A Crown of Black Roses, page 2
“For what it’s worth, I hate pretending to be a maid.” Nuala came up behind him with the gripe. He could see her reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece, red hair cropped to her chin and face settled into its permanent scowl. The castle livery was ridiculous on her, bunching in some places but straining around her broad, muscled shoulders. She was accustomed to fitted pants and blouses with weapons strapped anywhere where she could fit one.
Standard assassin attire, he supposed.
“I think I have a new uniform to suggest to my father,” he said.
“Working with you doesn’t mean I like you enough to laugh at your jokes.” Nuala stalked through the room, testing and examining every item that drew her ire, which appeared to be almost all of them. She even popped open the wine bottle to sniff the contents.
“Clean,” she declared. “Too clean. It’s suspicious. A princess of poison lives in this castle.”
“Maybe she’s decided that poisoning me the night I arrive would be too obvious. Have you found any information?”
“None yet. I only arrived a few days ago because of the weather and everyone is close-lipped about your blushing bride and her dead fiancé.”
“Stop tiptoeing around it. We both know she had a hand in it.”
“Yes, but staying it out loud? Such a bad idea it’s astounding. Once we know how and why she offed him, it’ll be easier to keep you from the same fate. If you don’t want to be serious, I can leave. I’ll walk back to Drustain.”
He didn’t put that past her.
“The problem is that she has her own team of handmaids,” Nuala continued. “No one else in the serving staff is even meant to enter her chambers. And before you suggest it,” Keiran closed his mouth, “I don’t make the cut. All three of her handmaids are blind.”
That made him look up as she walked around the chair to face him with crossed arms. “Blind?”
“And taken from the streets, I hear. She sent guards to find three blind women from the slums and trained them herself.”
The princess was an enigma at best and a vicious sneak at worst. He was sure she had some strange and self-serving reason for this.
There was difficulty in getting the crown in Vilara. The first son was always the heir by default, but if he died with no other male siblings, it would go to a branch family. Any princess could advocate for her husband to become king instead, but he’d always need her testimony to win the crown. A princess could only ever become the queen consort.
This relied on getting Adrielle to like him, which appeared to be a tall order, and for his family to allow him to keep a crown that his father wanted for Riocard. That was even less likely.
Drustain didn’t have any resources to send an army. They had nothing but subterfuge and dark magic on their side, but it would have to be enough to topple Vilara’s monarchy enough that not even a branch family could step in.
How they’d get rid of him after this, he wasn’t sure. He expected to be given the choice to either die or graciously step down to allow Riocard to take over. Life was preferable to dying for a throne he didn’t even want. King was too public of a position, with too many chances for his magic to rear its ugly head.
Magic, curse. Whatever it was being called now.
“Tomorrow is as good a time as any for us to start planning in earnest,” he said. “I’m tired from traveling.”
Nuala sighed. “Fine. Fighting with a sullen blueblood is worth far more than I’m being paid. But you may try to make my job easier by at least trying to make your beloved bride not hate you.”
“Stop calling her that.”
“Step one would be acknowledging that you’re getting married.” She snorted as she walked away. “Poor, poor Keiran, forced to marry a beautiful woman. How will he survive … bite me.”
She disappeared out of an open window he didn’t even unlock.
Keiran sat alone for a moment before taking an oil lamp and placing it by the wine on the bedside table. He turned the wick up high in hopes that it wouldn’t go out during the night.
He didn’t fear the dark. It alone was harmless.
He feared what it invited in.
Another lantern went on the table’s twin on the other side. Every other source of light in the room stayed lit. He hadn’t brought much with him. The rest of his belongings were still on their way, and a small trunk would soon delivered from the carriages.
At least he had the room to himself. Nuala had been right when she said that Adrielle was beautiful, and he imagined if he was a normal prince with a normal reason for getting married, he would have been delighted, at least until she bit his head off.
Scheming was in his nature. Flirting was not.
Tomorrow was going to be a welcoming ball where the king and queen would announce Adrielle’s engagement and the coming wedding. The entire plan had been explained to him. While Sarus and Talida treated him as the last resort that he was, and as if he should be grateful for it.
He’d see what they thought of him while their family crumbled.
3
Adrielle
Adrielle breathed out as the corset tightened over her ribcage.
“Learned anything?” she asked.
“Lillie heard a woman in your fiancé’s room last night,” Rosemarie said as she tied and secured the laces. “She couldn’t make out what they were saying.”
“An unfaithful prince. What a surprise. Oh, how my heart is breaking. Nothing else? Nothing about his curse or why he’s here?”
“It’s been less than a day.” Rosemarie brought over a tissue paper package and untied the ribbon to pull out a black jacquard gown. “He’s been asleep for almost half of the time he’s been here.”
“Either he’s been making plans to use this position to his advantage, which means I can’t trust him and I hate him, or he hasn’t, which means he’s a dolt and I hate him.”
“Those aren’t the only two options.”
