My stepmother snorts a cruel laugh, then finally releases the mask and brushes past me. When she reaches my door, she pauses.
“When we get to the ball, you will behave. You will obey and you will not overshadow my daughters in any way.”
I lift my chin, standing tall despite having only the back of her head to witness it. “It’s like you said yesterday. In a dress like this, I might as well be invisible.”
8
FRANCO
The New Moon Masquerade has yet to begin, but already the throne room reeks of human desperation. I stand in the doorway with a glass of wine in hand, nose wrinkled at the neatly made tables and chairs that line the perimeter of the room. One hosts a display of refreshments that bears only a single variety of fae wine, and it certainly isn’t the fun kind. I take in the rest of the room, then narrow my gaze at the dais. Upon it sits my sister’s obsidian throne, where I am to be put on display tonight to greet aristocrats and smile at the eligible daughters they thrust before me.
Why anyone seeks to pawn a daughter off on a prince with such a despicable reputation is beyond me. For a couple of years, it was enough to save me from the attention of hopeful lovers. As time passed, my reputation somehow shifted into an open invitation, emboldening men and women alike to try their luck at wooing me. It was amusing at first. Pleasurable, even. Until it wasn’t anymore. Now it’s just insulting.
Thank the All of All I won’t be forced to dance tonight. I swore off ballroom dancing years ago, for reasons I’d rather forget. Of course, if this were a traditional new moon revel and not a human ball, I’d be more than happy to dance. If that were the case, I’d be standing under the open sky, preparing for a night of unrestrained debauchery. We’d havegoodwine like Midnight Blush, the kind that makes you far happier than one should ever feel. We’d have drums and wild, unpredictable music. The dances would be chaotic and sensual and…and nothing like the trite ass-clenching etiquette I’m about to witness tonight.
Lifting my wineglass to my lips, I take a heavy swallow of the bittersweet liquid. It isn’t Midnight Blush, but hopefully it will lower me to at least a semi-conscious state before the night is through.
“Drinking already, Your Highness?” asks a grating voice.
I turn toward the man that approaches and give him a contrived smile. “Brother Marus, I didn’t realize you were fond of dancing.”
“I’m not,” he says, eying the room with almost as much disdain as I feel. “And yet, there are certain necessities required to secure one’s desires. I just so happen to be in want of a wife.”
“And where better to procure one than at the county fair—oh, forgive me. That’s livestock. Although, I’m not sure your kind treat bride selection any differently.” I say this last part under my breath and take another gulp of wine. Brother Marus, however, doesn’t seem amused as he watches me with a blank look. The man would be handsome, still in the prime of his youth with his dark hair and eyes, were it not for his lack of humor. Then again, I haven’t come to expect much else from the brothers of Saint Lazaro’s Church.
He takes a step closer to me, his hands behind his back. “There have been speculations, my prince.”
“I’m sure there have been many, although I’ve never found their existence to be an interesting topic of conversation. Surely, they’ve been around since the dawn of the thinking mind. For, if one can think, then surely one can speculate.” Brother Marus doesn’t even quirk a brow, the stone-faced bastard. “You know whatisinteresting? The wordbastardand humankind’s assertion that it’s an insult. Your people have some truly fantastic swears.”
This, at least, I get an eye-twitch over. Marus clears his throat. “It is said there’s a reason behind Queen Nyxia’s absence from this year’s season. It is also said you may be taking the throne before long.”
“Who isitand why is he talking about me? The nerve, really.” I attempt to take another swallow of wine only to find my glass empty. With a sigh, I head for the refreshments table to refill it.
Unfortunately, Marus follows hard on my heels. “Your Highness, I simply wanted to say how much the Church of Saint Lazaro appreciates your sister’s support of us—”
“Not killing you isn’t the same as support, but go on.”
“—by giving us representation at court. All we want is to be recognized as a primary human religion and given the freedom to follow our faith.” He pauses, and for one glorious moment, I think that might be the last I hear of him. However, I sense him inching closer as I pour my wine, his energy swarming around me like murky streams of sewage. “Prince Franco, I do hope that when you succeed your sister to the throne, we can continue to maintain the same peace we have now. It would be in both our best interests.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. His energy is calm, but I can’t help wondering if his words hold a veiled threat. Saint Lazaro’s Church is responsible for sparking the rebellions eleven years ago, after all. While the skirmishes were supposedly instigated by radicals in their number and not the church as a whole, I don’t fully trust anyone from their brotherhood, regardless of the peace treaties they signed after the rebellions were quelled and their radicals were exterminated. It never ceases to infuriate me that my sister allows a man from the brotherhood to take up residence at the palace at all. Nyxia has assured me time and time again that giving proper recognition to their religion will keep history from repeating, and I have to trust she’s right. But why in the name of the night did the brotherhood have to select Marus? Couldn’t they have selected someone less…intolerable to represent them?
“Should that day come, I am sure we will talk,” I say with a forced grin. He opens his mouth to speak, but a four-legged fae near the door offers me salvation. “It’s been great, but I must speak with my ambassador. Enjoy the ball.”
I down my drink in a single gulp and slam the empty glass on the table. The smile slips from my lips as soon as I brush past Marus and join Augie, the Lunar Court ambassador, at the door. The bushy-tailed black and gray raccoon utters an unsettling hiss, yellow eyes fixed on the man behind me. “I don’t like him,” he says. “He smells like something…”
“Like corruption, unbridled ambition, and the particular stench of a man who hasn’t passed wind in public for over a decade? I know. Butt clenchers, the lot of these humans.”
“Can I eat him when he dies?” Augie asks as we turn away from the throne room to walk down the hall.
“Well,” I say, drawing out the word, “that’s probably not for the best. For one, the humans will want his body for their burying and chanting and crying bit that they do. For another, you’re an ambassador. Even the unseelie ambassador is supposed to have seelie sensibilities, not a taste for human flesh.”
“I can be seelie,” he says. Then, with a shudder, he rises on two legs, his fluffy raccoon body replaced with his humanoid seelie form. He waggles his brows, a dark charcoal color to match his short-cropped hair. His eyes are no longer yellow but more of a dark amber. The thing that stands out most about his seelie form are his ears. Instead of the lightly pointed tips most seelie fae have, his ears are furry and triangular, set on the top of his head, much like they are in his unseelie form. “Is this better?”
I chuckle and elbow the younger fae in the ribs. While we look about the same age in our seelie forms, he’s a good two hundred years younger than me. Which is probably why we get along so well. The older generations of fae can be almost as stuffy as the humans. “What news do you have for me, Augie? Has anyone interesting arrived, or are we in for the most boring night of our lives?”
“Madame Flora is here. She’s taking a room for the night.”
I brighten at that. “She decided to come after all. Splendid. Speaking of Madame Flora…did you happen to mention plans of my trip to the glamourist’s shop to anyone earlier this week?”
