AUTUMN KRAUSE’s Grave Flowers is a gothic, twisty royalcore fantasy set in a world full of deadly games, rivalry and family secrets. Read on for an extract.

Chapter Six

While the party started at the eighth night hour, I didn’t leave my quarters with my girls until the ninth hour, at my demand. I was entering a foreign court. I wished to prove I moved according to my own timeline while simultaneously making a dramatic appearance.

The ballroom had a main entrance for the guests and another exclusively for the royals, which was accessed by an interior balcony and had a set of stairs descending to the dance floor. I paused, staring down into the party.

Overwhelm beset me. The ballroom was huge. Fabric panels covered the walls in shimmering watery silk. Life-size glass figurines of dancers were suspended on ribbons from the ceiling. They were attired in translucent gowns coloured by soft golds, the hand-cut edges so thin that they seemed to disappear.

Hundreds of people filled the ballroom. The party was at a fever pitch. Raucous laughter reverberated off the walls. Every hand clutched a goblet of bright red wine, and couples danced either too fast or too slow for the music, though no one seemed to care.

Two chairs sat on a raised dais against the wall.

One chair was for Aeric, and the other was for me.

Both were empty.

‘His Royal Highness. Where is he?’ I asked Sindony.

She peered over my shoulder into the party and pointed. ‘Where those people are gathered.’

My eyes widened. Aeric, my soon-to-be betrothed and the reigning monarch of Minima’s most prosperous kingdom, looked like a wine-soaked cad. Not only did he hold a nearly drained goblet in one hand, but he clutched an entire bottle of wine in the other. It was also almost empty, indicated by his dramatic devastation as he tried to pour it directly into his mouth, bypassing the goblet altogether. His sleeveless shirt was untucked … and unbuttoned. It flapped open around him, revealing his torso. And, by the Family, what was that on his chest, beneath his pendant? A word was scrawled across it. I squinted and nearly gasped.

King.

It was written across Aeric’s chest in the way a title is written across a book. Never in my life had I anticipated such a thing. Half a dozen partiers gathered around him, goading him on and cheering and raising their goblets alongside him.

Confusion filled me, quickly followed by revulsion. Aeric didn’t bother to pretend at distress over Inessa’s death, which proved how little he thought of her and our country. Enemies surrounded him, first among them his own mother and uncle. His father had died under suspicious circumstances. He was on the cusp of being formally coronated – and here he was, drunk. The only thing to indicate he was the ruling monarch was the word smeared on his chest.

Shaking my head, I relieved my girls and stepped farther out onto the balcony. A royal announcer leaned against the railing, watching the merriment. When he saw me, he quickly straightened and pounded his rod on the floor. The party was much too loud, and no one heard him over the music and frivolity. I didn’t wait for a second attempt.

I made my way to the stairs, centred myself on the top one, and stopped. A few guests close to the staircase noticed me. They nudged each other and pointed. It was all I needed. News of my arrival spread across the ballroom in a wave. Faces upturned until everyone stared as though I were a comet streaking across the sky. The news, carried on whispers and gasps, reached Aeric and his group. A few young men shouldered each other and nodded toward me. One elbowed him in the ribs to get his attention and pointed. He laughed and tried to push his companion off.

Then Aeric saw me.

During my observation, he’d been stumbling about, laughter spilling from him every few seconds. The minute his gaze landed on me, he stilled, eyes widening like a deer spotting the archer about to slay it. I didn’t understand the surprise. It passed so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined it. A lazy grin spread across his lips. He said something to those closest to him, and they doubled over, trying to suppress their laughter. With great focus, he composed himself and handed his goblet and wine bottle to his friends. He sauntered over to the bottom of the stairs as though he had all the time in the world. Then he stopped, waiting for me to descend. I gave a slight nod to the royal announcer.

‘We are graced by Her Royal Highness, the princess of Radix, Madalina Tachibana Sinet, our future queen consort of Acus,’ the announcer thundered.

I stepped onto the first stair.

Given how wide my skirt was, I should’ve used the rail, but I didn’t, willing myself to make it down without so much as a waver. Inessa would never use the rail, refusing to show even an inkling of need for support, even on stairs. By Family fortune, my training in dance kept me steady, my inner balance strong enough to counter the impediment of the skirt.

Everyone stared – which I was used to. In Radix, I was the axis of every court party. But here ….. I didn’t know what I was. I didn’t know who the eyes belonged to or the thoughts passing through the minds behind them. I didn’t know anything, not even what the wine would taste like or what the dances were, yet I was supposed to avenge Inessa and murder Aeric. Panic filled me. I tried to force it away, but it wouldn’t let me go.

I wished to look anywhere but at Aeric. I attempted to focus on the empty space above the crowd. I missed a step. My heart jumped as I floundered. My gaze wavered and dropped, latching on to Aeric’s eyes with the intractability of a lock once it’s been clicked into place by its key. The smile remained on his lips. Annoyance strengthened me and helped me regain my stability. I didn’t smile back, but I didn’t dare look elsewhere. If I did, I would stumble again. He had become the equilibrium for my descent, even as my loathing for him grew with each step.

Once I reached the floor, Aeric bowed, then simply said, ‘Your Highness.’

‘A pleasure,’ I said, curtsying. I needed to be strong, but it seemed the walk down the stairs had drained me, as though I were a leaking vessel through which strength only passed through and did not fully dwell within.

I did not trust myself to meet his gaze, but that left me looking at his lips.

Embarrassment surged through me, and I dropped my line of sight but found myself staring at his chest, King at my eye level. Horror replaced the embarrassment, and I lowered my gaze once more-which then put his midsection into my view. My face flushed pink as though I’d been the one drinking wine, not him.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said. His voice was so formal, it drew my attention back to his face. ‘Would you care to dance?’

‘I’m not so sure you’re in any state to be spinning around,’ I said, trying to regain my dignity. Most rulers would be insulted at my breach of etiquette, but he laughed. I stared, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t laughing at me – he was laughing at my comment – but it unnerved me more than if he’d drawn a blade.

‘A fair point, Your Highness’ he said, balancing himself with effort. ‘A glass of wine, perhaps?’

‘Is there any left? I think you’ve drunk it all’

At that, the laughter spread. The guests weren’t afraid of laughing at Aeric’s expense. Clearly, he had no control over his court.

‘Well, then,’ he said, once the mirth subsided, ‘you don’t wish to dance, and you don’t wish to drink … what would you like to do?’

Without a word, I moved past him. The crowd parted before me, amusement flashing in their eyes. Cold air wafted around my exposed neck and chest, and I longed for my old dresses. My hands wished to pull my hair down over my shoulders and my arms wished to curl about myself.

I was lost within my own body, a bizarre sensation after years of endless dance lessons had made it mine to command. I reached the dais where the two chairs were and ascended. I turned to face the guests and sank onto the cushion of the left-hand chair.

‘Sit,’ I said to Aeric. ‘I wish to sit.’

