I turn toward the source of the light and meet the figure of a tall boy barely illuminated by the fire. Atoc’s smelly cousin. I groan.
“Are you wearing—” Rumi squints at me, moving the torch closer to me. “Are you deranged? You’re not supposed to wear everything at once.”
“I’m cold,” I snap, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to head downstairs,” Rumi says. “Congratulations. You get to be in a parade.”
I sit up, fumbling beneath my layers of garments. “What do you mean, a parade?”
Rumi strides to the balcony and throws the doors open. Dawning sunlight floods the room. The sounds of whinnying horses and lively chatter filter inside as I squint at him.
“Atoc decided to announce the engagement with fanfare. Most of the castillo has been awake all night preparing a lavish procession to herald the news throughout La Ciudad. Your dress is arriving any minute.” He pauses, a slight smirk framing his mouth. “It’s very colorful. Lots of ruffles.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and focus on breathing. His smile is unsettling because I know it means something else. An insult. Judgment.
“Get out of bed.”
“Un minuto.”
“You don’t have a minute,” he says coldly. “We need to go. Ahora.”
My hands itch for something to throw at his head. Instead I curl them as I look for my boots. Everything from the day before comes back to me in a rush: the ride to the castillo, Sofía, meeting Atoc, that frigid bath.
I start taking off the extra clothes but pause when I register his eyes widening. I turn away, surprised at the warmth spreading to my cheeks. I’ve never had a boy in my room before. Catalina had her flirtations among the aristócratas, but nothing ever came from those coy exchanges. I’d had no flirtations, coy or otherwise. It seemed cruel, considering my job. Why reach for a future that couldn’t be counted on? Why give in to a longing that’ll only cause pain? No one would really be flirting withme,but the condesa they thought I was. I am a decoy first. I trained, pretended to be Catalina, and tried to make Ana proud. That has been and will be my life until I can finally take my mask off and be me—Ximena.
“How could you possibly have fallen asleep in all that?” Rumi mutters. He’s leaning against the wall, holding on to the flickering torch. Whatever shadows remain in the brightening room dance across his face. His clothing is a watered-down version of Atoc’s from the day before, a well-made tunic of quality cotton, dark pants, and leather sandals. The faint smell of wet dirt and burnt ragweed attacks my senses. Does he everwashhis clothes?
Rumi lifts the corner of his mouth, as if my discomfort amuses him. I ignore him, and quickly step out of a skirt and pull the extra two tunics off.
The same girl who took the rest of my clothes the night before enters—without knocking—and holds up a dress that’s yards long and outfitted in every color of the rainbow. It’s clear the previous owner was taller than me since pollera skirts are supposed to stop at the ankles. Delicate white lace lines the hem, and I spot several ruffles decorating the short sleeves. All in all, the entire ensemble reminds me of the jam-filled pastries my mother used to buy in La Ciudad when I was a child. Puffed up and frilly. Catalina would have loved it.
“Do you need help dressing?” the girl asks stiffly.
“No,” I say as Rumi says, “Yes.”
I glare at him. He merely smiles again and leaves, calling over his shoulder, “Juan Carlos will take you outside. You have ten minutes.”
That bastard. Hewantedto wake me, wanted to see my expression while he gave me the news about the parade. I’m still fuming as the girl helps me dress, tucking me inside the gown, tying bows, and laying all the ruffles where they ought to be. She pinches my cheeks, adds rouge to my lips, and braids my hair. She hands me leather sandals, and I’m surprised to see they’re a perfect fit. Her doing, most likely, given her satisfied smile.
Apparently pleased with my appearance, she leaves and Juan Carlos steps inside. “Ready, Condesa?”
“In a minute.” I start to make the bed. Some habits are hard to break. Coming back to a clean room always makes me calmer. In control and organized.
The guard stands off to the side, leaning against the wall. He watches me silently fold the sheets, tucking each corner until they sit crisp and flat. I pull the blanket off the floor, finally dry, and smooth it over the bed. The top still needs to be folded down.
“I didn’t expect you to handle chores meant for maids,” Juan Carlos says.
“I think it’s best if you keep your expectations to yourself from now on.”
“Whatever you want.”
The next minute we’re out the door, the guard at my side. I can feel his gaze on me. He keeps pace, and despite Rumi’s command to hurry, this guard doesn’t rush me. I peek up at him. He’s still watching me. I’m amazed how he’s deftly avoiding trampling on a wandering chicken.
“Stop staring at me,” I say through gritted teeth.
He sounds amused. “Sleep well?”
“Fine.”
