A Wicked Thing (14 page)

One of the court ladies, Alexandra, slipped her arm through Aurora's and turned her aside. “Such a lovely play,” she said. “Did you see the like often, in the past?”

“Not often,” Aurora said. “I was not allowed to leave my tower much, and my father would not invite actors to the castle. They travel so much that it's impossible to keep track of who they really are.”

“And of course, they are the masters of pretense,” Alexandra said. “Any actor who isn't would not be worth seeing.” She smiled.

“Perhaps you should be an actress, Alexandra.” Finnegan
had appeared behind them. “A beauty like you.”

Alexandra leaned closer to Aurora. “Shall we ignore him?” she whispered. “Nothing is more likely to infuriate him than a little silence.”

“Ignore me? Why would you do such a terrible thing? Surely the princess is too kindhearted for that. All I want is your adoration.”

“I'm afraid that all my adoration is spent on Rodric,” Aurora said. “You'll have to rely on Alexandra, and she doesn't seem inclined to give it.”

“You wound me, the both of you.” He pressed a hand on his heart, as though they had stabbed him there. “I'll leave if you wish, but know you'll be torturing me, as I imagine all the things you are saying behind my back.”

Alexandra only curtsied, and Finnegan bowed and walked away.

“Infuriating man,” Alexandra said. She didn't criticize him the way Iris did, full of barely controlled loathing. She smiled as she spoke, sounding almost amused.

Aurora arranged her features into the most innocent expression she could muster. “You don't like him?”

“Oh, I like him fine enough,” Alexandra said. “But you can't let him think that. It's much more fun to let him think we dislike him. It will only infuriate him, and make him try harder for our approval.”

Aurora doubted that Finnegan was under any illusion about
how much Alexandra liked him.

“I hear he is engaged to Princess Isabelle.”

Alexandra wafted a hand through the air. “For now,” she said. “Who knows how these things will turn out?” She sighed, and her grip on Aurora's elbow tightened. “It must be so nice to have everything laid out for you. To marry Rodric, and know it is the right thing. Nothing can go wrong. Are you excited for the engagement presentation tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Aurora said. “Excited, and nervous.”

“Don't be nervous,” Alexandra said. “It's all been decided, hasn't it? You know how things will go. And it's all so romantic.”

“Yes,” Aurora said. “It is very romantic.”

“Alexandra!” A group of three ladies called from across the room. “Come play whist with us. We need another person to make up the table!”

Alexandra glanced at Aurora. “But the princess—”

“Go,” Aurora said. “I don't mind. Besides, if you are busy on a full card table, Finnegan won't have a chance to talk to you. It's perfect.”

Alexandra smiled. “If you're sure—”

“Of course,” Aurora said. “Make him mad with envy.”

Alexandra curtsied and glided across the room. Aurora lingered where they had been standing, casting around for Rodric or another familiar face. The prince had been pulled into conversation on the other side of the room, the king beside him. Aurora did not want to interrupt. But before she could find
another option, Finnegan was beside her again.

“You did not fancy putting together a card set, Princess?”

“And miss the opportunity to talk to you? Your words to me during the play were so delightful.”

“The play did lack a little something, didn't it? I couldn't quite put my finger on it.”

“Perhaps it lacked silence,” Aurora said. “I hear that was meant to be the point.” She turned away, bristling with annoyance. He was so confident, so smug. Yet the most frustrating thing was that she almost enjoyed talking to him. She had never met anyone who annoyed her before, who made it their goal to get under her skin.

“No, what I think it lacked was realism,” Finnegan said. “Although I suppose that suits this place. I often think that Alyssinia's courtiers would make excellent actors themselves.”

“And you?”

“Oh, Princess,” he said. “I do believe it's my specialty.”

AS SHE GOT READY THE NEXT MORNING, EVERY ONE
of Aurora's muscles screamed the same word at her, over and over: run.

I could do it
, she thought, as Betsy tugged in her waist and straightened her skirts.
I could run.
Tristan had offered her a way out. She could leave the castle behind, hide out in the inn, and never worry about fate or duty or promised love again. Until she was caught, at least. Until his rebels murdered everyone in the castle. Until the king's men fought back or the whole kingdom descended into civil war. Her stomach lurched, and she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth to hold back the wave
of nausea that rushed through her. She could not leave. The risk was too great.

Rodric waited in a large chamber, empty except for a single table and mirrors along one wall. He blushed when he saw her, and his hand jerked up to rub the skin behind his ear. “Princess,” he said. She gave him a nod that was almost a curtsy, and he bowed in return. “You look beautiful.” He was a good person, she told herself. But she did not love him, and every beat of her heart thudded through her, telling her that this was wrong, wrong, all wrong.

The queen had given her an old-fashioned dress, with long, flowing sleeves and a tiny lace-up waist. It was something out of a dream, a picture of life as it had been in “the olden days.” Her hair hung loose around her shoulders in a shower of curls. She brushed one back from her face and ducked her head. “Thank you.”