There was another moment of keen silence, one so sharp that it could cut. No one appeared particularly upset, but the moment was fraught with more than mere enthrallment. An uneasy curiosity gave it weight. Some of the guests nudged each other and leaned over to whisper behind their hands. Gazes flickered from me to Aeric and back again. The court was judging, evaluating, assessing – all things the king should be doing. But the current reigning monarch, Aeric, was simply smiling, his grin somehow growing even lazier.

‘You’ve travelled far, Your Highness. Sit as much as you like.’ He turned away, as though my installation in the chair had completed his responsibilities to me for the night. He gestured to the crowd. ‘But, for the rest of you miscreants, I command you to dance and drink until dawn. If you don’t, it’s off with your heads! Horatio, my goblet and my bottle are empty! Rectify it, my friend.’

Rowdy cheers broke out, and the crowd converged around Aeric. Horatio grabbed Aeric’s neck and playfully pulled his head back to pour more wine down his throat while the others clapped and laughed. Music swelled, and the party burst back to life, guests throwing their arms around each other to dance and embrace and kiss. The entire ballroom swayed, as though it, too, were as drunk as Aeric. Even the walls seemed to lean in and then out, the mirrors giving the party’s movements back to itself. The glass figurines shivered and swung as the ballroom reverberated with the thunderous footsteps. It reminded me of water being pushed from one end of a tub to the other so that it sloshed up against the rim but somehow never tipped over the edge.

I tried to ignore Aeric and analyse who knew whom, but as the hours progressed, wine made friends of everyone. It was tremendously different than Radian court parties, where groups were clear and no one drank to excess for fear their wits would be dulled. Here, arms slipped about each other, lips met, shoes and slippers stumbled and scuffed across the marble. It truly seemed like a party, one where there was no aim other than to have fun. I was perplexed by the meaning-lessness.

Soon, I found myself tracking Aeric’s sloppy movements across the ballroom. Not once did he seek out my gaze or even glance in my direction. Instead of me ignoring him, he was ignoring me. No, not ignoring me. He’d forgotten all about me.

The entire party had.

I had to reassert myself.

Father would never let himself be pushed to the side, especially at a foreign court.

Except Father demanded control by brutality. Once, at age five, I’d sat next to Inessa at a banquet. We giggled together, oblivious to the world happening above our heads, the one filled with plots, power, and perdition. All I knew was that in one moment, Inessa was making me laugh by mimicking Orios’s meow, and then the next moment, we were doused in cold fluid. A tart smell filled my nose, and drops of tangy, bubbly liquid sizzled on my tongue. A bottle of sparkling sour wine had shattered. Candlesticks, goblets, plates, and forks were knocked off the table. In their place was a man splayed atop the platter of halibut. Father stood on the table and calmly sank so his knees were on either side of the victim. He looped a cord around the man’s neck and pulled it tight. The man bucked and struggled, his face turning red. The more time passed, the less human he seemed. His features disappeared into desperate folds, and his hands clawed aimlessly at the empty air. I clung to Inessa. She let me, wrapping her arms around me, and then, as the moments passed and the man remained alive, covering my eyes with her hand.

Finally, mercifully, silence fell. I pulled back. The man was limp on the table. Exertion exuded from Father. His chest heaved, and perspiration poured down the sides of his face. Methodically, he unwound the cord and tucked it into his pocket, then cupped the man’s face in his hands. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the man’s cheeks like tears. Father took a deep breath, as though inhaling the man, as though trying to remember every moment, as though saying goodbye.

‘May you swim in salt,’ he whispered

I jolted back into myself, but the memory had already done its damage. It hung from me like clothes sopping wet with icy sea water, the fabric gritty with sand. My hands grasped the arms of the chair. I glanced around, hoping no one noticed.

Only one person met my gaze. It was a young man, and he glanced behind himself as though thinking I was looking at someone else. When he realised it was indeed him, he approached.

‘Are you well, Your Highness?’ he asked. ‘Do you need anything?’

His shoulders slouched forward slightly as though he were leaning over to inspect something interesting. Despite his loose posture, his attire was striking. It was black, fitted closely to his lanky frame, with lace trim at the neck and sleeves, which ended at the armpit, revealing his arms. In the corner of either eye was a tiny teardrop inked beneath his skin. One teardrop was oriented up, and the other was oriented down. He wore gloves also trimmed in lace. I’d never seen someone have bare arms and covered hands. The only deviation from the colour scheme was a gold pin fixed to his collar. It depicted a laughing face with weeping eyes. I knew what he was from the teardrops and the pin: a jester. Every court had them, including ours. Only our jester was so terrified of getting on Father’s bad side that all his jokes were simply outrageous compliments about Father’s attractiveness, beneficence, and wisdom.

‘I am,’ I said. I made myself smile in a way that I hoped seemed genuine. Jesters could be powerful. They oftentimes doubled as advisors, observing court closely for fodder from which they crafted their witticisms. ‘And your name is?’

‘Yorick, Your Highness.’

‘Tell me, Yorick, are the parties always this … lively?”’

‘I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘Ever since Prince Aeric returned to court, there have been parties instead of councils. Makes it quite hard if you prefer the company of books to people. I always can’t wait until these things are over and I’m in bed with a book and a piece of toast.’

‘I must admit, there’s nothing like taking off my slippers after a night of dancing. I’d planned to dance tonight, but I’m not certain I wish to dance with His Royal Highness.’ I spoke carefully, watching Yorick closely to see if he was offended at my insult of his monarch. However, he nodded enthusiastically, as though entirely in agreement.

‘Prince Aeric is never far from a wine bottle. Which is bold. I could never because I don’t want wine face when I’m older. I’m too vain. If you’d like to dance, Your Highness, you can dance with me.’

‘Can I?’ I took Yorick in sharply. His eyes glittered between his lids, which were powdered black. He could be trying to get me to embarrass myself, to make Aeric jealous, or to advance some other private agenda I didn’t know. But if I were dancing, Aeric couldn’t forget about me, and neither could anyone else. It would be a strong message to dance with someone other than my intended on my first night here, the perfect follow-up to firing Decima. I glanced across the party, trying to see where Aeric was. I spotted him quickly, as though now that I knew which face was his, my eyes could find no other. He was dancing-with four other young men. All five of them lurched side to side, terribly out of beat, in the sort of way I’d seen young men do after a successful hunt or wrestling match. ‘Aren’t you worried you might offend the prince?’

‘Not at all’ An amused smile played at Yorick’s lips, as though he found something funny.

‘Not at all?’

;’Prince Aeric would be jealous only if I were attracted to you.’

‘You aren’t?’ I was taken aback. ‘I think I look particularly ravishing tonight.’

‘Oh, you are. I can’t deny it any more than I could deny the beauty of the stars. But men, women, romance … that’s not what interests me right now. I’m the safest person you could dance with tonight. You might as well be dancing with no one.’

I weighed his words. Most men looked at me like a meal to devour, their wet lips seeking to trail along my neck and their fumbling fingers struggling to find my corset strings. I was as practiced at drawing out their desires as I was at spinning into a dip at the end of a dance. But there was no hunger in Yorick’s stare. He regarded me as a brother might. It was refreshing to be seen as another human, nothing more and nothing less.

