Page 7

7

A hand touched my elbow, making me startle. I turned and found myself looking up at Lord Varin, the courtier who had witnessed my humiliation at the docks.

“Might I have the honor of this next dance, your Grace?” A smile touched his lips. “Or perhaps I should say your Majesty?”

“Of course.” I struggled to comb through my thoughts, tangled from Aric’s frigid reception and the shock of learning my wedding was in less than twenty-four hours. “I mean, of course you may have this dance. Just Bianca will do.”

“Bianca,” Lord Varin said, stretching my name out syllable by syllable as if it were a foreign taste. “How delightfully informal.”

Had I made another blunder? I’d studied as much as I could of Gildenheim’s customs, but this was my first direct experience with its court. I kept my eyes on Varin’s, wearing a polite smile like armor. “We are not so concerned with differences of rank in Damaria, my lord.”

The next air began—a waltz slower than the first—and Varin stepped closer, his hand moving to my waist. This time, I turned my wrist so my dagger would not press against his shoulder. I didn’t need the entire court knowing I’d worn a hidden blade to my own welcome ball.

The floor had filled now, but eyes still turned to us from every corner, prickling my skin like freshly cut grass. Dancing with Aric, I’d been aware of little outside the intensity of his attention. But now it was impossible to miss that I occupied the center of the court’s focus along with the center of the room. A few whispers touched my ears as Varin swept us past a cluster of courtiers— so unsuitable — pity her — if only their positions were reversed, it’s such a shame that —

“I’ve heard inheritance and rank work differently in your country,” Varin said, before I could piece together what the courtiers were whispering about. “The peninsula hasn’t had a monarch in quite some time, has it?”

“No, my lord.” I bit back the impulse to mention that Damaria had moved beyond such relics of the past. I didn’t need to begin by insulting everyone I met. I would be better than my betrothed.

In fact, if Aric was already determined to despise me, I should make my own allies—and I might as well begin now. I studied Varin with greater interest. Having seen Aric in person, it was evident why I’d thought my current dance partner might be my betrothed. Their resemblance was unmistakable, though Varin was older, broader in the shoulders, his features harder.

“Excuse my ignorance,” I said, hiding my bluntness behind my most innocent smile, “but are you somehow related to the heir apparent?”

It was brief, but unmistakable: with a flash like a discharged cannon, livid anger flared behind Varin’s eyes. Then it was gone again, snuffed by the quick hand of practice.

“I forget you have yet to be steeped in the gossip of this court,” Varin said. “I am a bastard, your Grace. Born out of wedlock with a nobody for a father before the late queen was married.”

Ah. I’d forgotten that such details mattered here. I could recite Aric’s entire lineage back ten generations, along with the dates of every political development between Damaria and Gildenheim. But apparently I’d memorized the wrong facts.

“My apologies,” I said. “I didn’t mean to touch on a tender subject.”

“It’s nothing,” Varin said. “The matter is common knowledge.”

Common knowledge, perhaps, but evidently sensitive nonetheless. In Damaria, Varin would have been considered a viable candidate to inherit—likely the more viable candidate of the two, given his greater age and experience. I didn’t doubt a courtier like him was perfectly aware of the fact.

Though my condition was a closely guarded secret, I could empathize. I knew the sting of being deemed unworthy for something outside your control. I doubted my betrothed had ever known that experience.

Unintentionally, my gaze drifted to Aric. He was hard to miss. He leaned against one of the thrones on the raised dais and—of all things—he was reading. A thick leather-bound book partially obscured his face, though it didn’t disguise the displeased slant of his brows. I almost laughed aloud with incredulity. He was so determined to spite me, he had decided to disdain his entire court in the effort. This was the man I was to marry tomorrow?

Beside Aric stood a short woman with inky hair and dark monolid eyes denoting Zhei heritage, muscles a bear would have envied, and a scowl as sour as turned wine. Her glare was fixed on me without the slightest attempt to hide it.

Caught unawares by the stranger’s radiating hatred, I missed a step of the dance. Varin gracefully made up for my mistake, catching me around the waist and sweeping me into a turn.

I resisted the urge to look back at the dais. “Who is that woman standing beside Aric?”

Varin glanced in her direction, and a grimace darkened his features. “Captain Marya Dai. The commander of the heir apparent’s personal guard.”

I snuck a glance over my shoulder. The woman—Marya—was still glaring openly. Her gaze tracked me like a hunter sighting her prey. I noted the practical knot of her hair, crisp lines of her uniform—forest green, like the other soldiers’, but embroidered with silver accents—and the saber hanging at her hip. Unlike the halberds at the door, it was definitely not for ceremonial purposes.

“Do balls not agree with her?”

Varin leaned in closer, so that his breath warmed my ear. “Careful what you say, your Grace. The court has means of listening to private conversations. But you should know that Marya and Aric are… extremely close, if you catch my meaning. She did not take well to your arrival.”

A bitter taste rose to my tongue. I caught his meaning all too well. My betrothed had a lover. No wonder he’d been so cold to me.

“I see.” I managed to keep my tone even. “Thank you for the warning.”

The music ended. Lord Varin bowed, and I swept a curtsy.

“Would you care to dance again, my lady?” he asked, still holding my hand.

I withdrew, shaking my head with an apologetic smile. I couldn’t afford to dance with him twice, not without knowing what signal it would send. “My thanks for your generosity. But I’ve not yet had a chance to meet the rest of the court.”

“I understand.” Varin bowed again. “I’m certain your Grace will have no lack of partners.”

