Nin nodded. “Yes. I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”
All eyes were on her.
Nin was used to slipping through shadows and keeping to dark alleyways. She depended on becoming invisible to slip into their pockets or coin purses to steal what she needed, but now she had no choice but to expose herselfin the light. The short-heeled satin shoes still pinched her toes, but she couldn’t show a single flicker of discomfort.
Head high. Shoulders back. Small but confident steps.
She didn’t look at the nobles milling in the hallways—not yet. In her periphery, some flicked their fans open and whispered to each other. Sweat dappled her hairline, but she couldn’t let a single droplet ruin her makeup. Cedric strolled a comfortable distance behind her. As her guard, he was able to shadow her, and his silent support gave her the courage to keep moving.
Nin had memorized the palace maps, but seeing the halls in person was a new, dizzying experience. They turned left, and her steps faltered.
Hundreds of versions of herself reflected off the gilded glass. Crystal chandeliers hung from painted ceilings depicting cherubs flying through the clouds of heaven. Golden statues of women swathed in robes held platters of crystal fixtures. The light of the setting sun caught against the dangling prisms, bathing the long gallery in warm, sparkling colors.
This must be the Galerie of Reflection.
Unlike the cloudy, smudged windows in the city, these mirrors repelled dust, stains, and condensation, remaining brilliant and true. Nin resisted the urge to gape, schooling her features into a serene mask. She continued forward, her steps measured, her spine steel-straight, pretending as if she hadn’t hesitated for the slightest moment. Turning left into the next hall, two gentlemen ushers with dusty blue coats, gold buttons, and shining black shoes stood to attention. Their white-gloved hands poised over the golden handles as she approached.
At her silent cue, the doors opened.
The flow of soft conversation inside the State Dining Room waned into a murmur.
Nin held her expression firm when she took in the space. She had thought her chambers were lavish beyond anything she could imagine, but it was nothing compared to the formal dining quarters. Golden chandeliers radiated over the crowd of nobles. Murals of angels curved over the ceiling, watchful from above. A long ivory table stretched through the center of the room, set with candelabras and shining porcelain. The flickering candlelight never produced wax to melt at its base, allowing the light to glow all evening.
Several noblemen and ladies looked her over, their expressions guarded, and their eyes narrowed as she entered. Nin forced herself to lift her chin, to meet their scrutiny instead of shriveling beneath it.
Three figures entered together, and the courtiers straightened as one, falling into a hushed deference for the newcomers.
King Ancell the Third was the first to lead. A dark velvet coat embroidered with silver adorned his tall frame, a red ceremonial sash crossing his chest—a mark of his unmistakable authority. He wore a coiffed white wig pulled back neatly, his stride purposeful and imposing, commanding the room with only a few steps.
Queen Constance, embellished in silver silk, and glittering jewels, strolled beside him. Her serene expression honed with awareness when it settled on Nin.
Nin’s pulse raced, her limbs frozen under the queen’s lingering stare. Did Her Majestyalready suspect her?
The question clung to her mind as the last young man caught her eye. He was younger than the king but had the same jaw and the same shape to his mouth. His shoulders were broader, and his golden hair swept back into a black ribbon. And most alarmingly, his features resembled her own.
The Crown Prince.
Nin’s heart drummed louder against her ribs. She feared the entire room could hear it. Rose Fever had kept the royal family and the court at a distance because of protocol and its contagious nature, but now she had no excuse to protect her. This was her moment to perform.
She stepped forward, steeling herself despite the nerves rumbling low in her stomach. Nin took the seat nearest the queen on her left, and a taut silence followed.
When the king lowered himself into his chair at the head of the table, the rest of the room followed suit.
The footmen moved in unison to place a steaming porcelain bowl with clear, fragrant broth before each person. Once the king swallowed his first sip, the rest of the table took their spoons and began the first course.
Conversation rolled throughout, but Nin was too occupied by her movements to focus on what anyone was saying. She barely registered how the soup remained at the perfect temperature despite how slowly she ate.
Only use the side of the spoon. Don’t tip the bowl. Take a delicate sip.
Cedric’s instructions echoed against the anxiety coating her thoughts. His presence loomed behind her, causing more sweat to form at her brow.
Nin wondered if anyone would mention her “illness”, but no one did. Two courses followed, and not a single word was directed her way. Instead, the table was swallowed by various conversations about hunting, politics, fashion, and gossip. She swallowed a relieved sigh, daring to hope she could make it through the entire dinner in silence.
By the fourth course, that hope died when the king’s abrupt interest narrowed on her.
“It is good to see you restored to health, Princess Marianne. Are you fully recovered?”
Nin’s pulse vaulted toward the muraled ceiling, but she schooled her features into a poised expression. This was the moment. These were the first words she would say to the court—to the king himself. She could not speak too much or too little.