‘Very well’. Before I could lose my nerve, I rose and descended the dais. Yorick followed. I refused to weave my way through the room and followed a straight line to the dancing, clearing my throat whenever a drunken guest didn’t move until we reached the dance floor.

Couples whirled. Each one did their own type of dance, some going half time to the music, some going double. Even the glass figurine dancers overhead spun at different speeds. I snuck one last look at Aeric. He was still surrounded by his friends. The King was even more visible as he cast his head back to laugh, shoulders arching and chest widening with breath. Determinedly, I held out a hand to Yorick. He took it. The lace on his gloves tickled my palm. He swept in front of me and pulled me out into the fray. For a moment, everything was blurry. The skirts of other women flapped against mine and tugged me along in a current of silk, taffeta, and chiffon. Shoulders brushed me, and voices rang out in apology, a few of which sounded annoyed and not in any way remorseful.

I closed my eyes and thought of one of the places I hated most of all.

The ballroom back home.

I saw it at half-light, torn between thoughts of my excruciating dance lessons with Rigby and my nights spent dancing until the early morning with different men. My feet were often afire as infected blisters rubbed against the sides of my slippers. Those same feet, though, also glided across the marble as if gravity didn’t exist and I might fly away if I spun fast enough. The two memories fed into each other, the first full of pain and the second full of power. I let it build until they swelled over me.

Then I let them take me away.

I chose a dance that paired with the music and highlighted only one partner: me. Different parts featured me circling this way or dipping another, separate from Yorick, who congenially followed along. My huge skirts spread out like red tongues of flame. As I spun, pins flew loose from Sindony’s hopeless attempts at a bun. My hair spilled across my shoulders and down my back. I went faster and faster, and I didn’t miss a step. Every note trilling through the ballroom was mine to snatch and use in a way no one else could. I took each one and contoured them to my body so there was no distinction between my movements and the music. The other couples slowed and stopped and then retreated to the edge of the dance floor until only I, Yorick, and the glass figurines danced.

No one ignored me now.

No one would, not after this. Tomorrow, everyone would be talking about the Radixan princess, and it was just what I wanted. From behind me, a hand caught my wrist.

Yorick?

No, he was wearing gloves —

My heart leaped in a scintillating moment of triumph. Was it Aeric?

Had I bewitched him enough to come dance with me and catch my hand? I spun to him.

But I wasn’t dancing with Aeric.

I was dancing with Inessa, who wore the same gauzy red dress as before. She dragged me to her. Thick sludge poured from her eyes. I let out a cry and yanked my wrist away.

Everyone murmured but they weren’t alarmed.

They didn’t see her.

Only I did.

Inessa grabbed me with both hands and cruelly dipped me, nearly bending me in half. Pain shot up my spine. She jerked me upright. My scar was alive, shooting spikes of agony into my wrist. Snippets of the guests’ murmurs reached me.

‘The new princess is quite flexible!’

‘How did she dip so far?’

‘Flower magic! It must be!’

Everything was spiralling. I stepped away from Inessa. She came at me again, face twisting beneath the black muck. I had to get away before I started screaming in terror. I turned and pushed through the crowd, fleeing Picking up my skirts, I ran back up the stairs I’d so grandly descended. I didn’t dare stop.

Inessa came behind me. I knew without looking; I could feel her, my nerves flashing and blinking beneath my skin in anticipation of someone catching me. Servants milled about as I ran through the hallways. They stared at me in confusion, unaware of my pursuer. The doors to my chambers appeared. I burst through them, my fingers shaking so badly, I could hardly turn the lock.

All the candles were lit, even though my girls had blown them out when we left.

With a suppressed whimper, I looked at my scar. Pink streaks unfurled across it, reaching farther across my skin, while the scar itself turned softer and spongy in a way dead tissue shouldn’t. Impulsively, I thrust my hand behind my back, as though it might somehow separate from myself.

Then I waited.

Doors and locks wouldn’t keep her out.

I knew it.

Sure enough, her hand came through the door. It caught on the wood, but it didn’t stop her from reaching forward. Flesh stripped back from her arm like a rind peeling from a vegetable. I stared in horror at the layers of stringy veins, the shredded muscles, and, at the core of the layers, the flash of white bone. The scar from our birth snagged on the frame and stretched more and more, until it snapped back into place. Every one of Inessa’s fingers strained and pointed, grasping and clawing. Another hand joined it, and then, with a sudden surge, she burst through the door.

‘Inessa?’ I whimpered.

She sank to the ground and then moved forward on all fours. Her head twisted side to side. A half hissing, half growling came from her throat.

‘Inessa!’

At the second utterance of her name, she blinked. Black fluid spun around her eyeballs, crossing her pupils and dripping over her eyelids. She blinked again and her eyes cleared. Slowly, she straightened.

‘I’m’ – she looked around at my chambers and then focused on me – ‘starving.’

‘You can’t just appear whenever you want!’ I cried. ‘Don’t you want me to avenge you? You’ll have me locked away if you scare me in front of everyone. No one else can see you.’

‘I don’t have a choice.’ Spotting the floor-length mirror in the dressing chamber, she crossed to it and gasped, horrified by her appearance. Then a slow smile crossed her face, and she dipped her fingers into the black liquid, arranging it so it highlighted her lids and lips. I followed her. ‘I simply am in Bide and, without warning, find myself here. I have no control. Trust me, if I did, I wouldn’t travel all the way from the other side to be your dance partner. Now, how are you getting on? Have you learned anything about who might’ve killed me?’

‘I only just arrived,’ I said defensively. ‘But I must interrogate the head botanist and try to gain access to your chambers. Have you remembered anything new?’

‘Head botanist?’ Inessa asked, pausing as she fussed with her hair. Some of it hung limply over her shoulders and the rest was coiled around the top of her head. Pebbly whitish clumps clung to her strands. She frowned. ‘Too much light.’ Annoyed, she blew out the nearest candle.

‘Yes, Annia,’ I said. ‘I’m not certain she poisoned you, but I figure I should see who had access to the flower berry before you ate it. I will visit the garden after the betrothal service tomorrow.’

‘Ah, yes, the betrothal service. I think you’ll enjoy it. Mine was delightful,’ Inessa said. Smoke from the candle twirled around her. ‘They say twins are one human living the same life twice. I’ve never believed it until now.’

I didn’t think it was fully true. We weren’t living the same life. Inessa had lived her life, and now mine was the water seeping into the footsteps she’d left behind. I came after her, crossing ground she’d already travelled. A chill gripped me. What if death awaited me, just as it had awaited her?

‘It’s the same service we have in Radix’ she continued, ‘but it’s funny how everything feels different in Acus.’

‘The service matters not to me.’ I blew out a candle as well with a heavy, strangled breath. A sweet hint of beeswax rose with the acrid smoke.

‘I know you were supposed to murder Aeric. Father has me after the same end.’

‘I wondered as much.’ Inessa considered me. Her eyes were particularly ghoulish in their black circles, the white smoke making her image ripple. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to do it? Murder and you don’t get along, Sister.’