“I brought you something,” he said. “A gift. For our engagement.” He pulled a necklace out of his pocket and held it up. A chain of diamonds, running in a loop and then dropping down to a star that glittered in the light. It looked like a jewel snatched from a treasure trove, ancient and magnificent. Clearly an heirloom. Had the queen told him to give it to her? “Do—do you like it?”

“Yes,” she said, all far-off, perfected politeness. “It's wonderful. But I cannot accept it.”

“Nonsense.” The queen swept into the room. Her hair was
piled on her head in a bunch of elaborate twists, decorated with tiny glints that might have been diamonds too. “It will suit you.”

“May I?” Rodric said. Aurora nodded. With a gentle hand, he lifted her hair. A few strands tumbled down to scratch her neck. He placed the necklace around her throat and fumbled with the clasp. Not so much as a whisper of his skin touched hers. The chain was heavy and cold, dragging her shoulders forward and pressing on her already tight chest. When Rodric released her hair, it tickled her skin.

“Let me have a look at you,” the queen said. She grabbed Aurora's hands and held them out in front of her so she could scrutinize every crease and curl. She raised her arms higher, so that Aurora had to stretch up on tiptoe like a dancing doll. “Perfect. The people will love you.” She tightened her hold on Aurora's hands, as though trying to squeeze every last drop of beauty out of her. Aurora fought back a wince. “Smile, my dear, and everything will be fine.” A threat nestled in the words.

The queen released her hands, and Aurora's heels dropped to the ground.

“Rodric, do you remember the speech I gave you?”

The prince nodded. His skin had turned pale.

“Good.” The queen looked as smooth and unruffled as ever, but tension darted through her features as she turned away. “I have a couple of final things to attend to. A guard will fetch you when we are ready.” She marched away without another word, leaving Rodric and Aurora alone.

Aurora followed the edge of her necklace with her fingertips, following the cut of the jewels. Every nerve stood on edge, and her breaths did not seem to fill her lungs. At least the ceremony would be outside, away from these stern walls. Rodric shifted from foot to foot, his mouth running through his speech, lips tracing the same words over and over until Aurora felt dizzy watching him. Her legs itched to run. She clutched her skirts in her fists to steady the shaking, forcing back the threatening tears with a gulp of air.

“Prince Rodric, Princess Aurora?” A man in a bright-red uniform stood by the door. “Please come with me.” She glanced back at Rodric. He looked almost green with nerves, but he nodded once and held out his arm to her. She rested her hand over his elbow, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. She was not sure she could walk forward alone.

The guard hurried them down corridors and around to the front entrance of the castle, the place where Aurora had been presented to the people. The hum of the crowd grew louder and louder with every step, and over it, the king spoke in his booming, jovial voice. The words bounced off the walls, blurring together into meaningless cheer.

The guard led them toward an alcove to the left of the main doors, tucked out of sight. The space was so narrow that Aurora could almost feel Rodric's chest rise and fall beside her. Beyond the open doors, she could hear the crowd, thousands of voices muttering and cheering and pressing in, all there to catch
another glimpse of their precious princess.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“They love you,” Rodric said under his breath. Was he talking to himself or to her? The lie cut into her, and something like panic bubbled up in her throat. They could not love her. No one could, not here, not really. Not the prince, not the crowd, not anyone. They were all deceived, by her face or her silence or their own desires. Her whole body tingled, as if tiny needles were diving into every inch of her skin.

She reached out and clutched Rodric's hand. He squeezed, his fingers warm around hers. She tightened her hold until her knuckles strained white, but he did not let go.

“Aurora—” Rodric began, but the guard stepped forward before he could finish the thought.

“It is time,” he said. He ushered them out of the alcove, sweeping them toward the doors. They paused on the threshold as a fanfare blared and a herald stepped ahead of them.

“Presenting Prince Rodric and Princess Aurora.”

The crowd roared in approval, and Aurora and Rodric walked through the doors, hands clutched together. People clambered on the walls and sat on roofs, shouting and cheering and waving banners that whirled in a flash of color. Aurora stretched her lips into a smile so wide that her face felt it might tear in two. The frenzy of excitement snatched her breath away, and she looked down at the stone steps, struggling to steady her spinning head. She felt sick with the lie of it.

Keep smiling.
She sank into a curtsy, her head bowed, and the roar increased. Her eyes skimmed over the crowd, trying to take in the eager faces, the delighted grins. One woman was not smiling. Tall and thin, with long blonde hair and a familiar, heart-shaped face. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to burn into Aurora's skin. Aurora took a step backward, slipping on the smooth stone.

Rodric tugged on her hand, and the shouts of the crowd broke through the haze, rattling in her ears. Her lips ached, like two fingers were yanking them apart.

