by Kaylin Lee
He glanced up at me once, then back down to the notes, as though unwilling to meet my eyes for long. “Lord Argentarius stated that the extra weight in the pallet was due to items purchased without his knowledge by his youngest daughter, Belle Argentarius, to replenish her personal supply of her favorite blend of rosedrop oil. The pallet was smuggled past gate inspectors using false bottoms in the crates, which the broker employees had only just discovered. He said that any discrepancy in the reported contents of the pallet would be due to her desire to keep her source of rosedrop oil secret, so that, I quote, ‘Other Procus ladies may not emulate Belle’s signature blend.’ End quote.”
My mouth dropped open.
“He is prepared to call witnesses from Bank Argentarius who have come forward with information about your practice of illegal importing and are willing to testify of it.”
I pressed a hand against my stomach. I was going to be sick. For years, I had purchased my rosedrop oil at a small market in the Merchant Quarter. The vendor imported it from Lerenia herself. I would never—
“The testimony of the captain of the guard, the clear discrepancy in weights documented in the independent inspection record, and your father’s promise of eyewitness testimony of your secret rosedrop oil imports together form a convincing argument against your innocence.” The clerk sent me a disapproving glare. “The justice is expected to rule unfavorably.”
I couldn’t seem to get enough breath.
“You are being charged with one primary offense and three secondary offenses. Primary offense—reckless endangerment of the city by circumventing plague purification standards. Secondary offenses—illegal import of undeclared goods, lying to royal inspectors, and failure to submit to inspection of goods.”
The clerk’s words rushed out too quickly. Either that, or my brain was moving too slowly to comprehend them at the normal speed.
“The most common sentence for a secondary offense is life imprisonment, with the possibility of a farming or mining labor sentence in reward for compliant behavior early in your sentence.”
The back of my head spiked with a fresh wave of pain.
“—and the most common sentence for a primary offense is death. Do you understand—”
I swayed where I stood as my injury throbbed and the room spun. A strange roaring pounded my ears.
“—once again, Lady Belle Argentarius, do you understand the charges against you? You must—”
Why was his voice so distant?
The room disappeared, and my face met the floor. The jolt of pain was sharp, but I welcomed the subsequent darkness with relief.
~
The whole situation was preposterous. Humiliating, terrifying, and devastatingly ironic.
I’d spent my whole life cultivating the image of an aloof Procus lady who would do anything to get ahead of her siblings and peers. I’d done it not because I wanted to, but because I’d sensed from a young age it was the only way to placate my father.
And this was how he repaid me—by making me destroy myself when I was no longer in his good graces. He’d taken the very traits that he’d once praised in me and used them to turn me into a villain, a selfish, vain lady capable of endangering the whole city with unpurified, plague-ridden imports.
I spent several more minutes wallowing in bed, where someone must have moved me after I fainted at the reading of my charges, before I finally climbed out of bed. I needed a bath.
As the tub began to fill, I tried to remove my slip, but it caught on the twist hair-do Petrina had formed with her magic at the base of my neck early that morning. On top of everything, I had to do my own hair without an appearance mage?
I prodded at the twist, but my hair didn’t budge. Her magic must have commanded it to stay set. She usually smoothed my hair at the end of the day with a wave of her hand and a cloud of golden sparkles. I’d never imagined I’d be grateful for the simple act of magical hair brushing. I searched the bathroom and found a simple, wooden comb sitting on a tiny shelf beneath the bathroom mirror. It would have to do.
The pain from my wound made the combing process nearly unbearable, but after some unpleasant, failed attempts, I figured out how to hold my hair with one hand and comb it with the other, protecting my scalp from the worst of the pain. When my hair was relatively tangle-free, I finally removed my slip and sank into the warm water of the bath.
I sat in the bath so long my fingers grew wrinkly and the water turned tepid. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to move. My skin was clean, and I’d washed the sweat from my hair. I’d used so much soap, I smelled like I’d drenched myself in winterspice oil. I inhaled and tried to relax. That was fine. I never wanted to smell rosedrops again.