‘It’s different,’ I insisted, knowing she was thinking of Mother, just as Father had. ‘I have no lust for blood and no taste for power, but I’ll do what I need to do.’

‘No, but you do have a taste for life, my sister,’ Inessa said. She crossed her arms, fingers tapping thoughtfully. Fierceness rose on her face, like a sea serpent ascending from the depths to flash its coils across the watery surface. ‘Perhaps that’s why you’ll outlast us all. Father, Mother, even the royals here. In longing for something outside of a crown, you’ll find yourself wearing it.’

It was unclear if Inessa was complimenting me or simply observing something she thought to be true. It was always difficult to know her true thoughts. I’a seen flashes of her affection and protectiveness for me, but she was that way with anything belonging to her-and she certainly thought I, and my service, did.

She cleared her throat, then said, ‘Anyways, I’m starving.’

‘There’s the marzipan castle,’ I said. ‘Though it’s much too sweet.’

‘Oh, I’m not starving for that. Ever since being in Bide, hunger eats me from the inside out. But it isn’t hunger for your silly human food. I long to eat … ice. Dirt. Rocks. Glass. Do you mind?’ She picked up a handheld mirror set in fine Crusan silver.

‘Mind what?’

She smiled. The edges of her mouth were unnaturally wide, as though Bide and its horrors had reordered her features, stretching each angle just a bit farther. I shuddered. My scar throbbed. I put my good hand over it. Moist skin gave way beneath my fingers, and a clear liquid secreted from the tissue. Now that my sister was dead, the scar was conversely alive. It throbbed even more as she brought the mirror to her mouth. She bit. I stifled an alarmed cry. Splinters fractured across the mirror, and the tinkle of breaking glass accompanied them. Shards caught in her mouth, but she crunched down, hard teeth on sharp glass, soft lips on lethal edges, writhing tongue on silvery metal. The black liquid around her eyes gushed from her gums and mouth. It poured down her chin. This time it was as runny and thin and clear as water.

The smile on her lips grew wider, until it stretched nearly ear to ear. Glass shards, black liquid, and silver frame glinted in her mouth. When she spoke, and I could see the back of her throat vibrating with speech, a cave of silvery terrors framed by swollen lips.

‘I remember, Mads – I had to tell you –’

‘What?’ I stepped forward, desperate for anything that might help me save her from these unnatural horrors. ‘What do you remember?’

But my words fell into emptiness. She was gone, entirely. Only the mirror remained on the floor where she had been. Its frame was indented with bite marks, a large chunk was torn away, and shattered glass flashed beneath it.

Blood welled around my scar.

Something bulged from inside. Terrified, I touched it. It hurt so horribly that I thought I’d vomit. The scar was softer than ever before, but there was a hard object under the skin. I pressed, not sure if I was whimpering more from fear or pain. Blood dripped down my wrist. The object wrested free with a strange ripping sound. It struck the floor with a clunk. Weakly, I picked it up to see what had come from within me. I wiped off the blood and held it close to one of the candles.

A single shard of broken mirror glass flashed between my fingers.

Chapter Seven

In preparation for the betrothal ceremony the next day, I donned a new dress specifically made for the event, which meant it was the same one Inessa had worn. It was slightly more covered than the party dress, but not by much. It was dark green, symbolic of Radix. The skirt was covered in our grave flowers, but as talented as Acusan sewists were, they had never seen grave flowers, and it showed. Every flower, from the beauties to the lost souls to the mad minds, were depicted perfectly upright, seeking the sun. They looked nothing like my bloodthirsty, salt water-craving creatures that thrived in the damp and the dark. A red lace underpinning went beneath the green silk dress to represent Acus. It wrapped up my neck and extended down my arms to where it hooked around my middle fingers. The rest spilled out beneath my skirt, creating a train. A matching red veil draped over my hair, and a thick green silk headband secured it in place, though my scalp ached from Sindony’s overzealous yet futile styling methods.

I stared at myself in the mirror, uneasy. My scar throbbed. I could feel where the glass had dragged its way through my hand and the spot where it had torn free. I’d told my girls I’d cut my hand on the letter opener in my parlor. I also hid the bitten mirror and broken glass, but it was as though Inessa had gnawed on me. Her tooth marks were deep in my soul, leaving me raw and ragged. She might appear at any moment. I always had to be on my guard so that if she did, I wouldn’t react the way I had last night. I wondered what everyone was saying about me after I’d fled the dance floor.

‘Sindony?’ I called.

She hurried to my side like an overeager puppy, coming much too close for personal comfort. ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

‘The party was such a thrill.’ I made myself sound innocent and earnest. ‘Everyone was as kind as could be. Tell me, did the court seem to like me? It was my first public appearance, so I hope I did well’

‘Oh, the guests say you were just captivating,’ Sindony reassured me. ‘Everyone is talking about your dancing and saying you looked like you walked on air.’

“’I’ve had years of training,’ I said, hoping people would think the moment Inessa had dipped me was simply talent and not supernatural intervention.

‘I wish I might dance in such a way. You enchanted everyone.’

‘Thank you. My dance master would be glad to hear it.’ Rigby had eventually gone back to his native Pingere, and I’d heard he died after an ill had swept through, but he was alive and well – and perpetually displeased – in my memories.

‘And were you all right?’ Sindony prattled on. ‘The guests were worried you were unwell because apparently you left early.’

‘The climate here is so different.’ I watched her closely to see if she bought my excuse and spoke loudly enough for the other girls to hear as well. ‘I’m not used to such thin air. I should’ve bid everyone good night, but I was afraid I was going to faint. How embarrassing would that’ve been?’

Sindony nodded sympathetically, eyes wide as though she could think of nothing more humiliating than fainting in front of everyone. With any luck, she and the other girls would tell others so word would spread through court.

‘Hopefully I won’t faint at the betrothal ceremony.’

Giggles tittered through the girls.

Good.

‘After the betrothal ceremony, I think I should have some time outside,’ I said. ‘It’ll help me adjust to the weather. Perhaps a trip to the garden would be best.’

‘The garden is magnificent,’ Sindony said. ‘You’ll enjoy it, Your Highness.’

‘Wonderful. I’ll look forward to seeing it. And the rest of the palace, including the queen’s quarters once they aren’t cordoned off. I’ll need a tour. I hear there’s a library, a solarium, and a theatre. I’d like to see everything.’

‘You can, but …’

‘But what?’

‘Prince Aeric is planning a play, so the theatre has been quite busy. It’s an original script. He’s written it himself.’ Excitement danced across her face. I smiled back at her, hiding my confusion. A play? Of all the childish pursuits … wine and plays. What next? An exotic pet? Aeric’s life was built on decadence, but it couldn’t hide his true crime:

Allowing his rule to rot before it had even begun.

Still, it would be good to know everything I could about Aeric’s actions, especially as he was writing the play himself.

‘What is the play about?’ I asked.

‘It’s a retelling of the Primeval Family creating our world,’ Sindony said. She paused and giggled. ‘It isn’t very good.’

‘I see. Thank you.’ Only, there was nothing to see or learn. The Primeval Family fashioning our firmament out of a bursting star was one of the most common myths depicted in plays. Did Aeric really think he had a fresh interpretation?

