The queen glanced at Nin. “Yes. But above all, the Maker rewards grace. Even the slightest blunder must be concealed with delicacy.”
The corners of Nin’s mouth tightened at the subtle reprimand. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she murmured.
The conversation moved on, much to her relief. It swirled like birdsong—pleasant, constant chatter about the weather, the newest fashions, and the latest shipments of laceand silk. Tea flowed among them, the pot never needed to be refilled, perhaps enchanted to never run dry. The queen laughed softly, and Nin forced herself to laugh along, even when every instinct begged her to fade into the background.
Servants brought out a three-tiered porcelain stand of confections, and her eyes widened at the sight of the colorful macarons. The sweets were more delectable looking in person. Her fingers twitched in her lap, restraining herself from reaching over and biting into one for the first time.
Unfortunately, etiquette dictated that she couldn’t touch one until the queen did. Cedric’s warning lingered in the back of her mind—of the princess’s distaste for sugary treats—but she figured one small bite wouldn’t hurt. For all she knew, this could be her one chance to sample a taste.
Yet each time the queen reached toward the plate, Nin mirrored her—only for the queen to change direction at the last moment.
Nin gnawed on the inside of her cheek. The conversation droned on, winding through compliments and mild disagreements. Every time the queen shifted as though to finally choose a sweet, another lady’s question intercepted her.
When the queen leaned forward once more, Nin didn’t waste the opportunity. As her hand hovered over a pink macaron, the queen glanced at her, a single brow raised in question. Nin snatched her hands back into her lap.
Then the doors opened.
A page stepped forward and announced, “His Royal Highness, Prince Rodrigue EstebanValladares of Castaviel, has arrived and humbly requests an audience with Her Highness, Princess Marianne. He awaits outside.”
The room fell into a stunned hush.
Queen Constance offered Nin a look of faint amusement.
“It appears yourfiancéis quite eager to reunite with you,” she murmured.
Soft cooing rippled through the room as the ladies exchanged coy glances.
“I imagine Her Highness is also anxious,” Duchess Auvral said, fluttering her fan with a knowing look. “It’s no secret that she’s fond of him.”
“It’s not hard to imagine why,” Marquise Fontaine added with a tinkling giggle.
Heat burned Nin’s cheeks. She lifted her teacup, which she had hardly touched, sipping the bitter brew to hide the flush staining her skin. At least it remained at the perfect, steaming temperature—cold, bitter tea would be revolting.
Prince Rodrigue wasn’t supposed to arrive for another two weeks, and Cedric hadn’t prepared her for how she should behave as his fiancée, for there were more pressing lessons to master first.
Why was he here?
Lady Courtenay’s painted red lips stretched into a wicked grin. “See? Her face betrays her!”
The noblewomen snickered, masking their delight behind their gloved hands. They misinterpreted her pink cheeks and strained smile. She was not the bashful princess in love they believed her to be, but a street girl with no idea how to navigatea courtship she had never been trained for. Nin wished the ground would open beneath her chair and swallow her whole.
“Well,” said the queen, silencing their giggles with a single glare. After a pause, she turned her penetrating scrutiny to Nin. “I shan’t keep you from your betrothed any longer. Princess Marianne, you may withdraw.”
As the servant led the way into the gardens, Nin took slow, deep breaths to settle her nerves. She couldn’t let all her hard work go to waste due to her poor acting skills—Alain depended on her success.
“He is right this way, Your Highness,” he said, bowing and gesturing to a path leading to a tall marble statue of a late king.
Swallowing, Nin approached the tall figure standing with his back facing her. The man stood before the statue in quiet admiration, but at the sound of her approaching footsteps, he turned around.
Nin had memorized Prince Rodrigue’s portrait, but it did him no justice. Dark hair framed his face in smooth waves, his dark eyes rich and expressive under his thick, bold brows. His broad shoulders flexed beneath his midnight velvet coat, embellished with gold embroidery. A red sash and a sapphireclasp decorated his shoulder, and his black polished boots reflected her astonished expression.
There was an easy confidence held in his charming smile, one that momentarily disarmed her.
“Your Highness,” he greeted, taking her gloved hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “It has been too long since we last saw each other. I’ve missed you.”
He spoke Aurelion fluently, but his voice carried a warm Castavielan lilt.
Nin could understand why the princess would fall for him. There was nothing shallow or disingenuous about the way his eyes soaked her in—like she was the most precious person in his life.