The courtiers were already descending like pigeons eager for crumbs. I could feel their beady eyes on me, bright with curiosity.

I would have to be careful here. Every dance mattered. Every song was an alliance. And I was practically alone in a foreign court. I couldn’t afford to make any enemies.

I glanced towards the dais. Aric was still reading, glowering at the page as if the book had personally offended him. But his captain was watching me, her face a storm.

Never mind that. I couldn’t afford to make any more enemies. I already had two—and all I had done was arrive.

Back in my chambers, hours that felt like an eternity later, I dismissed Julieta the moment she finished helping me undress. Normally I might have asked her to stay, to talk over the disaster of this entire day. But the hour was late, and I was too exhausted to do anything but brood. I watched the door close behind her, swept the room with my gaze to confirm I was alone, and dropped my head into my hands with a groan.

The bureau’s polished wood pressed hard against my elbows. I closed my eyes, a fledgling headache fluttering at my temples. Outside, the rain had intensified; drops pattered against the windows, obscuring the dark woods beyond.

Three hours of dancing with courtiers whose names and faces blurred together. I’d kept my careful mask in place the entire time, spoken polite inanities until the words threatened to blend into nonsense, made certain not to dance with anyone twice. As far as balls went, it had been a success. Most of the courtiers were far easier to talk to than Aric; the majority were friendly enough, some outright welcoming. One lady had expressed delight that Damaria and Gildenheim had finally agreed on a formal alliance; another lord had offered the hope that the court might see more of both myself and my betrothed after the marriage, leading me to wonder again at how Aric had spent most of the evening ignoring the court—perhaps I wasn’t the only one he’d snubbed in this manner in the past. In short, I’d done well for myself and had successfully laid the groundwork to secure alliances.

And yet the first dance, the one that mattered most—at that, I had somehow failed.

Aric clearly resented me. He’d angered me, too, it was true, but that was because he’d openly insulted me. I had ample reason to nurse a grudge; his outright coldness was a different breed of distaste. It made no sense to me. He was the one who had demanded a treaty with Damaria. He was the reason this match was arranged. And yet now that I’d arrived, he acted as if I were an imposition. As if I’d offended him, when the offense was all on his part. I’d done nothing but perform my duty.

Well—that, and hidden a dagger up my sleeve. But self-defense in a strange land was understandable. Surely he’d have done the same had our situations been reversed. Although the close-fitting style of Gilden sleeves would make it more difficult—

I cut myself off. My thoughts were rambling to hide my fears: that my sister and Catalina’s concerns had been well placed. That Aric was a cruel king and would prove a cruel husband. That I should never have agreed to this marriage in the first place.

I raised my head to look at myself in the mirror. Released from its pins, my hair curled around my face in dark waves. I looked strained, tired, but I was no monster from a children’s tale. I wasn’t renowned for my beauty—as if that really mattered anyway—but I couldn’t find anything about my features that should offend Aric.

They certainly hadn’t offended Catalina.

For a moment, I allowed myself to think of Catalina’s calloused hands and warm skin, calling up the old memories. Though almost ten years had passed, though I’d tried to forget, I vividly remembered the way our mouths fit together. The idea of physical pleasure, of just feeling wanted, was alluring, especially after Aric’s coldness.

If Aric had a lover, why shouldn’t I? The thought was a bitter flash of rage, quick and violent as lightning. For a moment, vindictiveness coursed through me.

But rationality intervened almost as soon as the notion crystallized. Even if attempting to remake what I’d broken was anything other than the most foolish, selfish impulse, I couldn’t sleep with someone else to punish Aric. No—I would be better than my betrothed. I would uphold my end of our agreement, regardless of what Aric decided to do. If he chose dishonor, he could choose it alone.

Besides, Catalina was engaged herself, and happier without me—of that I was certain. There was no going back, and it would be cruel to try.

I sighed. Tatiana’s locket glinted in the mirror, and I ran a finger over its filigreed surface.

Only two weeks ago, when I’d signed my name to the treaty, I’d been so certain it was the right decision. I hadn’t counted on a husband who hated me at first sight. Even worse, a husband who already had a lover.

But then why had he wanted a wife to begin with, if he already had a lover at court? Why rush into wedlock with someone he’d never met before he’d even been crowned? And it was a rush—couldn’t he at least allow a few days for us to get to know one another?

It must be a show of power. That was the only explanation I could think of. After all, our betrothal had been part of the treaty negotiations; Aric had laid out his demand for a Damarian spouse in the same document that called for expanding the lumber trade. He had never wanted to love me, or even to give me a chance. He’d only wanted to expand his power. It explained why everything had been so hasty, why he hadn’t even requested to meet me before the treaty was signed and didn’t care to even pretend at courtship now.

Maybe it didn’t even matter who I was because he’d never intended to go through with the wedding.

For the first time, I wondered if that had been his plan. Perhaps his intention all along had been to provoke war and lay claim to as much of Damaria’s assets as he could seize. It would explain his dislike of me: he’d never intended to marry me, yet I’d shown up anyway. Now I was an obstacle.

Fear rose in my throat, as familiar as bile. I hadn’t counted on this complication. What if my parents were right, and I wasn’t strong enough to see this through?

I took a deep breath and closed my fingers around Tatiana’s locket. I could do this. I had to. If I was right about the reason for Aric’s hostility, then it was even more important that I go through with the wedding. I couldn’t back down and give him an excuse for war. I couldn’t let him win.

I must marry him. Whatever the cost.