‘Oh, it’s time!’ Sindony exclaimed. ‘You’re off to see your beloved!’ I suppressed a grimace.

My beloved? More like my idiot.

***

Acus’s cathedral was staggeringly beautiful. I stood in the narthex, waiting to walk down the aisle to where Aeric stood at the altar with the monasticte.

I peered into the nave. It was my first time experiencing the giftings of the four kingdoms used in a service as they had been intended. Flowers, representing Radix, were arranged in ribboned boughs around embroidered panels. Round ovals painted by imagers in Pingere whose hands had been specially blessed by monastictes hung at intervals on the panels. They featured scenes of the Primeval Family in their celestial court. Sacred silver vessels from Crus-aggressively flashing in the light, which was fitting for our militant neighbour – were arranged carefully on the altar. Monastictes wore vestments indicative of the liturgical calendar, green for the springtide during which the Mother and Daughter cast petals to the earth, and embroidered black ribbons in reference to the holy mourning. Every aspect was perfectly executed. No wonder everyone found Acus so pretentious. All our monastictes cared about was the alcohol content of the brews they drank from the sacred vessels and the euphoric effects of inhaling incense.

The choir began to sing. As Inessa had said, it was the same song we had in Radix, though the choir was much larger, in tune, and much more varied and emotional with the inflections. However, just as in Radix, there were no instruments, only human voices soaring up to the vaulted cathedral ceiling. Without any prompting, I knew when to start walking down to the altar. Adjusting the red veil, I proceeded.

It had been difficult to see Aeric from the narthex, and for a few moments, I still couldn’t. On either side of me, guests stood in rows, watching. In our cathedral, Father had installed benches for the royal family and nobles, but there wasn’t a single seat here. Everyone was on their feet. I knew why Father had gone against tradition. If someone wished, they could attack with ease right now, and I wouldn’t be able to anticipate it.

Aeric waited. He was in formal attire, but since it was Acusan clothing, it was still largely insubstantial. The armholes dipped low on the sides, exposing the outline of his ribs. A cape angled across his chest to his shoulder, and a sword was at his waist. Just as I stared at him, he stared at me. I realised I needed to smile. To disarm him and appear like his beguiling bride.

He smiled first.

The same laziness from the party swam through it, as though he were nothing more than a boy in a tavern seeing a pretty girl from afar. Since he was smiling, I felt like he had stolen it from my usage and I no longer could utilise the tactic. Reflexively, it made me wish to frown, but that also wouldn’t do, so I tried to drain my features of any emotion and simply appear blank.

I found myself winded. Granted, the aisle was long, but it wasn’t exertion that stole my breath. It was the simple weight of everything, of trying to hold too many things at the same time – my haunting by Inessa, the impending marriage to and then murder of Aeric, the freedom of Radix and my future as queen regnant – and not knowing when I might set any of them aside. Atop it all was Aeric’s lazy smile coming closer with every step, an image of light carefreeness that made me feel cast from the heaviest of metals by contrast.

I reached the end and tore my gaze from Aeric’s stupid face. Swirls of smoke billowed around me as I was censed, and the monasticte, who clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, began a lengthy, drawn-out rendition of the betrothal service. I stood still, seeing and hearing nothing yet feeling so much that I thought I might combust.

Coldness touched my hand. I jumped, certain it was Inessa. Panicked dread sent my heart lurching up into my throat. But it was Aeric. His fingers gently brushed the back of my hand, crossing the bony ridges of my knuckles. I found myself drawn into the light of his eyes. Every bit of him was loose and relaxed, as though his body longed to lounge against a wall. His eyelids hung indolently – almost sleepily – low … but behind them, his eyes were bright, alert, reflections of the infernal sunshine soaking into every nook and cranny in Acus. I snatched my hand away from him, my heart pounding, though I wasn’t certain why.

The monasticte cleared his throat and glowered at me.

It was the point in the ceremony for me and Aeric to take each other’s hands. Aeric had been trying to prompt me, nothing else. Both his hands extended, waiting. His lackadaisical posture made it seem as though he didn’t care whether I took them or not, even in the middle of the sacred ceremony.

Slowly, I put my hands into his.

I expected Aeric’s hands to be soft. Everything about him was so hedonistically lighthearted, as though he were made from feathers and sparkling wine. To my surprise, his hands were startlingly rough. Calluses formed edges on his palms, and several small slashing scars crisscrossed them. His grip was light, but the scars were rough against my skin. I could understand the calluses because even though Aeric had been raised in the monasterium, Father had said he’d been instructed as a prince. His hands had likely been hewn into hardness by fencing, hunting, archery, and horseback riding. However, I wasn’t certain what would’ve caused so many scars. Curiosity dragged my gaze back to his face, wondering who might’ve hurt him in such a way. Such tiny, precise scars could be caused only by another human. Sunlight fell on his face, and I could see him clearly, every plane of his features illumined like a holy painting from Pingere.

Primeval pestilence, he was wine ill.

Beneath the informal smile, his face had a grayish pallor, and he swallowed with great determination. Sweat beaded his forehead in translucent drops. Last night’s party wafted from him, a bouquet of stale wine and hints of earthy pipe smoke, hidden beneath bay leaf soap and freshly applied cologne. Perversely, I liked the scent. It served only to make me more infuriated. I almost dropped his hands, sympathy gone. Truly, everything was a game to him. How had I not murdered him last night?

For the rest of the service, I refused to look at him again. Why should I? He wasn’t worthy of my attention. Real threats, real monarchs, real power – those alone deserved my focus, not this ridiculous prince who was wrung out on wine. Perhaps I should’ve been relieved. I didn’t relish the thought of murdering anyone, but it would be easier to kill him if I didn’t respect him. And I certainly didn’t.

The service concluded. Most of the attendees were quickly ushered out of the cathedral. Aeric, now officially my betrothed, ambled off without a word to me, most likely to vomit behind a pillar.

I noticed Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert across the way. They’d observed the ceremony from the royal alcove but were now speaking to two nobles. I slipped behind a chamber intended for holy admittance to listen, fervently hoping I might learn something to help me free Inessa.

‘A happy day!’ one of the nobles said. ‘Much happiness to you, Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert, over the betrothal of our prince.’

‘He seems to be a happy boy today,’ Prince Lambert said, his tone light. A happy boy. I’d never heard a reigning monarch referred to in such a rude way … but then, I had to admit I shared the inclination. One of the nobles made a sound of dismay. ‘Oh, it’s only a jest, Duke Cheston. All young men are happy when they have an endless supply of wine and parties to drink it at. Don’t you agree, Lord Luc?’

‘I do. It makes me wonder if Prince Aeric can reach his potential fast enough,’ Lord Luc said, his head inclining toward Prince Lambert as though he were a puppy hoping for a pat. His deference made me think Prince Lambert and Queen Gertrude had already swayed him to their side. ‘We are, after all, the most powerful kingdom. If he were the monarch of one of the tiny, barnacle-like kingdoms that cling to our great hull, it would be different. But we maintain the stability of the whole continent.’