Adrielle’s heart stuttered, hands on another pair of lace stockings. She gritted her teeth to release it, hands clenching into fists around the delicate material.
“You’re right,” she said in a flat tone. The third option was that he was the same as her last fiancé. “It’s not.”
“Oh … Oh, Adrielle, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s fine.” She yanked on the stockings with as much force as she dared without risking ripping them and straightened to examine herself in the mirror.
The stockings tied right above her knees, little ribbons holding them in place. The black satin corset smoothed and narrowed the silhouette of her waist, pushing her breasts up her chest. Her face and sternum were powdered, eyes lined with kohl, and lips painted red. Her silvery white hair was gathered into braids at the top of her head, glittering with black diamonds, with locks falling free to brush her shoulders and frame her face.
She took pride where she could find it. Her intellect, her poison mastery, and her beauty were common points of it for her. She didn’t think it made her vain. Demurring and humbling yourself to appear modest sickened her. She’d noticed that was never asked of her father or her late fiancé.
Rosemarie brought over her dress, helping Adrielle guide it over her head and then do up the laces on the back. The black jacquard fitted tight around her chest and waist, the bodice cutting low on her chest. The skirts gathered below her waist, ruffling out with the help of a hoopskirt. It fell right above her knees in the front, but the fabric cascaded down past that, ending in a small train. Garnets glittered on every hem and edge, lace blooming past them.
Silver and ruby jewelry was added to her throat, hands, and ears, polished and flashing even in the dim light. Adrielle slipped on matching shoes, raising her above average height, and turned to Rosemarie, who stood by the door.
“Last touch,” she said, offering dabs of black rose perfume on Adrielle’s neck and wrists. “There, now you’re ready.”
“Or close enough that it doesn’t matter. Every contingency plan is prepared?”
“Every single one, Princess.”
“Good.” Adrielle turned on her heel to face the door, folding her hands over her waist and bracing herself.
She hated balls. She hated dancing. She didn’t even enjoy wine when drunk in public. There was a certain amount of power to be wielded in such events, though. Wars, truces, and alliances often found their births in the ballrooms. Wine loosened tight lips and secrets spilled out in dark corners and hidden alcoves.
She strode out of her chambers, making her way alone down the halls of the palace. The summer palace was larger and more open than the winter palace, the halls wide and lined with carpets for decoration rather than necessity. Large windows showed off the views of the gardens, lit with lines of oil lanterns that glowed off the guests that lined up outside. Now that the full staff was back, they’d be lit every night.
How long had the plans for this ball been going? If they had invitations out, food ordered for the banquet, and new clothes prepared, her parents must have been planning this for at least a month before they even bothered to tell her. It was as if they thought she would bolt, given the chance. Never mind that she had several months a year she could use to escape if she needed it. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they knew she had a plan for escape. There’d need to be a lot more blood on her hands before she was ready to resort to that.
The main ballroom had been set up with long tables, draped with burgundy velvet and set with gilt tableware. Three plates, several too many bits of silverware, and two crystal goblets each; one for white wine and one for red. All of this information had been chiseled into her brain when she was a child, to the point that she wasn’t sure she could forget it if she tried.
At the head table, set up on a dais, were four chairs, far fancier than the rest. Carved mahogany upholstered with fabric that matched the tablecloths in shade and make. Behind them were her parents and brother.
Adrielle joined them, forcing her shoulders squarer and her back straighter. Alaric kept his head down as his hands fiddled with a silver puzzle. They were a matched pair, with their white hair and near-translucent skin, but their parents made sure to raise him far, far away from her. They thought whatever was wrong with her was contagious, and maybe they were right.
“We expect you to at least put on a mask of not hating every moment of this,” Talida said, fluttering a feathered fan even though the weather wasn’t even close to hot yet. “That should not be too much to ask.”
“I promise you, I’m thrilled.” Adrielle pulled her chair back herself and perched on it, crossing her legs. “This is what I look like when I’m giddy.”
“You’re lucky we could find any husband for you. He was our last resort. Do you know how rare it is that the eldest princesses marry outside the country? You’re the first! Every previous one was married to a great general or a nobleman who did excellent service to our family. It was a duty they all carried without complaint.”
“They all complained. They just didn’t do it out loud like me.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the doors to the ballroom, waiting for them to open and see the dark-haired prince enter. The night before, standing in the light cast by her lantern, he’d been every bit the cursed prince that he was. His dark hair, in need of a trim, framed a chiseled face and shadowed amber eyes that were wolflike in their intensity. Tall, imposing in a way that didn’t make him small, even in the cavernous entry hall.
He hadn’t appeared to be a dolt, that was for sure, but appearances could be deceiving.
The doors opened and guests poured in first, a kaleidoscope of rich fabrics and glittering jewelry against the dark backdrop of the ballroom’s black marble and morbid paintings. All familiar faces; the blue-blooded nobility of Vilara. She knew them all by reputation, if not by name.
Adrielle stood as they entered, taking their places. She continued to scan them, watching for the prince.
