“Oh, I see,” I finally say, trying to keep my voice slightly higher than normal. Hopefully, they don’t hear the slight quaver that comes with it.
Imogen quirks a brow but says nothing.
Right. For once my stepsister must defer to me. My mind reels to make sense of everything. So,thismust be the position Marus promised my stepsisters in exchange for my hand. A position I need them to keep to ensure they remain at the palace. I grit my teeth at the cruel irony.
“I see you’ve already dressed,” Imogen says. “Shall we take you to breakfast? Or bring a plate to your room?”
“My room,” I rush to say. “Yes, please bring my breakfast here.”
Imogen bows her head. “As you wish, Your Highness. I shall go and leave Clara with you.”
“No, I would like you both to go, for I would also like a fresh pitcher of water. And…and tea with honey.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the girls say with warm smiles.
I close the door before they even turn away. Then, chest heaving, I press my back against the wall.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
I return to the trunk with my hidden clothes, piling a few more items on top of the cloak. Then I scramble around, digging through the disarray I’ve created in search of the key. Finally, I find a brass ring with a selection of keys buried under a mound of blouses. After fumbling to find the right fit, which I’m sure isn’t helped by how badly my hands shake, I discover the key that slides easily into place. Then, with a turn, I seal away the only proof of my true identity.
Relief washes over me, but my head continues to spin. I tuck the keys into the pocket of my skirt and sink onto the locked trunk. With slow, heavy breaths, I force my racing heart to calm.
Well, this is off to a terrible start.
I’ve barely managed to gather my composure before I hear another knock at the door. Rising to my feet, I brush off my skirts and swivel to the side to catch my reflection. Still Maisie. Still perfectly disguised. And still very much unready to see my stepsisters again.
I keep my face impassive and open the door. But it isn’t my stepsisters I find.
It’s Prince Franco.
With one arm braced against the doorframe and the other propped at his waist, he leans forward in a casual slouch. Then he lifts his eyes to mine and grins at me like he’s practiced this a hundred times on a hundred different females…and expects me to swoon just the same.
It conjures memories of our encounter in the alley, and all the rage I felt then returns now. Even though his current expression is in stark contrast to the bored, arrogant countenance he wore then, it still sends a torrent of fury coursing through my blood. I clench my jaw, wanting nothing more than to slap that stupid smile off his face, but over his shoulder, I see an even more unwelcome sight—Imogen and Clara returning with their trays of tea and breakfast.
My heart slams against my ribs, my legs threatening to give way beneath me. I’m not ready to face my stepsisters again. Not yet. Not until I gather my wits and figure out how to act around them.
Without a second thought, I say to the prince, “A walk, yes?” I don’t give him the chance to answer before I duck beneath his arm, closing the door with me. He’s still standing in the same position, brow furrowed at the closed door, when I reach his other side.
He pushes off the doorframe and faces me, looking momentarily flustered. My gaze runs over the length of him, noting his tight black trousers and blue silk shirt. His collar is unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and his neck adorned with strands of long black beads. He wears no cravat, waistcoat, or jacket. If we were amongst human society right now, he might as well be naked for his improper state of dress. “Did I hear you right?” he asks, turning to face me. “Did you just ask me to take a walk with you?”
“Is that a problem?” I tear my gaze from the indecently tight fit of his pants to his eyes. I nearly wince when I realize how sharp my words came out. For the next two weeks, my safety depends on the prince’s favor. I tilt my head and shift my tone, taking on a demure quality. “Should I have waited for you to invite me to walk, Your Highness?”
He opens his mouth but can’t seem to find the right words. “Well, yes…I mean, no. I mean…well, I came here to invite you on an outing with me.”
I glance to the side, catching sight of my stepsisters. They’ve paused several feet away, and I glimpse a flash of brutal envy in their expressions. There’s no doubt they heard the prince’s words. Since Maisie and Franco have yet to make their courtship public, they may be the first to witness it.
“An outing,” I say, fully aware of how awkward I sound. “Yes, let’s go on an outing.”
Imogen dons her brightest, falsest smile as she steps forward and dips into a curtsy, one Clara is quick to mimic. “Would you like us to chaperone, Princess?” Imogen asks.
“No, thank you,” I say as warmly as I can manage. “You may leave the trays in my bedroom. I will take breakfast when I return.” Anxiety nearly blows me over as frantic questions fly through my mind. Did I leave anything behind before I locked the trunk? Left some clue out in the open? Am I certain I hid everything important? I replay my every move, every item I stashed.
I’m safe, I tell myself.All hints of who I really am have been tucked away.
I pat the side of my leg, feeling the weight of the trunks’ keys in my pocket.
The girls’ faces fall, eyes darting to the prince as if they expect him to intercede on their behalf. He says nothing, of course. In fact, he doesn’t even look their way, his eyes locked on me. My stepsisters mumble a solemn, “Yes, Your Highness,” then brush past us, whispering with their heads close together.
