Wiping the mud from his face, Percy revealed his identity to the room. He awkwardly shuffled to pick the candelabra back up, then used it for balance when it seemed he might fall over. “My apologies, Your Majesty—I was out for a…a walk…when all of a sudden, this big raincloud…pissed all over me. I fell in the courtyard.”
I sipped my wine, careful not to seem too watchful.
Was this mydoing? Percy might have simply been caught outside in the storm. The rational side of me insisted this must be no more than coincidence; storms happened, and people slipped in mud. The timing was impeccable, but surely there was a more logical explanation.
“And you did not think tochange?” the queen replied, her focus drifting down to his trail of boot prints.
Percy followed her gaze, then went to the tableside. “I was hungry…not thinking straight, I suppose.”
“Did you hit your head, man?” Nicolas chimed in, barely concealing his amusement with false sympathy.
“No, I…” Percy began, and then his eyes cleared up as if he’d just woken from a dream.
Florence coughed quietly from my side, but she didn’t have to clue me into anything. As he looked down, then up, then left and right, and steadily gained a sense of where he was and howsopping wet his clothing had become, I knew that somehow, despite everything I knew to be possible, I was responsible.
“How did I…?” he muttered, confusion saturating his features. His focus snapped to the queen. He straightened in an attempt to regain some dignity. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I shall take my leave.”
As he turned, his belt caught the corner of the table, and in one big, chaotic motion, he pulled the tablecloth away, scattering bowls and plates all across the dining hall, robbing several nobles of their supper. A roasted duck bounced against the tiles, its accompanying root vegetables rolling until they reached the other side of the room. Wine spilled like blood and trailed outward, staining shoes and the bottoms of dresses.
The room erupted into laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. If I could do this with only a whispered intent, what more was I capable of? Such a well of power—it was vast, uncharted, like standing over the edge of an abyss and looking down. A thrill unlike anything I’d ever experienced surged through my veins; I fought to contain it, telling myself that this was a dangerous game…but to come from nothing tothis?
Percy slipped, crashing headfirst into a spilled pudding. It was a nauseating display, a cruel mixture of satisfaction and revulsion battling for dominance inside me. I recoiled at how easy it had been to strip him of his autonomy, to momentarily take control of his will like a vengeful puppeteer.
Magic was more than mere power—it was total dominion over the fates of others. The seizure of destiny. Responsibility for everything and everyone, if I claimed it. The moral vertigo dizzied me, and I set down my drink before it toppled from my tremors.
At last, Percy escaped. Queen Adelaide sighed, leaning back in her seat in an unladylike slouch. She massaged her temples for several moments as the courtiers resumed their fit.
“Has he been sneaking off to the cellars?” she asked, loud enough that anyone in the room could answer. A genuine question, but one that only earned more laughter as they mistook it for a joke. She slammed a fist on the table with one controlled, loud motion that silenced them all in an instant. “Shame on all of you. Clearly something is wrong with the man. He only recently recovered from his sickness.”
The guilt held the courtiers’ tongues, weighting their eyes to the ground.
“I’ll have a physician look him over,” Nicolas offered. His own amusement simmered down as he addressed the court. “My mother is right. We should have sympathy for my dear cousin. He must be unwell, to behave in a manner so possessed.” His eyes met mine. “I have lost my appetite.”
“Indeed,” Queen Adelaide agreed, patting her face with a napkin before rising. Everyone else stood in reluctant solidarity.
I waited to leave until the corridor outside had mostly cleared. Then I took my ladies-in-waiting and my guardsman to the door, carefully stepping around the mud. A crew of servants rushed by with mops and buckets.
I could hardly speak a word on the way to my chambers. No one but Winnie could, as she came between Florence and me with a scowl.
“Cruel,” she whispered. “Like cats playing with mice.”
Even Quinn was suspicious, though this time he had no proof that I was in any way involved. He watched us cautiously, keeping a safe distance from what was beginning to resemble the palace’s coven.
At the top of the stairs, Nicolas waited. He narrowed his gaze as we walked past.
“Alana.”
I flinched, craning my neck to face him. My ladies departed alongside the viscount, heading off to their respective chambers.
Nicolas closed in and arched his brow. “Busy day?”
I wasn’t sure whether to nod and launch an exposition, or remain quiet and wait for him to tell me what he already knew.
“The quiet game, hm? Let’s start with this,” he said, giving the swell of my breasts a sharp flick. I drew back with a startled gasp.
“How dare you—”
“Tell me why you’ve decided to dress yourself like a whore.”
