“Of course, Your Scrupulousness,” she murmured.
They were not even halfway to the main courtyard gate when footsteps approached from the opposite direction. Mordaunt stopped and thrust out an arm to prevent Ninian from taking further paces. A maid, he figured, or perhaps an errant member of the Dolorous Guard. In truth, the last figure he expected to see turn the corner was the prince himself.
It had not even been an hour since the prince had left them at the chapel, yet now his affect was entirely changed. Gone was the imperiousness, the slight defiant tilt of his chin. Now there was a hollow quality to the prince’s gaze. His eyes were as bright and sea blue as ever, but without the oceanic depths behind them.
“Your Highness,” Mordaunt said, in shock. He bowed, and after a moment of floundering, Ninian found her way to a passable curtsy.
“Where are you taking the girl?” the prince demanded.
Further disconcerted by the lack of preamble, Mordaunt replied hesitantly, “Back to her village, Your Highness.”
“Then for what cause was she brought here in the first place?”
Mordaunt swallowed. He did not want to reveal his master’s activities. It was not strictly forbidden for a man of his position and statureto seek a bride, but he suspected that the prince would not like the means by which he was conducting his search. Liuprand was oddly beneficent toward his subjects, far beyond what propriety demanded. To even the dullest, most inconsequential serf, the prince extended his protections.
“Her eyes, Your Highness,” Mordaunt said—and he was surprised by his own quick inventiveness. “The Most Esteemed Surgeon thought perhaps she was suffering in some manner. But he swiftly determined she was not in poor health. Just a caprice of breeding.”
Liuprand regarded the girl thoughtfully. “It is not the result of an illness?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“I was asking her,” said the prince, “not you.”
Mordaunt’s mouth snapped shut.
“I am not ill, Your Highness,” Ninian whispered. “I was born with these eyes. As was my mother, and her mother.”
The prince nodded. “And what is your name?”
“Ninian,” she answered softly. Then added, “Your Highness.”
The prince stepped forward, out of the falsifying shadows into the beam of light from the window, which made plain a startling truth: His hair was slightly disheveled, as if someone had run through it with an errant hand, and his clothes were rumpled. All of this was not distressing on its face, but because it was Liuprand, the soon-to-be Golden, Mordaunt had to swallow down an appalled gasp. The prince had never appeared any less than flawless in every sense, a marble façade without a single crack, without even a chip in the paint—so these subtle imperfections were as garish and ghastly as an open wound. He might as well have staggered toward them, bleeding shamelessly.
Liuprand was of course perceptive enough to register Mordaunt’s shock, and in response, he let his gaze rest heavily upon him, like a sword on a would-be knight’s shoulder. The weight of it galled him. He schooled his expression to one of neutrality, and it felt entirely unconscious, as if God himself had reached down and rearranged his features.
Then as quickly as it had been fixed, Liuprand’s gaze flickered away and to the girl’s face instead. “The princess has need of a new handmaiden,” he said. “If you are hale enough, I offer the position to you.”
Mordaunt could not keep back the appalled gasp this time. No, this diabolically marked girl could not be allowed to remain in the castle, much less in such close proximity to the royal line itself! The Most Esteemed Surgeon had been seized by a momentary lapse in judgment, moved by his desire for love, but he had corrected this slip of faith within himself quickly and ordered the girl gone. Yet now—the world would never forget the error his master had made. And this ill-omened creature would serve at the feet of Drepane’s future queen.
Say no,Mordaunt prayed silently, vainly.Dear God, girl, refuse.
But though it had been framed as a proposal, the prince’s word was always an order. The girl was wise enough to know it.
“Oh,” she said, a flush rising to her face, “yes, Your Highness. That is terribly generous. Yes.”
“Good,” said Liuprand. His tone was clipped. “His Scrupulousness will see that your family is informed and compensated. And he will show you to the princess’s chamber.”
Madly, mutinously, Mordaunt did. He walked like a prisoner to his own execution, chains rattling inside his mind. The girl did not even have shame enough to hide her pleasure. A small, quivering smile kept returning to her face, and her eyes were gleaming like two marbles, polished with the spit of the devil himself. A full-bodied, lustful hatred rose in him.
“You will have to learn all the habits of a good lady,” he said. “Bend low when you curtsy. Your deference should make your knees crack.”
“Yes, Your Scrupulousness.”
“And keep your head down unless you are addressed. Your neck should carry the weight of your servility.”
“Yes, Your Scrupulousness.”
“And do not, ever, speak without being called to. Ignoble voices grate upon noble ears.”
