The queen looked down at her daughter. “I know, but it is as you said. He will. Now go on your way, and be quick about it.”
Clía did as she was told.
Nobles paraded about the throne room, their jewels glittering, gleaming gowns flowing to the floor, and jackets embroideredwith rich gold thread winking in the light. Hands brushed against her arms, urging her to pause and talk with them for just a moment. The conversations were always had with smiles, but ambition curled around every word. She could never trust that someone wanted to get to know her, rather than simply wanted to get ahead.
Everything was too loud. Too harsh. Toomuch. She longed for an escape she knew she could never have. Her every step on the marble floor rang in her ears. The nobles would hear those steps. She evened out her pace, straightened her back, and transformed herself into a picture of confidence as she navigated the floor with calculated grace.
“Did you see what Chief MacSeáin wore—”
“I heard Lady Kallista was seen—”
“Chief Barra still hasn’t responded—”
Clashing conversations bounced off the walls. She urged herself to focus. People revealed surprising things when they believed no one was listening.
She had secrets of her own, wrapped tightly around her heart, protected by silk gowns and diamond necklaces. She wore beauty like armor. Shielding her from the verbal arrows thrown across ballrooms and guiding glances to where she wanted them to land.
“The flautist is so talented.” Lady Brigid’s voice came from a few feet away, where she stood smiling at Chief Ó Connor. “Please ask the queen who they are. I must have them perform at my next ball.”
“Of course.” He gave her a tight smile in return, and Clía stepped in to rescue him.
“Hello, Chief. Lady Brigid.” She nodded to them both.
“Your Highness, it is an honor.” The lady lowered herself into a quick curtsey. “I was just telling Chief Ó Connor how wonderful this party is. Tell me, you must be so excited about Prince Domhnall’s visit.”
“I am. I have been looking forward to today for so long.” People often preferred a lie as long as it was therightlie.
Society was full of unspoken, often contradictory rules that changed with the weather. She had never understood it, but she’d learned to pretend. She taught herself to look for when her words pleased and when they upset. After years of practice, she knew how to be exactly what they wanted her to be, and she was excellent at donning the mask.
Lady Brigid’s smile grew wider, and Clía knew she’d said the right thing. There was almost a sense of pride at picking the right words and knowing she was playing the role well.
“If you don’t mind, the queen wishes to speak with Chief Ó Connor for a moment.” Clía offered her an apologetic look. Growing up in court, Clía had the benefit of frequent exposure to the Álainndoran nobility, allowing her to learn each individual lord’s, lady’s, and lísoir’s preferences and quirks. Lady Brigid responded best to polite confidence, and she was always quick to bow to the whims of the queen.
“Of course.” The noblewoman nodded. “However, before I go—your gown is beautiful; may I ask who made it?”
“Thank you. It was a combined effort of two of the palace tailors, Maura and Sárait.” It pained Clía to give Maura credit when she and Sárait had nearly remade the dress from scratch, but she knew better than to reveal her interest in dressmakingwith the nobility. It was below her, as her mother so often reminded her.
“Well, they are incredibly skilled. If only I could get my tailor to make such stunning dresses.” Lady Brigid sighed longingly before leaving after one final curtsey.
“Thank you for the rescue,” Ó Connor said. “Before you interrupted, she had been discussing the wall sconces for over ten minutes.”
“Wall sconces are a crucial element to any room. They help establish the atmosphere.” Ó Connor shot Clía a look as if afraid she would begin her own ten-minute monologue, and she stopped herself from rolling her eyes. A princess must be demure; she couldn’t be seen mocking a chief. And in the crowded throne room, anyone could be watching. Really, everyone was watching. “My mother really is looking for you.”
“Then let’s not keep Her Majesty waiting.” Ó Connor gestured for her to lead the way.
Just as Clía and Ó Connor reached the dais, the doors to the throne room opened with a thud. The noise rushed down Clía’s spine, and a hush fell over the nobility. Ó Connor stepped behind her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents turn to face the front of the room.
The crowds of the court parted to reveal Prince Domhnall, a troop of warriors surrounding him. He strode purposefully toward the dais, nobles bowing as he passed. When he stood only a few feet away from Clía and her parents, he stopped and lowered himself into a deep and elegant bow.
Clía let her eyes settle on her future betrothed. Domhnall looked good despite having traveled for two days. To anyoneelse, it might seem as if not a hair was out of place, but Clía saw the way he straightened his doublet. The fit and fabric were fine; it didn’t need adjusting. He was nervous.
When he rose, Clía waited for Domhnall to look her way, to offer a smile or a nod as he had done so many times before. But his focus was fixed on the king and queen. A cold sense of unease settled in her.
“Prince Domhnall, we welcome you to our home.” Queen Eithne’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “How is your father? And your sister, Princess Aoife?”
She played the part of a concerned friend well, but the Scáilcan king had neglected to reply to her mother’s last three invitations to visit the court with Domhnall. Only a week ago, Clía had overheard her mother mutter how she assumed the man “must be on his deathbed” for how foolish he was making them look.
“They are fine, Your Grace.” Domhnall tucked his hands behind his back, head held high. “My father sends his regrets. He had wished to join me on this visit, but kingdom matters required his attention.”
