Aloysius suddenly appeared at Leopold’s shoulder. “Your Royal Highness. Your Royal Highness,” he added, spotting Euphemia. “And…Mademoiselle Trépas,” he said, squinting to ascertain my identity under the mask. “We’re beginning to line up for the king’s entrance.”
With efficiency, Aloysius led us through the crowd, guiding us out a side door I’d never before noticed and leading us through a maze of halls until we arrived at an intimate parlor just off the ballroom, steps from the grand staircase.
Marnaigne was already there, dressed in a fine suit of amber wool. A cape, black velvet with ermine trim, hung from his shoulders, suspended by a massive chain of gold medallions. Bright tourmalines, as pale as freshly churned butter, winked from their centers, and he was again wearing the Imperial Crown. His face glowed with a wide smile, and I could hardly believe he was the same man who’d put a family to death hours before.
“Your Majesty,” I murmured, and dipped into a low curtsy.
“Hazel! How well you look this evening. Lovely, lovely,” he praised me approvingly.
“What about me, Papa?” Euphemia asked, racing into his arms.
“You?” he asked, hoisting her into the air and spinning heraround so that her full skirts flew out in a flurry of ruffles. “I’m afraid to admit I don’t know who you are!”
Euphemia tore away her mask, mussing her coiled hair and laughing with delight. “It’s me!” Her cheeks were red and her eyes burned bright with the evening’s excitement.
“So it is!” he exclaimed. “You look so wonderfully grown-up and sophisticated, I hardly recognized you.”
“If I’m so very grown-up now, may I stay at the party longer? For three dances? Please? Look!” She held up her wrist, allowing her father to skim over Leopold’s and my initials.
“Two dances claimed already!” he marveled. “I suppose I need to secure my spot before someone else tries to take it, hmm?” With bold strokes, he scrawled his name upon her first dance before setting her down. “Hazel, I do want to make sure to have a moment with you as well. Which dance would you prefer?”
Before I could stop him, the king took up my wrist and opened the booklet.
“Why, it’s nearly full already!” he exclaimed, laughter booming from his chest. “Though I’m not surprised in the least. Actually…it seems your whole night has been claimed….” He paused, scanning the list. I could tell the exact moment he noticed that the dances had been claimed by the same set of initials. His gaze snapped to Leopold, standing in the corner, chatting with Aloysius. “I see.”
Marnaigne turned his attention back to me, his eyes running over my gown and up to Bellatrice’s headdress of stars pinned in my hair, and I knew exactly what he saw: a girl playing at dress-up, a little nothing plucked from the depths of the Gravia, suddenly elevated to heights beyond all expectation. It didn’t matter that I’d saved him; it didn’t matter that he continued to rely on me.
I wasn’t who he wanted for his son.
And in the end, that was all that mattered.
“His Royal Highness was far too kind and terribly exuberant,” I said with a light smile, trying to mend the damage I saw playing out over Marnaigne’s face. It wasn’t anger, not yet, but it was coming. I needed to divert the rage before it broke. I needed to smooth everything over, show him it was a simple misunderstanding, assure him there was nothing to worry over. “My…my third dance is open. I would be most honored to share it with you, René.”
I used his given name on purpose, hoping to remind him that he liked me, that he trusted me. I wanted him to remember all the time we’d spent together, all the ways I’d helped him. But he dropped my hand, letting the dance card sway between us, treacherous as a snake.
“This will not happen,” he hissed, leaning in so that only I was shocked by the sudden vitriol in his tone. His words burned like acid. “Do you understand me, healer? He is not for you. If you don’t put a stop to this”—he swiped at the dance card, tearing it from its ribbon, and it landed open upon the carpet, revealing the long line of Leopold’s initials—“I’ll put a stop to you.”
“Your Majesty…,” I beseeched, tongue-tied and fumbling, but his attention snapped to Bellatrice as she entered the room, wafting in on her cloud of perfume. Her eyes had a far-off, dreamy look, and I worried she’d already begun sampling the champagne. Or something even stronger.
“You’re late,” he snapped.
She started to laugh and then hiccupped. “It’s impossible for me to be late. We’re the hosts of this grand affair.”
“I wanted you here ten minutes ago, and instead Aloysius had to track you down like a bloodhound, like you were nothing more than a common criminal—Whatare you wearing?”
Leopold’s eyes darted to mine.What is going on?he mouthed.
I couldn’t do anything but frown.
Bellatrice glanced at her dress, lingering at the forked tongue of the snake between her breasts. “Oh, this?” She spun in a circle. “Do you like it?”
Before King Marnaigne could start in on his eldest, Euphemia grabbed his hand and gently swung their arms back and forth.
“Is it almost time for the dancing, Papa?” she asked, looking up at him, her expression hopeful and guileless.
The entire room seemed to freeze, waiting for the king’s response.
Finally, a smile returned to his lips, and I wanted to hug the princess.