She couldn’t be charming. Even on the rare occasion that she attempted, she found herself incapable. Her claws always came out at the slightest provocation, so she’d given up long ago. Being popular wasn’t on her agenda. She’d rather have respect or, barring that, fear.
Then he entered. With the way Sarus tensed beside her, she had to guess that he hadn’t been intended to come in yet.
The king recovered quickly as Prince Keiran strode down the floor, clothed in black regalia, gold braids, and accents adorning his attire, and a simple crown settled in his hair. Adrielle met his eyes again, her hackles raising. She didn’t know what it was, but it was almost as though the dark followed this prince. The light appeared to dim in an aura around him, as though the shadows were reluctant to leave his side. When she blinked, the effect was gone.
“Welcome, families of Vilara,” Sarus announced as maids came in bearing bottles of wine to fill their goblets. “We thank you for being here today, for we are here tonight in celebration. Our own princess, Adrielle Delicea Oralia Corvius, and Prince Keiran Frederick Einar Lochlain, will marry and solidify the alliance between Vilara and Drustain. Their wedding is set to be in six weeks.”
He raised his glass to polite applause, people clapping out of necessity rather than true excitement. Even from her distance, Adrielle saw a muscle in Keiran’s jaw tick.
“Go to him,” Talida hissed through gritted teeth. “Now.”
Adrielle knew how to pick her battles. Hands folded, she made her way around the table to descend from the dais and stand before Keiran. This close, she could see the small scar on his left cheekbone, the five-o’clock shadow at his jaw, and the hardness of his body that spoke of a warrior’s training.
She curtseyed. He bowed. Neither let their eye contact break.
An orchestra, hidden in a loft high above, started a song with the first gentle notes of a violin, and Keiran offered a gloved hand.
Protocol existed for a reason. Even she had an appearance she wanted to keep up, and it required a base level of etiquette. She placed her hand in his and let herself be swept into a dance.
“We meet again,” she whispered once the music got loud enough to cover her voice.
“Oh, that was you last night?” Keiran whispered back. “I thought I’d managed to draw the ire of some revenant haunting this place. I suppose this is preferable, though.”
“Better than a vengeful ghost. A high bar indeed.”
“Don’t act offended. From the look you gave me last night, you’re not happy about this, either.”
“I’m not easy to please.”
“So the rumor goes. Your last fiancé had quite a job cut out for him.”
Bile rose in her throat. She bit it back.
They stepped back, opposite wrists crossed as they circled each other. By now, with the king’s invitation, others were joining them on the dance floor.
“He didn’t try very hard,” she said.
“How did he die again? It’s slipped my mind.”
A pause, another curtsey, and bow, and they changed wrists and directions.
“He drowned,” Adrielle replied.
Keiran was lost for a moment, eyes narrowing a hair in suspicion.
“That was the official reason, anyway,” she continued. “Fluid in the lungs, bloating, discolored skin, asphyxiation … the only problem was that he was found bone-dry in bed. They couldn’t figure out what else it could be, though, and it the undertaker would rather omit that detail than admit defeat. And, of course, no one thought to consult me to see if any poison had those effects.”
The dance pulled her close again, their chests one deep inhale away from touching. He stared down at her, truth dawning in his eyes. He didn’t appear to be surprised, though; perhaps taken off guard that she’d done it herself rather than keep her hands clean.
“What is your next step?” she asked. “Tell others? You’re the new one here. They don’t like me, but they loathe you. No proof, no conviction. Not when you’re a princess, anyway. And you must know I’m not a reliable path to being king. You’d have to be a fool to be here with any plans for that. You don’t strike me as a fool, Prince Keiran.”
A hint of a compliment, the use of a name when spoken in a soft voice, could make at least a chip in most people’s armor. The prince was no exception. He watched her with a different kind of wariness as the dance ended and she stepped away.
“Meet me in my chambers, will you?” she said. “I despise public settings for serious conversations.”
She’d made her show. She’d danced with her betrothed, and it was all they asked for.
Adrielle’s sharp eyes crossed over him one more time before she left the ballroom.
4
Keiran
Keiran, against Nuala’s advice, went to Adrielle’s chambers.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that she was manipulating him. He expected that. He’d come prepared for indifference, distaste, and hatred, and he’d gotten all of that from various people, but she met his eyes. She said his name, and whispered something that he was sure counted as a compliment by her standards.
For a second, a blink, he’d fallen for it. It passed as soon as a breath cleared his mind, but alarm bells had been ringing in his head ever since.
He brought his own wine, poison hidden under his sleeve. There was no guarantee it would work.
There was no guarantee it wouldn’t.
The mahogany door to her chambers was closed, oil lamps mounted on either side. For some reason, he was sure something about the closed door was a power play as he knocked on the door.
The princess answered the door herself, still in her ballgown, though her hair had been released from its holdings to tumble down her back. She was still in the heels that made her come within half a head of his height, though, and still wore a necklace with a pendant that came short of falling between her breasts.
