At some point, Livia sat down next to me. “Now, tell me what’s happened,” she said, sounding troubled.
I would not cry and I would not show emotion in front of her. “His Highness has not been forthcoming about his relationship with Oriane. And I’m a halfwit.”
“You’re not a halfwit,” she protested. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
“There’s nothing to be done. Tarben loves someone else, and I have been duped.” My voice was flat, despondent.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe it,” she said firmly. “The prince cares for you. It was plain for all to see. If he’s chosen to marry Oriane, there must be a reason for it. If you just talk to him—”
“Talk to him?” I scoffed. What was it Oriane had said?“You, my dear, are merely this week’s fixation—his attention will wane and he’ll move on to the next harlot who spreads her legs for him.”Was this because I had turned him down last night? Or had he planned on marrying her all along? Either way, his ugly actions spoke louder than any pretty lie he’d ever whispered. “I don’t need to talk to him. He’s made his feelings known.”
She clicked her tongue. “I’d been so certain that you were the one. There were even those of us who believed a proposal was imminent.”
“Well, you were right about that,” I said in an attempt at a joke, only the words curdled in my mouth and came out sounding sour.
She frowned thoughtfully at the tray of red wine a servant had placed on the tea table between us. “Something isn’t right. How can he go from being besotted with you to announcinghis betrothal to Oriane, whom, might I add, he never cared for before?”
“It was all an act. A wicked play. And the role of the fool went to me.”
“No one is that good an actor. There must be a reason for this madness, you must talk to him,” she said, handing me a goblet.
I swallowed a generous measure of wine, considering Livia’s words. My pride snarled at the thought of speaking to the one who had battered it, but my heart wanted to face its assailant. And I deserved answers.
“Fine,” I conceded, setting down my half-drained goblet. “I’ll send word that I would like to talk to him.”
As she nodded her approval, a thought occurred to me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, remembering that she had gone away only a few days prior.
“I had to return to see to some urgent matters pertaining to Ivar’s estate. I got back to the castle last night—impeccable timing, it would seem,” she added with a delicate sip of her own wine. “You know, if it’s true that he loves her, then our future king is a scoundrel. And a nincompoop.”
I snorted. Forcing a lightness to my tone, I said, “That kind of talk might be considered by some as treasonous.”
She shrugged and grinned at me. “Oriane is awful, and everyone knows it. Prince Tarben must be going daft if he’s willingly chosen to spend the rest of his life bound to her.”
Something about her words triggered my memory. I voiced a question that had been bothering me. “Tarben once mentioned to me that Lord Hywell took a special interest in Oriane. Do you know what he could have meant?”
A dark look passed over her face. “Her aunt was Ivar’s first wife. After she passed, Ivar took it upon himself to care for her mother. He helped arrange her marriage to an eligible suitor.Lord Valtteri, Oriane’s father, was once the general for the king’s forces. He is calculating, with an excellent mind for warfare strategy, but he’s not a good man. He was incredibly cruel to her mother. So much so that, shortly after Oriane was born, she took her own life.”
A coldness swept over my body and something like pity tugged at my chest. I never would have guessed that she had such a tumultuous upbringing.
“Ivar was concerned about her wellbeing and, having no children of our own, he took it upon himself to ensure that she would be adequately cared for. For years, he wrote to her father beseeching him to send her to the castle to be educated by the finest tutors in the kingdom. Eventually, at the age of fourteen, Lord Valtteri agreed and sent her here. Ivar did what he could for her, but by then it was too late. The damage had been done. She was a spoiled and entitled little madame with a disregard for anyone but herself. Over the years, Ivar tried to mentor her, to show her kindness, but his attempts were always met with resistance.”
She shook her head, lost in a distant memory. “Ivar never stopped trying to help her. He even left her some possessions in his will.”
Curiosity compelled me to lean in closer. “Is that what the two of you were talking about? After the Ceremony of Rites?”
“Yes,” she said with a sad smile. “She was… eager to take ownership of the possessions he had left for her.”
“What did he leave her?” Whatever it was must be extraordinarily valuable for Oriane to have acted like she did after the Ceremony of Rites.“If I find out you are lying about this, we both know what I’ll do to you.”
Livia looked contemplative. “Let’s see… paintings, books, some clothing that had belonged to her aunt, bracelets, rings, a necklace. All terribly valuable, but not what she was hoping for,I’m sure.”
“What do you think she was hoping for?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “Most likely gold. Between you and me, her father’s estate is failing. He’s up to the eyeballs in debt. They’re on the verge of losing everything, and, if that happens, well, he would hardly be in a position to secure Oriane a suitable husband.”
My mind raced at this knowledge. If it was true, what better way to secure her future than by marrying a wealthy prince. Her father would never have to worry about his debts again.
“You don’t think Lord Valtteri had something to do with this, do you?” I asked, giving voice to my thoughts.
