have said so. Now tell me why people cannot think that we’ve touched. And don’t you dare try to tell me it’s for my safety. You could pardon anyone for anything. You’re king. So what do such rumors mean for you?”
The anger falls from his face, and I think he realizes for the first time that I’m in a nightgown. His eyes trail down the length of me. Slowly, just as he did when we were first introduced at the ball.
“They make me weak.”
He turns on his heel and disappears through the solid wall of my room.