‘You speak of improper things! And in front of the queen consort,’ Duke Cheston sputtered. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten to everyone. ‘King Claudius spent much time raising the boy for this precise moment.’

‘I am not so sensitive,’ Queen Gertrude said smoothly. She wore a dark gold dress. The hue contrasted with the bright, shiny gold pendant she always wore. Idly, she stroked it. ‘There’s no need to pretend my son has been anything other than drunk lately.’

‘Oh, I’m certain Prince Aeric will surprise us all.’ Duke Cheston failed to understand her cues and rushed to comfort her. ‘Worry not about it, my queen. You only just endured the shock of losing your husband and have been a paragon of strength for our kingdom since then.’

‘I’ve had to be stronger for longer than you realise, Duke Cheston.’ Queen Gertrude’s voice was sweet, yet her words were not. ‘I lost many before him. Anyways, if you don’t mind, I’m tired.’

Lord Luc and Duke Cheston said their goodbyes, leaving Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert alone. I watched closely. As soon as they were gone, Prince Lambert excitedly turned to her. ‘You’re tired?’

‘No.’ Queen Gertrude’s response was swift and severe. ‘I know what that feels like, and this is not it. Now let’s depart.’

A hand touched my elbow. It was a monasticte. He drew me away.

‘Dare I ask if you’d like to partake in the cup?’ the monasticte asked. He frowned disapprovingly at me, as though he knew I’d done something improper. ‘I know the tradition isn’t observed in Radix.’

He was right. After betrothal ceremonies, couples were supposed to share a single cup of wine to show they would hold everything in common, the good and the bad. We’d long abandoned the practice in Radix, but Acus, being Acus, seemed to still follow it. I thought for a moment. It would give me time alone with Prince Aeric. He was another person who’d known Inessa during her last days.

‘Of course we do,’ I said.

‘The other one said you didn’t.’

‘The other one?’ With a start, I realised Inessa must’ve declined the ritual. I wasn’t surprised. If something didn’t benefit her, she refused to do it for artifice’s sake. ‘Well, we … sometimes do and sometimes don’t. Regardless, I would like to. Please, lead the way.’

The monasticte huffed and motioned for me to follow him. I did, my thoughts turning back to Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert. He’d been excited that she was tired, and she’d quickly dispelled his enthusiasm. It could only be one thing. They were attempting to make a new heir as soon as possible, one to replace Aeric and end King Claudius’s line forever.

I was so lost in thought that I was startled when the monasticte harrumphed at me, indicating I’d reached my destination, which was a small room. Woven tapestries hung from display dowels. One was so big that it practically created a partition. It depicted the Family, each member holding one of the giftings. The Daughter held a demure grave flower as she stared upward with holy aplomb.

The monasticte left, and I paused at the threshold. Inessa had been through the betrothal service with Aeric while wearing the exact same dress. But she hadn’t participated in the ritual. As meaningless as it was, something was finally mine and mine alone.

I entered.

Aeric rose from a stool, holding a bottle of wine. How surprising. He addressed me. ‘My love-er.’ He stumbled to a stop as I stared at him without any amusement. ‘My … betrothed? My princess? What do you prefer?’

‘I prefer you don’t use “my,”‘ I said to my wine-ill betrothed.

‘Certainly.’ He cleared his throat. With an overabundance of declarative emphasis, he said, ‘Princess.’

Several baskets of colourful thread and whets sat on a bench beneath a window. Aeric cleared the baskets aside, managing to do so without setting the wine bottle down. ‘Would you care to sit and have the cup?;

‘I would.’

I perched on one end of the bench, and he settled on the other.

‘We’re supposed to share a cup, but I thought you might prefer two at this point in our ….. association,’ he said carefully, as though wary of my reaction.

‘I would, thank you,’ I said.

Solemnly, Aeric procured two chalices made of Crusan silver from a nearby cabinet and poured wine into both. His hand trembled a little, making the bottle’s neck scrape against the chalices’ mouths. Either he was very sick from last night’s wine … or he was nervous about something. He certainly couldn’t be nervous about me. For that, he’d have to care about impressing or wooing me, and he hadn’t made the slightest effort at either-in fact, everything he did worked to the contrary of such romantic gestures. Wine ill it was.

Aeric held out a chalice.

‘The other one, please.’ I reached for the one he’d intended to keep for himself. ‘I like the jewels on it.’

It was one of the first things I’d been taught as a princess. Never take the glass offered, lest it be poisoned. Aeric, though, nodded and handed it to me without hesitation. I felt the need to keep my guard raised around him, but he certainly didn’t seem to have any vigilance.

He took a sip and grimaced. ‘Perhaps’ – he took a shallow breath – ‘I should switch to water.’

‘It may be wise.’

‘Except it’d be a travesty to waste this.’ He didn’t even have the wherewithal to be ashamed. Instead, the sly grin from last night returned, as though the situation entertained him. I took a drink from my chalice and winced. Radixan wines were tart, bitter, and the only dry thing in the kingdom. This wine was sugary and rich. Its sweetness made my teeth ache. However, it was pleasingly strong, much more so than ours. Our wine was more for function than enjoyment. The alcohol content was low so it could be drunk over a long period. Warmth spread through my body, chasing away the chill of the cathedral and the pervasive fear hanging over me. Aeric again attempted to take a sip but violently shook his head and lowered it.

‘The travesty is how green your face is,’ I said, annoyance growing.

‘Your concern for my health is moving,’ Aeric replied dryly. ‘Though perhaps I should be more concerned for your health, specifically regarding your bones. The way you danced last night defied everything I’ve ever known about the pursuit. You practically bent in half.’

If only he knew why. Even if Inessa hadn’t been there, Rigby had practically beat new joints into me, ones that could twist abnormally, grace forced from me in the same way as sweat, tears, and blood.

‘Are you all right?’ Aeric asked, his tone suddenly softer. ‘You look dejected.’

‘Oh, dancing simply isn’t my chief pleasure,’ I said.

‘Well, you’ll never need to dance on my accord,’ he said. His voice was kind. ‘I did want to ask if you’re adjusting to your new home. I … heard you dismissed one of your attendants.’

I stiffened, defensive. ‘And?’

‘She’s the daughter of a loyal family who has long served us,’ Aeric replied. ‘Her firing ruffled so many feathers, we could restuff all the pillows in Acus.’

‘Her service was lacking,’ I said unapologetically, even as shame rose within me at the memory of tears filling Decima’s eyes.

‘This morning, her parents came to me and asked for her to be reinstated,’ Aeric said. ‘They are elderly and rely on her income because she is their only child. It was quite the scene, involving beseeching. Lots of it. I’d rather be impaled than beseeched, but it seems to come with the job.’

I took another swallow of wine. Decima had done nothing wrong, but I needed to persist. Sinets never backed down from their decisions.

‘If the parents are elderly and unable to earn their keep and their daughter is unruly, how are they beneficial to you?’ I responded the way Inessa did whenever I questioned why we had to do cruel things, laying out brutal stepping stones of reality and, when necessary, lies. ‘How can they serve you in any meaningful way?’