If you want to live, you’ll go along with this, and you’ll keep your wretched mouth shut.
The pain in my head flared up, and countless moments passed while I shivered in the cold bathtub and fought to stay conscious despite the fiery agony at the back of my head.
When it finally passed, a small voice whispered, You once had hope. Don’t give up. You’ll find it again.
I silenced the voice. What was the point? Whatever plan I’d once had was lost in the mess of my unhealed brain.
~
After a humiliatingly long time spent attempting to wash my hair without touching my injury, I dressed myself in the least complicated gown I could find in the bedroom’s small, rickety wardrobe. The plain, common fabric felt odd yet comfortable against my skin.
I glanced once in the mirror before deciding I’d better avoid it from now on. Without Petrina to make my skin glow or color my lips and cheeks so prettily, I could barely stand the sight of my own naked face.
My hair, wet from washing, turned out to be impossible to style without magic. I let it dry in the air as I paced around the room, and once dry, it fluffed up around my face, a dark, wavy cloud of chaos. I’d finally found a small bottle of unlabeled oil on the bathroom shelf and used a few drops to tame the worst of the frizzy waves, then let my hair hang down over my shoulders because I hadn’t the slightest idea how to braid it like our villa maids did.
I couldn’t quite manage to regret the wild hair-do. For the first time since I’d awakened after the attack, my hair put no pressure on my injury. I could happily look like a fool here in the palace if it meant I could spend an evening in comfort.
“Happily,” I muttered as I pointlessly smoothed my hair once again and waited for a guard to come escort me to dinner with Prince Estevan. “Right.” I’d been arrested, I was facing a death sentence, and now I was preparing to dine with the ruler of our city without a single stitch of magic on. Why wouldn’t I be happy?
When the guard’s knock came, I avoided glancing in the mirror as I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He led me up a flight of stairs and stopped in front of a pair of wide, sturdy wooden doors. He knocked. “Your Highness? Lady Belle Argentarius to see you.”
“Come in.”
At the sound of Prince Estevan’s deep voice, my stomach lurched.
The guard opened the door, and I stepped through it, holding back a shudder as it thudded shut behind me. We were alone.
The prince rose as I entered the room. He was dressed simply in a white dress shirt and tailored slacks—common fabric, just like my dress.
I sank into a low curtsy, then straightened.
Stubble covered his jaw and shadows lurked under his dark eyes, but he was still undeniably handsome.
He studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment, and I tried to appear confident.
Could he even recognize me without the many layers of magic that usually perfected my appearance? I’d been called the most beautiful girl in Procus society for years, but for the first time, it occurred to me that perhaps without magic, I was nothing special at all.
I twisted my fingers in the fabric of my skirt as a tiny tickle of shame sent heat creeping up the back of my neck.
“Thank you for joining me,” he said at last. “Plea
se, have a seat.”
I took the seat across from him and sat stiffly. The dining chamber was small, with low ceilings, wooden rafters, and a set of glass doors beside the table, leading to a balcony that looked out over the city. Something about the sight of the balcony made my heart beat faster.
Twilight had settled in the sky, and the view was tinged with a dark, gentle blue. The moon was just beginning to rise, and a few bold stars peeked through the darkest parts of the sky. From here, at what must be one of the highest levels of the palace, the city spread out like a rumpled quilt dotted with luminous streetlamps and buildings of every imaginable height.
I inhaled, and the scent of roast meat and sage oil filled my senses. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten that small pastry at the bank this morning.
“Shall we?” He lifted the polished silver cover on a tray that sat between us on the intimate wooden table. He served me first, and then himself.
I murmured thanks and began to eat. The food was simple, yet satisfying—thick, crusty rye bread, tender stewed meat in a deliciously fragrant sauce, and an assortment of vegetables alongside it.
We ate in silence for several minutes before he spoke. “How do you find your accommodations in the palace?” He raised one eyebrow. “It must be challenging to go without the mage-crafts and luxuries to which you’re accustomed. I don’t allow magic in the palace. It’s a security risk. And our treasury is devoted to government and defense, not frivolity.”
