Potted roses line the entrances to the ballroom. They form a mazelike path to the refreshment table, before opening up in the center of the room to allow plenty of space for the dancing. Every member of the orchestra wears a black rose—the men in their breast pockets, the ladies in their hair—in honor of the late queen.
I had the ballroom painted, so it looks like ivy climbs up the columns. Green rugs line the floors, perfectly imitating grass. Rose petals have been sprinkled over the ground, giving off a soft fragrance.
It took several manservants and long ladders, but we also managed to dangle bouquets of roses from the ceiling. An occasional petal will fall, raining the floor with even more. I ordered tapestries to go along the walls, making them appear as though the edges of a garden rest all around us.
The electric chandeliers shine brightly. I wanted everything well lit. Not only to give the illusion of noonday in the garden, but so that any treachery or deceit would be impossible to hide behind shadows.
No one is killing my king tonight.
Guests have already started to pour in, though the ball doesn’t officially start for another ten minutes. I can see everything from above, where I wait on the staircase, overlooking my arrangements. As it is my ball, I get to make a grand entrance, so I bide my time waiting until the right moment.
Really, I’m just waiting for Kallias to show up. I wouldn’t want him to miss seeing me in my new dress.
I’ve outdone myself.
Overall, the dress is a light yellow. Every few inches, the fabric folds over itself as it moves upward, to give the shape of a rose’s overlapping petals. I’ve stained the tip of each fold a bright red orange to match the fine roses found in the queen’s garden. Normally I’m not overly fond of the color orange, but the queen’s roses (and my dress by design) are simply divine. I wear a hoopskirt beneath the layers of silk, but the
bodice is fitted, the top sleeveless, and my matching yellow gloves are dotted orange at my fingertips.
I’ve pinned my hair to one side, so it falls down my left shoulder, leaving my neck bare on the right side. I’ve curled the strands so they fall in perfect ringlets, a black wonder over the light fabric.
When Kallias does finally arrive, he doesn’t have himself announced. Rather, he tries to enter quietly, going right for the throne on the dais. Having seen the fabric I was using to make my dress, he wears a matching yellow waistcoat—so light it could be mistaken for white. It looks remarkable against his bronze skin.
As soon as he is seated, I give the herald orders to announce me. “Our hostess, Lady Alessandra Stathos, second daughter to the Earl
of Masis.”
I hold up my dress in both hands and let a light smile grace my features as I descend the stairs.
All heads turn in my direction.
And I know it’s not just my stunning gown that causes their chattering. I’m the girl who caught the eye of the king. The girl who has the council following her strategies. The girl who saved the king from an assassination attack.
I’ve worked up quite a reputation indeed.
And tonight, Kallias will propose and shock everyone.
He watches me now, as I take each careful step. The dress is wide enough to allow my legs plenty of movement, but the floor-length hem and heeled boots make tripping an easy feat.
Yet I keep my eyes on him.
With that heated gaze on me, I can see just how much Kallias wants me. It is no longer a question of attraction between us. It is a matter of keeping himself safe from attack. We have a good arrangement. We’ll both have what we want after tonight. He’ll have a queen to help him manage and balance the council. He’ll have someone on his side whom he trusts. The only person he trusts.
And in return I get power. The power to rule a kingdom at Kallias’s side once he turns twenty-one. It’ll only be another seventeen months.
When I reach the bottom of the steps, Kallias doesn’t approach me. In fact, he turns away, engaging one of his nearby council members in conversation.
Disappointment and irritation mingle within me, but I keep my face in a pleasant smile.
I think to start welcoming my guests, but as I take a few steps in one direction, the partygoers … scatter.
What the devils?
Perhaps I’ve only imagined it? I head for the refreshment table, thinking to check on the food arrangements. Skirts sway from my path, and a group of gentlemen cut off their conversation midsentence to turn away from me and find somewhere else to stand.
What is the matter with everyone?
When I’m steps away from the table, I relax as someone approaches me. Until I realize it’s my father.
“I don’t recall sending you an invitation,” I say, distracting myself with a glass of champagne from the table.
“Must have slipped your mind,” Father says. But once he gets close enough not to be overheard, he adds, “I’m here to rescue you, Alessandra.”
I take a sip from my glass as though I don’t hear him. Father is hoping to get a reaction from me. It won’t happen.
“Did you hear me, Alessandra? I’m going to save you and your reputation.”
Again, I say nothing.
“What with the rumors of your crime spreading like wildfire, we must keep you safe by wedding you off right away to a powerful man.”
My eyes flit to Father’s face. “Rumors of my crime?”
“Yes, the murder of Hektor Galanis. Everyone is talking of it.”
That’s why everyone is suddenly giving me a wide berth. They think me a murderess.