‘They are my subjects,’ Aeric said without hesitation. ‘The question should be how I serve them, not the other way around.’

I had never heard such a thing articulated sincerely. Our sacred writes were full of contradictory moralistic concepts like the servant monarch and the holy fool, but such drivel belonged there, with the leather tomes in monasteriums. Of course, Aeric had been raised in one. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left. Those concepts didn’t work in an actual court. I let out a scornful laugh, one first coined and perfected by Inessa.

Aeric’s face stiffened and then went blank. There was nothing to draw from it. He might as well be a portrait, one painted with no talent or soul and completely devoid of emotion. It was enough to make me swallow down the laughter and take another self-conscious drink of wine. Worry came over me.

‘What did you tell her parents?’ I asked. If Aeric had rehired the girl against my will, I would look like a fool, and the show of power would do the exact opposite – it would reveal how powerless I really was.

‘I gave the father a job of equal compensation in the stables,’ Aeric said, voice as lacking in emotion as his face. ‘I told them that if my bride does not wish to have their daughter in her employ, I will not require it.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, and I meant it. Aeric hadn’t undermined me, and he’d helped the family at the same time.

‘No need,’ he said. ‘You may run your chambers however you wish.’

How strange it was to have someone grant you authority. In Radix, power was a limited resource for which everyone scrambled. Once secured, no one dared give it up or vest it in anyone else. I nodded, feeling thankful, confused, and awkward all at once. I switched my goblet to my other hand, determined to regain my composure and naturally move the conversation to Inessa’s death. Bizarrely, that seemed safer than whatever this conversation was.

‘I admit, I may have been too impatient with Decima. As you might imagine, I am mourning my sister,’ I said. ‘I was wondering if you might tell me about Inessa’s last days.’ I already knew she’d visited the garden, but who else had she seen, and what else had she done? ‘It would bring me comfort to know. What were they like?’

Aeric was silent. Perhaps I’d pushed him away too much by laughing at him. I waited, dread building with each passing moment. Finally, he said, ‘When Inessa was here, she spent much of her time in her chambers. Then, after the betrothal service, she asked to tour the garden. It was where she tried our flower berry, which is called flora 1.393.’

Abruptly, he extended the wine bottle and poured more into my chalice. I smiled in gratitude and took a sip in a show of appreciation, trying to keep things pleasant between us.

‘She asked to visit the garden? After spending much of her time in solitude?’ So Inessa had requested to tour the garden. Perhaps it was inconsequential, and she had simply been bored but … perhaps someone or something had prompted her to do so.

‘I suggested we visit the solarium, but she insisted. I assumed it was because she missed the Radixan royal garden.’

I barely suppressed a snort of disagreement. Inessa would’ve never missed our garden. The reason I loved our grave flowers – the fact they were uncontrollable – was exactly what Inessa had hated about them. If something couldn’t be bent to her will, she loathed it, as though it’d deprived her of owed capital and thus deserved to be destroyed. A pang struck my heart. Inessa might not have missed our grave flowers, but I did. Very much so.

‘I don’t believe I offered you my condolences,’ Aeric said. ‘Losing a sister is no small thing. Were you close?’

I blinked at the personal question. For that, I did need another drink of wine. I took it, long and slow, the disgusting sweetness coating my tongue.

‘We were,’ I said. It was true. Inessa and I knew each other best. But it was the sort of closeness that caused my feet to bleed during dance lessons: skin enclosed in a pointed toe, rubbing against leather until it tore. ‘As much as we could be.’

‘Ah,’ Aeric said. He paused. ‘The Radixan court is not known as an easy place.’

‘No.’ It was the first heartfelt, honest thing I’d ever said to him. ‘It isn’t.’

‘Were you sad to leave it behind?’

I took another drink of wine, thinking about the grave flowers raising their heads in grumpy welcome every time I approached, the pungently salty food that had ruined me for other flavors, and the ballroom where part of me was forever chained. Aeric didn’t know it, but he’d struck a tender spot in me, the same sort that made my shoulder ache every time I heard dancing music in remembrance of Rigby’s stick. Radix never gave more than it took. It was the underside of a rock-moist, crawling with phlegm-skinned creatures, dirty and dank. But it never pretended to be anything else. It told you the true cost of love and loss and let you decide for yourself what was worth clinging to.

Whatever I was, I was a Radixan, through and through.

Perhaps that was why I had such a hard time being a Sinet.

‘Everyone longs for home,’ I deflected. I didn’t wish to speak about myself any longer. ‘What was it like being raised in a monasterium?’

‘Austere.’ Now Aeric’s gaze dulled. ‘Not a pillow in sight, lest comfort bring you into sin….. or so they said. I had no pillow, but I still acquired penances faster than a stray dog acquires fleas, so perhaps the theory doesn’t hold. He smiled congenially, but a wistfulness hung in his voice.

‘There were bells. They rang three times a day for the canonical hours. I used to escape to the bell tower often. The bells were like giant mountains nestled together, solemn and restful’

‘Sounds lonely and free, all at once.’ I didn’t know what had inspired me to make such a personal inference, yet the way Aeric spoke about the bells reminded me of my grave flowers.

‘It was,’ Aeric agreed softly.

‘What happened to your hands?’ My lips were numb with wine, and the question came clumsily from them. Only one of Aeric’s hands was visible to me. It was wrapped around the belly of the chalice, while the other was down at his side. His fingers tightened, as though hiding the damage.

‘The monasticte attempted to strap the irreverence out of me.’ He spoke vaguely, in the way you might when talking about a misfortune happening far away. I took another sip, forcing away my guilt over being so insensitive … and the strange urge to take his hands in mine. ‘It didn’t work.’

‘What?’ He frowned, confused.

‘The attempts to cure your irreverence.’ I meant it as a jest, a barb at Aeric’s frivolity during royal mourning, to quell my sympathy for him. But just as my question about his hands had been clumsy, my response was too.

‘Perhaps,’ he said in the same distant manner, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. Silence pervaded the room. I tightened my own grip on my chalice. ‘I might ask what happened to your hand as well.’

I fought not to glance down at my scar or to try to hide it away. After Inessa had touched it, it had the look of a fresh cut, and now that glass had torn through it, it was rimmed in pink.

‘An unfortunate encounter with a letter opener,’ I said. Frustratingly, our conversation had a life of its own despite my efforts to guide it. It wound down different paths, ones I did not wish to tread. Determinedly, I added, ‘I heard you’ve been rehearsing a play.’

‘I am.’

‘Whatever for? Especially during royal mourning?’

The grin that had vanished from Aeric’s face returned. I hadn’t known it was possible, but it was even more insolent than before. If he was offended at my insensitivity over his hands, it didn’t show – which made me nervous. I’d thought he was easy to read, yet the more time I spent with him, the less confident I became. His emotions eluded me. More troubling, I couldn’t quite pin the thoughts behind them.

‘A play is always the thing,’ he said. Reflexively, forgetting he was wine ill, he raised the chalice to his lips. He winced at its strong scent, swallowed thickly, and lowered it. ‘Still not ready.’

I downed the rest of mine and held out a hand. ‘Give it here.’

