Even though Grannam and Arabella were at odds, both vying for the throne in place of Prince Reynauld, Arabella was not expected to miss her cousin’s birthday ball. It seemed odd for Arabella to willfully insert herself in a situation with people who were obstinately opposed to her. But then again, Jade never considered those born into royalty to possess an abundance of common sense. She couldn’t discount their ego and guile, however. This particular combinationled to a deceivingly beautiful veneer covering violent intentions.
Plus, one never missed a ball.
Paper and fabrics rustled with the pause in conversation. Finally, Arabella replied, “I was thinking this one, actually. The maroon makes quite a statement.”
“Want to try it?”
Arabella gave no audible answer, but Jade heard movement and the swish of rich fabrics. A few moments later, the noises hushed and Alanna spoke again.
“You’re right. It is so dramatic.”
“I think it’s the perfect dress for the ball. It is bound to draw attention, and it’s regal enough to give everyone the impression of true Marrani royalty.” A smug satisfaction laced Arabella’s voice, and Jade was almost certain she was smiling.
“Yes, I think so,” Alanna agreed, “but I still like the gold better. You would shine like the very crown that would mark you as queen.”
Jade’s hands clenched into fists involuntarily. She couldn’t stand the aristocracy. These people were all fake, shallow, and pretentious. They cared more about their own appearance to others and sense of power than anything else. Duplicity must have been a requirement, smiling to someone’s face while ready to stab them in the back. Like Jade’s own grandparents had done to her father and mother.
Had they not, would she have lived a life similar to Arabella and Alanna, caring for nothing more than trying on dresses and preparing for parties? Jade relaxed her hands. She’d been spared this life, at least.
The confidence in Arabella’s next words again captured Jade’s attention. “That’s why I think the gold will be more suitable for a coronation.”
Jade’s eyes darted between the door to the sitting room, the dressing room’s window, and the doorway beside her, keeping close watch for anyone approaching as well as noting the growing darkness outside. Alanna took longer than she expected to speak, and Jade didn’t miss the hesitancy in her voice when she found her words.
“But . . . that’s still quite far off, isn’t it?”
The movement in the room beyond stilled.
“Perhaps.” Arabella didn’t miss a beat. “But I like to be prepared. If everything goes well this weekend, it might be sooner than we think.”
Something in Arabella’s tone sounded an alarm in Jade’s head. The assurance in it blew new life into Jade’s perception of the current landscape. What was happening this weekend?
Of all the people vying for the throne, Arabella had one of the strongest claims. The succession fell to King Mervyn’s brother, Prince Reynauld Fellsrin, but Arabella had made a case for herself as the heir and next ruler of Marran, citing her father’s limited remaining years and quicker decline ofmental capacity. Why shouldn’t the throne pass directly to her, the more capable ruler who would come into sovereignty eventually, anyway?
Not to mention, she opposed her father’s stance to uphold the law that executed all magic-wielders upon discovery. No one had suggested such a thing since the law was enacted over fifty years before. The controversy surrounding her was enough to earn her notice as a possible successor to King Mervyn.
“I imagine Lord Grannam is going to be there, considering it’s his daughter’s party at his own home,” Alanna said after a pause, their movement resuming. Something in the way she spoke made Jade think Alanna wanted to change the subject.
“Yes, I imagine he will.”
“And it won’t be a problem?” Alanna asked pointedly.
Soft, barefooted steps on the thick carpet padded in the bedroom. Jade tensed slightly, ready for action if someone appeared through the door.
“No, it won’t be a problem.” The smoothness of Arabella’s voice betrayed some hidden knowledge. But silence lingered, and Alanna didn’t push the matter.
Based on information retrieved by the military, Lady Arabella had been locked in some ongoing dispute amid the conflict with Lord Grannam Venemer, the Duke of Evenshold, cousin to the prince and king. He argued that his father—the previous king’s twin brother—had been cheated of the throne. It had given Grannam enough of a case to gather support and add his name as a viable option.
And of course, other contenders made their intentions known, though none of them held a strong claim. Some, such as Robert Marchand, the Earl of Southbury, had weaseled their way in. Marchand had married a young woman in King Evrard’s direct line twenty something years his junior and almost immediately made known his case for the throne. Other distant cousins threw their names into the fight, along with others who had no royallineage at all but vowed to offer a fairer, stronger rule for the people than anyone of royal blood.
Because why not, when the king’s lack of an heir as he lay on his deathbed had created such contention and a potential power vacuum? While Prince Reynauld was next and had a line in his daughters, too many people saw the weak king’s sickness and lack of child as an easy way to usher in a new system of governance.
The military was loyal to the kingdom and, therefore, the true line of succession. They defended Reynauld and the king against any threats from those contending for the throne or even magic sympathizers. Which meant that, though Arabella would one day be the sovereign, part of Jade’s job was to ensure that she did not usurp her father.
“What will you wear for a mask?” Alanna finally asked, reverting back to their original conversation.
Arabella hummed. “Something black. There’s a veil in my dressing room we can use to get an idea of how it might look.”
Jade bolted to the corner of the room beside the wardrobe and took cover behind the open door, peeking through the crack at the hinges, as Lady Arabella padded barefoot through the dressing room. She wore a maroon evening gown, deep as blood against her pale skin, and her rich brown hair cascaded loosely down her back. Alanna followed, her hands grasping the front of her teal taffeta skirts, too long for her without shoes. Tendrils of ashy blonde-brown hair framed her face and broke free of the style she’d worn all day. Neither woman noticed Jade as they passed through to the sitting room, little more than a shadow in the corner of the room.