Damn Faustus. He must know the king cleared me of all charges, but that didn’t stop him from running his tongue.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Father says. “A hasty marriage will offer you some protection. I’ve been talking with the Viscount of Thoricus—”
“Rhouben’s father?”
“You’re familiar with his son, then? Wonderful. He recently ended his engagement with a baron’s daughter. The two of you will make a smart match.”
I nearly spit out the champagne in my mouth. “So now I’m to marry someone beneath my station?”
“He has money, Alessandra. And with my dear friend Eliades behind bars, we can’t very well rely on him anymore.”
I set my empty champagne glass down on a tray as a servant walks by. Then I face my father fully. “So nothing less than a duke will do for
Chrysantha, but I’m to wed a future viscount. Is that it?”
“You can hardly afford to be picky with the way people are talking about you.”
I startle my father when I start laughing. “You never listen to me. You never have, but let me be clear. I don’t need you to save me. I don’t need a hasty marriage. I have the king, and he has pardoned me of all charges. You would know this if you ever bothered to ask me about the situation instead of coming to your own conclusions and solutions.
“He’s proposing to me tonight,” I finish. “He hasn’t asked my permission—”
“He doesn’t need to. He’s the king, and as I said, you’re not getting a cent out of the treasury for me.”
He tries to get in another sentence, but I don’t let him.
“No. This is my party. My night. You do not get to ruin it.” I eye a couple of guards against the walls. When I catch their attention, I beckon them to me with a hand.
I half expect them not to listen. But they do. Two young men come striding forward, rifles slung over their shoulders.
“Yes, my lady?” one of them asks.
“Have the earl escorted from the ball. He’s not welcome. If he does not leave willingly, you have my permission to use force.”
Father lets out one laugh. “Who do you think you are? The queen?”
But the two guards step between me and my father. “This way, my lord.”
Father looks upon me with bewilderment. And then, for the briefest of moments, I feel that he finally sees me. My ambition. My cunning. My achievements. The guards heeding my commands are proof enough of what I’ve been trying to explain to my father for weeks.
I have achieved exactly what I set out to do.
And then Father seems to realize that if that’s true, then what I said about not receiving a bride-price for me must be true as well. His face turns to one of panic as the guards grip his arms firmly and escort him away.
Everyone in the ballroom has paused to watch the spectacle, though neither the music nor the chatter has ceased.
And now, not a soul seems to have a problem approaching me. Not when I can have them thrown from the party. Not when the king’s guards obey my commands. In fact, I’m greeted by no fewer than ten nobles as they grab drinks and sample hors d’oeuvres.
“An astonishing party. Are those chocolates shaped like rosebuds?” Rhouben plucks a candy from the table and tosses it into his mouth. After swallowing, he adds, “I could kiss you right now.”
“Best not to do it in public,” I say.
“Seriously, Alessandra. Thank you. I know I’ve already said it, but I’ll say it again. You freed me from Melita. She’s left the palace, she was so distraught over the breakup, Eliades’s rejection, and then Eliades’s imprisonment. I’m a free man again.”
And he doesn’t even know I just saved him from marriage to me, as well.
“How are you enjoying your bachelorhood?” I ask.
“I’m going to celebrate by dancing with every single gorgeous woman in attendance tonight. That includes you. Save me a dance?”
“Of course.”
He kisses my hand, and I watch him take off to a corner where Petros and Leandros laugh together.
It’s nice to see Leandros. I worried he wouldn’t come.
As if sensing my gaze, he looks over. Upon seeing me watching, he offers a small smile. I offer him a grand one in return.
Leandros is clad in all black, just as Kallias was the first time I laid eyes on him. Only Leandros wears a painted black rose near his lapels. I almost miss the plant, since it blends in so well with his waistcoat. The sight of the flower endears Leandros to me even more. Kallias hasn’t spoken to him in a year, and yet, he shows up at a party in honor of the king’s mother and wears her favorite blossom. The rest of his dark attire makes Leandros’s golden skin look lighter, and it really brings out the darker undertones in his pale brown hair.
It doesn’t matter what he wears—he’s so handsome and thoughtful.
He really will make some girl very happy.
I force my gaze away and survey more of the room. I’m pleased to find that most everyone is showing up in the proper attire. I see a group of ladies dressed as tulips, their necklines rising in the back to a standing collar, curving around their heads and to the sides of their faces, shaping like a tulip’s petals. Bands around their heads have the protruding stamen.
One lady is ambitious enough to attempt what I think is supposed to be a daffodil. With a gold hat shaped like the flower’s horn, she looks rather … different.
The men are predictably boring, with nothing more than flowers in their breast pockets to match the ladies.