“Kiss her!” shouted a boy. The crowd laughed and cheered in approval, and soon the cry had been taken up by every voice. “Kiss the princess!”

Rodric's smile was almost apologetic, and his face burned as pink as ever. Hundreds of eyes seemed to scald Aurora's cheeks, and she knew the queen's were among them, judging their performance. Aurora's heart constricted, each frantic pound screaming
run
,
run
,
run
, but she had nowhere to go. The moment lingered on. She could not leave, could not turn her head away, but neither could she bring herself to stand up on tiptoe and touch her lips to his, declaring their love for everyone to see.

Slowly, Rodric pressed a shaking hand against her cheek. It was hot—or maybe that was her own blushing skin—and then his lips brushed hers.

She closed her eyes and counted the seconds. Her heartbeat did not slow, and the roar of the crowd did not fade.

One. Two. Three.

An explosion rocked the courtyard. The cheering turned to screams. Aurora, her ears ringing, leapt away from the sound in time to see a spray of golden sparks bursting from a shell on one side of the steps. The thing skidded across the stones, spitting fire. The crowd squealed and shoved one another to get away, but Aurora did not move, her eyes fixed on the flame. It burned like panic, like fever, cutting through the numbness in her fingertips.

The shell exploded again, louder than the first time, and the sparks were blinding red. Aurora screamed this time too and leapt backward. The sparks burned into the stone a few feet from where she stood.

Another explosion came from behind her. People screamed again, and Rodric grabbed her hand, pulling her back to the castle. Guards poured out of every crevice, seeming to step out of the air itself. They pulled out their swords, and people scrambled farther away as they caught the glint of the steel.

“Fireworks in honor of this joyous day!” The cry carried over the chaos, echoing from somewhere in the very midst of the crowd. The guards plunged toward the voice, shoving people out of the way. Some leapt back from the gleam of the blades, but at the back of the square, others pushed closer to watch the show. The crowd jostled back and forth, rippling and buzzing, elbows flailing. A girl fell in front of a guard. He kicked her in the stomach and drew his leg back again to toss her aside.

“Stop!”

Rodric's grip on Aurora's hand slackened, and she wrenched herself free. She ran forward, down the steps, and grasped the guard by the arm. “Stop!”

The guard swung his blade. She jerked back, and the tip caught her side, cutting through her dress as if it were air. In the time it took the guard to blink, the square went still. No one screamed; no one struggled. No one moved at all, except for Aurora. She collapsed onto the hard cobbles. The guard stared at her, horror spreading across his face. Red stained the corset of her dress. She pressed her fingers over the wound. Hot blood pulsed between them. The world twisted sideways. She raised her fingers in front of her face and stared at the blood, bright red against the whiteness of her skin. It dripped down the palm of her hand, stroking her wrist and disappearing under her sleeve. Blood burned in her ears. It raced through her fingertips.

She pushed herself to her feet. Everything was distorted, faraway, except for the red.

A hand grabbed her arm. “Princess!” Rodric said. “Come on.” She pulled her arm away, but he did not let go, so she spun around and shoved his shoulder backward, anger racing up out of nowhere. Another explosion, loud and fiery red, burst around them. The prince jumped backward, his feet dancing away from the scorched stone. His hair smelled of smoke.

Her whole body shook. A bright red handprint stuck to his tunic. She clutched the spot on her arm where he had held her.
That would be stained too. It was only a little blood, she knew that, she knew, but she felt like it was spilling all over her, staining every little patch of skin. For a wild moment, she wanted to smear it over her face, hide that oh-so-beloved beauty under a taste of her messy insides.

Rodric stared at her, his eyes wide, as though seeing her for the first time.

“That's right,” she said. “You don't know me.” She could not tell if he heard her. She did not care. The fire was in her veins now, all that tension, all the fear, pounding and chasing and burning through her.

“Princess, please forgive me. I didn't know—” The guard moved forward, but several others grabbed him, jolting him to a halt. Aurora stared at his desperate face, her lips slightly parted. As quickly as it had come, the strength and wildness dropped out of her, and she swayed. The world spun. She shook her head. “Are you all right?” she asked the girl she had rushed to save. The girl was standing up now, pressing backward into the crowd. When she looked at Aurora, her eyes were full of fear.

“It'll be all right,” Aurora said, but the girl's eyes flickered between Aurora's bloodstained dress and the scorch marks below Rodric's feet, and she stumbled back again, as though anything would be better than facing Aurora in this moment.

Off to her left, the blonde woman still watched her. Her eyes were filled with hunger.

Another shout echoed over the crowd. “Long live the Useless Prince and his Bloodstained Bride. May they sleep together always.”

She knew that voice. She turned, searching the crowd, even as the guards swept them backward again. Another hand—she did not know whose—grabbed her and tried to lead her up the steps, but she refused to turn. Not until she saw.

He was perched on a roof at the very edge of the square, watching. Their eyes met.

Tristan nodded and ducked away.