Surprise crossed his face, and he surrendered it. ‘One cup after all,’ he observed. ‘Next you know, we’ll be kissing.’

After the exchange about his hands, I wasn’t prepared for such flirtation. I almost choked on the wine and barely managed to keep from coughing. Kissing? Us? The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, yet at the mention of it, heat somehow filled me, and I didn’t think it was just from the wine.

‘I try to avoid kissing wine-ill kings,’ I said, determined to regain my dignity and steer the conversation back to the play.

‘And you won’t. I’m not king yet. At least not in name.’

‘I also try to avoid kissing wine-ill princes. Though I recall you bore the title of king last night. Not in name but rather physically. Upon your … chest.’ By the Family, why was I mentioning Aeric’s chest? The mortification l’d been trying to escape only worsened, and I struggled miserably to hide it.

‘Oh, you mean this.’ Aeric reached one hand to his collar and undid its frill. I was flummoxed. I didn’t know if turning away or watching would give him power. The choice was made for me as his fingers unfastened his shirt. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. The garment was already exposed on the sides, but the front parted into a V, and he pulled one half aside. The word was still there, though much fainter than last night. However, it didn’t command my attention as much as his form did. Aeric’s chest was strikingly strong. Even more captivating was the way in which it narrowed at the waist. I nearly choked again, even though I had no wine in my mouth to blame. I rectified it by taking another sip. A mix of amusement and flirtation radiated from Aeric, cutting against his wine-ill pallor.

‘I’m not certain it’s very becoming to write “king” upon oneself.’ I meant to be vicious but sounded merely breathless. ‘Whatever are you, a jar in need of labelling? Fasten your shirt.’

‘As you command, Princess.’ Indolently, he leisurely closed his shirt, making me vastly relieved and peculiarly disappointed at the same time ‘I imagine it’s a no, then?’

‘A no?’

‘To the kissing. After all, if you consider semantics, I’m neither a wine-ill king nor a wine-ill prince. I’m the ruler prevailing, which is its own title entirely.’

His audacity left me speechless. I had the urge to use my wine for something other than drinking and splash it in his face. ‘What you are is on the verge of vomiting.’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ he returned easily. ‘Kissing is the cure to being wine ill.’

This wouldn’t do. He was flirting with me – and gaining the upper hand at that, leaving me disoriented and too hot, even though I was hardly wearing anything. I thought about Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert, how they dismissed him as boyish and drunk. They weren’t wrong, but there was something about the way Aeric flustered people – me among them – that made me wonder just how much of it was him having fun and how much was something else entirely.

‘Perhaps you should find one of the girls from last night’s party because I will not be assisting you,’ I said hastily.

Soberness chased away his smile, transforming him. He was handsome – I was already aware – but with this strangely poignant look, he was even more so. Staring at him, I felt as though I saw him truly, even though I didn’t know enough about him to understand what the expression might mean.

‘We are betrothed,’ he said. ‘I would never kiss anyone else.’

The fervour in his voice startled me just as much as the expression. The soft spot he’d struck when asking about my home was pricked again, eliciting emotions that were much too dangerous. What was this loyalty he spoke of? I needed to push him away, immediately, before some weak part of me desired the unabashed faithfulness he offered. But I also needed him to remain unsuspicious. The realisation was as frightening as the emotions. Heated dizziness settled over me. It had to be just the wine. I took another drink as though it would steady me, when, at this point, it had turned heavy on my tongue and light in my head. Aeric poured me more. I had to divert his attention. Quickly.

‘What do you think of Inessa?’ I blurted. ‘I mean – what did you think of her?’

By the Family, l’d spoken in the present tense.

Aeric seemed to realise it as well. His face changed for a heartbeat. But I saw it, nonetheless. An intuitive look, a look like a slicing dagger, a falling sword, a flying arrow. It was so intense that I almost couldn’t imagine him smiling ever again.

I stared down at the chalice. How many times had Aeric refilled it? While he hadn’t drunk a drop? Panic rushed through my blood with the force of the wine. Had he been trying to draw my guard down? To learn why I was really here? But how could he know? I set the chalice down and stood. As if in confirmation, everything spun. Aeric remained where he was. In fact, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, as though feeling pangs of wine ill.

‘I’ve had enough,’ I said. ‘I’m going back to the palace.’

‘Let me escort you,’ he said, lowering his chin and opening his eyes. One side of his mouth tugged up in his ever-present grin, but I didn’t find it charming any longer.

‘No, thank you.’

I fled. I left the chalices and my betrothed and his wine bottle and hurried through the cold centre of the cathedral. Smoke, left over from the service, swirled in the air, as though the cathedral’s spirit lingered beneath its dome. Most of the candles were out, but they dripped, red wax splotching gray stone. A few of the censers gently swayed from their gold chains. The cathedral’s movements made me feel as though it were alive, watching, judging, heightening my dizziness.

I touched my cheek. It was warm. Whether because of Aeric’s scheming or not, I had drunk enough to loosen my wits and had referred to Inessa in the present tense. I could only imagine how pink my face was from the wine.

Blinking furiously, I tried to banish the dizziness to the edges of my vision. There was a chance Aeric had wished to make me drink purely because he liked drinking as well. Drunks loved company. But there was another chance that he’d been trying to draw information from me. Was there something specific he was looking for? If he knew my true reason for being here – to assassinate him – he’d merely need to have me arrested, tried, and summarily executed … so what was he after? He’d distracted me from asking more about the play and had directed the conversation to my sisterhood with Inessa. Then, when I’d referred to her in the present tense, he’d reacted strongly. Wouldn’t most assume l’d simply had a slip of the tongue? People in grief sometimes referred to the deceased in the present tense, their hearts not ready to accept that their loved one no longer lived.

I found myself walking quickly again, my pace in tempo with my terrified thoughts. It was impossible for Aeric to know Inessa was a ghost, but I feared I’d shown too much. He’d guessed I was hiding something. I had to be much more careful around him, and I would never drink so carelessly again. Acusan wine was shockingly stronger than our Radixan ones, and I hadn’t been prepared for it … and, more sobering, I hadn’t been prepared for Aeric. I’d assumed he was the stupid drunken boy everyone else saw, one who liked parties and carousing and being handsome and adored.

But I had a sense I had been very wrong.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Autumn Krause is the critically acclaimed author of the YA novels A Dress for the Wicked (Harper), Before the Devil Knows You’re Here (Peachtree Teen) and Grave Flowers(Walker Books). She’s a gothic romantic at heart and loves spinning stories full of macabre magic. She was born and raised in Los Angeles, California, where her morbid imagination ran rampant – so much so that her parents became concerned and told her stop writing stories where everyone dies at the end. At 16, she got her first job at a bridal dress store. She continued to work as a bridal gown stylist for many years, eventually getting hired at an upscale Beverly Hills salon, which inspired her debut, A Dress for the Wicked. Most often, she can be found in Orange County, California, wearing a black lace dress while spending time with her husband and three children. Other times, she can be found out with lanterns in the tradition of Emily Dickinson, searching for herself and stories.

Visit Autumn Krause’s website