He felt the mark burning into his skin, searing his flesh and making the dragon inside him roar with dissatisfaction. But he could do nothing to stop it. He’d heard of these sorts of marks before. A hunter’s mark—one that could allow a hunter to track their quarry.
“A bit of insurance. You understand. Can’t have you escape and get away before you’ve performed.” Then, to the person who’d branded him, he said, “Take him away.”
8
Aristea’s carriage came to a halt outside Duke Mattison’s rented town house, but she didn’t move to exit. She shouldn’t be out during her grieving period. Any connections she might make would be sullied by conflicting with the practiced traditions. But how could she possibly strengthen relationships without speaking to them? A year was too long to wait. She had to attend events like this, no matter the scandal. But it wasn’t just the mourning veil troubling her. Aristea hadn’t realized how serious Mother was about her courting the duke until she’d brought it up at dinner last night. Of all the petty things that bothered Aristea, the worst infraction was his age. He was at least twenty years her senior. Aristea wasn’t young anymore. Approaching thirty and reputed to be barren, even as heir to an empire, marriage candidates were always going to be slim.
Because you cannot rule on your own. Heinrich’s words taunted her.
Delaying her exit was holding up the line of gilded carriages behind her. Duke Mattison hadn’t lied. She recognized many family crests of the city’s elite as her carriage circled the block. Anyone with eyes knew what he was after. Aristea was just so tired of this game. She was much too old for it now. She watched young girls, in their best brocades and silks, giggling behind their decorative fans as they climbed the steps of the town house. Had she ever been so young and naive? Maybe not quite that naive. She’d been engaged young, and apart from a short daydream about Jonathan, she’d never held delusions of her life being hers to choose. Which she’d preferred at first.
But ever since Heinrich died, questions long buried had started creeping up, chipping away at the foundation of her carefully crafted life.
The rules said she shouldn’t be out. But her goals superseded propriety. Aristea rubbed her temples as she felt a headache coming on. No point in delaying any further. And yet she still hadn’t moved.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Half the court cheered his death, many of them his supposed allies. He wasn’t well-liked, even by those closest to him. It was what he’d represented—the legitimacy of a man’s claim was stronger than a woman’s. But she knew she could change their minds, as Mother had. She’d changed the rules being the first empress, and with the church’s backing, she’d carved out a new empire. But now the church was too preoccupied with Liane to support her rule. Aristea shook her head. She couldn’t begrudge Liane; she hadn’t chosen this fate. They all had their roles to play, Liane within the Church of Sol, Aristea as head of the empire, and Mathias, their younger brother... he was risking life and limb to uncover the elven plot. She could withstand a little embarrassment to help secure the empire’s position. If the elves were planning an attack, they needed allies like Sundland. Mother was right to send her.
The coachman rapped on the door. “Your majesty, do you wish to exit, or shall I drive around one more time?”
He was being exceedingly kind, even though they’d already circled the street several times. She was beyond fashionably late and starting to border on rude.
“That won’t be necessary,” she called.
Through the gap in her curtains, she could see the footman waiting to open the door and the coachman standing back, rubbing his neck. Aristea straightened her black veil and smoothed out her dress before pulling back the curtain to nod that they could proceed. The door swung open, and those few courtiers lingering on the steps turned as if their heads were on swivels. Aristea stepped out of her carriage, back held ramrod straight, and descended the steps. Courtiers bowed as she passed by, dipping their heads low in respect. But as soon as her back was turned, the buzz of whispers followed. It was fine. Let them talk. The fate of the empire mattered more than petty gossip. Aristea gritted her teeth as she passed through the crowded foyer, sailing past the lined-up courtiers waiting to be announced.
In the seconds before she was announced, Aristea scanned the ballroom. For having only been in Artria for a little over a month, Duke Mattison had amassed quite a network. She noticed the Sundland ambassador and his daughter squabbling in the corner. And apart from the ambassador, she saw many more of the largest and most powerful families in Neolyra, some of whom she hadn’t even realized were in Artria for the summer. There were a few unfamiliar faces in the crowd as well, perhaps merchants or guild masters. The music paused to proclaim her arrival. And though she’d stepped into a hundred rooms before with all eyes on her, it still made her stomach flutter. The specter of Heinrich’s taunts rang in her ear. Don’t linger too long. They’ll think you’re vain. Don’t walk so stiffly. You look cold and unapproachable. Even through a shroud of black lace and Heinrich’s past criticisms ringing in her ears, she smiled as she entered the ballroom.
Several dukes, leaders of the principalities that made up the empire, were in attendance. There were two factions among them—those who’d supported her mother during the rebellion and those who’d sided with the rebels. Outside of official royal functions, high holidays, and council meetings, they didn’t mingle. But there were representatives from both sides in attendance tonight, which was shocking. They stood on opposite sides of the room, glaring at one another over their brandy glasses. But no knives had been drawn, which felt like a miracle in itself. Since Heinrich died, she’d been trying to appease his faction, but none had come calling. She decided to favor a trio of Heinrich’s former favorites first. Among them was their quasi-leader, Duke Krantz. An ancient man with a long scruffy mustache and a gruff temperament, he wasn’t one she could approach directly, as he was a stickler for tradition. Normally, she would have spoken with his wife, the duchess, but Aristea didn’t see her in attendance.
Aristea approached, and they greeted her with a bow.
“Your majesty,” they murmured.
“My lords.” She nodded, then turned to their wives, one of whom she’d matched with one of Heinrich’s allies in an attempt to heal the rift. “Duchess Baumstein, it looks as if marriage is treating you well.”
“Thank you, your majesty.” She dipped her head, accepting her compliment. But she did not engage Aristea in conversation as she normally would have.
A long lull in conversation followed, and Aristea felt the strain of it as if it were a weight upon her chest.
“A lovely night, is it not? And Duke Mattison is a gracious host,” Aristea remarked.
“It is, your majesty,” said the woman’s companion, a lady Aristea had seen around court but never been introduced to. Perhaps her sister or cousin?
No one else spoke. And the tense silence hung in the air. The dukes continued their conversation as if she weren’t there at all. The way they had done it when Heinrich had been alive. She hadn’t thought about how much she relied on him until he was gone.
“And how is your husband, Lady Herberger?” Aristea said, trying to press on with making small talk, no matter how painful, looking sidelong at said husband, who’d turned his back on her.
“Well,” Lady Herberger replied.
Aristea wasn’t the type to fidget. She had trained herself to keep perfectly still and poised. But uncertainty pricked her, and she wished she could tap her foot or wring her hands in this moment. The awkward silence was painful. This went beyond the impropriety of her being out while in mourning black. She expected gossip and private condemnation, but not this cold shoulder she was receiving. She was the future empress. Were they really so bold as to ice her out? Unless they didn’t think she’d become empress. Did they know something she didn’t? Aristea tried to push away those thoughts and pressed onward.
“It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I would love to have you visit for a luncheon and hear more about your life as a wife,” Aristea said.
“Thank you, your majesty,” Lady Herberger replied.
Aristea knew a dismissal, and rather than prolong her suffering, she made up an excuse to get away. She was glad for the veil, which hid her face from view, because her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
None of them ever liked you. They all thought you were a stuck-up snob. Remember? Heinrich’s ghost whispered in her ear.