I spot Hestia and Rhoda and rush over to them. Rhoda is dressed like her namesake. The hem at the base of her dress is gathered into clusters that look like purple-pink rhododendrons. Simple, yet quite elegant.
Hestia is a marvel in dusty pink. She, too, went for roses, but instead of shaping the entire dress like one, she simply had her seamstress sew exquisite beading over the entire skirt, shaping trails of thorny vines and blossoming flowers.
“You both look exquisite,” I say.
“Thank you,” Hestia says. “Did you notice my shawl?”
I take the time to examine the pink silk about her shoulders. “Oh, you sewed it yourself, didn’t you?”
It’s a simple task, sewing down the ends to give the accessory a smooth edge all around, but I know how terrible Hestia was when she started learning to sew, unable to keep her stitches straight. And while the shawl isn’t perfect, as I can see a loose thread hanging off one end, most of the stitches look fantastic.
“It looks amazing,” I tell her.
“I had a good teacher,” she says in return.
“The decor turned out even better than you described,” Rhoda offers. “And you put everyone to shame with your dress. How do you manage to look like a flower without looking ridiculous?”
“I spent a lot of time on it,” I admit. When I wasn’t with Kallias, I was sewing.
“Something is missing,” I note as I survey Rhoda. “Ah, I told you to bring Galen! Where is he?”
Rhoda flicks a black lock over her shoulder, discreetly pointing her head toward a spot against the wall.
It takes me three tries before I spot him. I was looking for a servant, dressed in simple cotton and drab colors. I wasn’t prepared for a dashing man in purple-pink brocade. He even fixed his hair, somehow getting the ends to smooth back out of his face. Despite the improved attire, the man looks terribly uncomfortable with the way his hands twitch at his sides and the way he eyes the guards nearby as though expecting to be thrown out.
“Whatever is he doing over there?” I ask.
Rhoda sighs. “He’s waiting to, well, wait on me.” “But didn’t you tell him he was to be your escort?”
“I did, but I think he misunderstood me. He only accepted the clothing I had made for him because he knew he couldn’t serve me tonight if he wasn’t dressed for the occasion.”
“Oh, Rhoda, you must set things straight for him.” “That’s what I told her,” Hestia says.
“I tried,” Rhoda says. “I told him to walk with me and be at my side, but he insisted he could see if I needed anything from the corners of the room.”
I shake my head. “Stop being so timid with him. Sometimes men need a little help. Do something that he can’t mistake as being a servant’s task.”
“Like what?”
“Invite him to dance with you.”
Her eyes turn down, and she fiddles with her own fingers. “What’s the matter?” Hestia asks.
“What if he tells me no?” Rhoda says. “What if he’s trying to tell me he’s not interested by purposely misunderstanding my intentions? What if I’m harassing him? Or worse, what if he feels obligated to abide my wishes when I do make myself clear because I am his employer?”
“Oh, Rhoda,” Hestia says. “All that uncertainty and fear? It comes with being in love. But once you’re past it, everything is wonderful! Of course Galen cares for you. He’s been at your side for years. No servant is obligated to become your friend and confidant, yet Galen has always been both for you. He loves you. It’s obvious to everyone. Now, go and get your man.”
Rhoda steels herself before marching in Galen’s direction. I turn to Hestia. “Very sage advice.”
“I only learned it myself a short time ago.”
I pause a moment. “How—how do you get past that fear? How is it worth what might come later? The heartbreak?”
She considers my questions before answering, “I think that when you care enough for someone, you reach a point where it’s far more painful not to have him at all than to have him and risk losing him. You realize the risk is worth it. Because happiness, however short-lived, is always worth it.”
We both watch as Rhoda reaches Galen. She says something to him, and he nods. She says something more, and he looks at her, his head quirking in curiosity. Then she throws her head back, grabs his arm, and drags him to the dance floor.
It’s awkward to watch at first. Rhoda leads, because Galen has not been taught the dances. Not as a commoner. But after a moment, his arms hold her more firmly, his feet find the steps, and he has eyes for
nothing but the dazzling woman in front of him. He has the look of a man who has just been handed the world.
“Now, isn’t that worth it?” Hestia says.
“Where is your Lord Paulos this evening?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Oh, he said he’d be a little late. Some business he had to attend to.” “Men are always attending to business.”
“But the king isn’t. Is he not just sitting on the dais? Why haven’t you gone to him?”
“He hasn’t come to me.”
“He knows you’re in charge of this party. Perhaps he fears getting in the way.”
“The party is already all planned out. I am simply enjoying it now.
He should be enjoying it with me. But he won’t even look at me now.”
Hestia purses her lips. “Sometimes I wish we could know exactly what ridiculous thoughts were going through their heads.”
“Indeed.”