Frivolity? Was that how he would describe my life? If only he knew what life was like in our villa.
I pressed my soft napkin to my mouth and sat back in my chair.
He leaned back as well, his long legs sprawled out before him, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair. Despite his casual posture, the expression on his face made me think of etchings I’d seen of wildcats in the Badlands—alert and ready to pounce.
“I’m quite comfortable here,” I said at last.
His lips twisted into a mocking smile, as though he were silently laughing at me.
No man laughed at me, handsome royalty or not. I lifted my chin. “It’s nothing like what I’m used to at home, of course. But comfort boasts a simple elegance of its own, does it not?” I smiled and tossed my long, wavy curls over my shoulder, straightening my spine as I did so, as though I wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of my wild hair. “I’m not sure I’ll ever let my appearance mage touch my hair again.”
His eyes swept over me with an oddly predatory look. Then he stood abruptly and stepped around the table. “Come with me, Belle. I’d like to show you something.”
I nodded slowly and placed my hand in his.
His palm and fingers were rough with calluses, but he held me gently as he pulled me to my feet and tucked my arm in his. “This way.”
We left the dining room and descended a narrow staircase until we reached the ground level of the palace. Then we stepped through a nondescript door.
Fragrant, late-summer air pressed against my skin like the warm water of a bath. Night had fallen outside while we’d eaten dinner, and it took me a moment to realize that we’d stepped onto the rough stone path of a garden—a rosedrop garden.
Prince Estevan placed a hand at the small of my back as we walked down the narrow path. The bare whisper of his touch through the fabric of my dress sent goosebumps over my arms.
The garden smelled of dirt and the sweet, light fragrance of summer-blooming rosedrops. The scent I’d always loved now made me ill, so I lifted my head as I walked. Stars lit the deep navy-blue sky, and miniature luminous lanterns hung from the trees of the garden. Small rosedrop blossoms drooped gently from the limbs of the thick trees around us, their colors difficult to see in the dark, but their characteristic bell shapes undeniable. The sounds of the city were muffled and distant.
The gentle sound of bubbling water caught my attention, and when we rounded the next curve, the twisting stone path opened to a small courtyard with a fountain in the center.
We stopped and faced each other in front of the fountain. The prince’s powerful form was even more forbidding when cloaked in the shadows of the garden, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
“You like rosedrops, do you not?”
I stilled. Did he know the details of my smuggling charge? “Yes, I do.” At least, I used to.
His lips twitched. “I noticed your perfume on Founder’s Day. Most ladies prefer heavier goldblossom notes.”
“Yes.” I shrugged one shoulder and tried to appear unconcerned. “Rosedrops are simpler, lighter … subtler. I find their scent more pleasing.”
“As do I.” Prince Estevan stepped closer. “The Ministry of Justice has informed me that your trial is scheduled for one month’s time.” He took my hands in his. “But I believe we may find a simpler solution sooner than that.”
I held myself still, barely daring to breathe. The touch of his callused hands was making me shiver again, but I couldn’t shake the strong desire to push him away. Something felt wrong. “A simpler solution?”
He ran his hands up my arms, pulling me closer to him. His face was impossible to read. “Indeed.”
Before I could move away, he bent his head and pressed his lips to mine.
I froze, my eyes squeezed shut instinctively. His lips were soft and persuasive, and for one, foolish moment, I lost myself in their pressure. Then an overpowering wave of fear washed over me. I shoved as hard as I could against his chest.
He broke the kiss and leaned back, his eyes narrowed.
I stepped away and wiped my shaking hand across my lips. I couldn’t seem to gather my thoughts. Why was I so terrified? I scrambled to cover for my confusion. “First you arrest me, then you put me up in the palace and invite me to dine with you. And now you want …” I gestured between us. “This?”
He ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer, approaching me with slow, deliberate movements as I edged across the courtyard like cornered prey.
“I’ve always found you beautiful, Belle.”
I inhaled sharply. Why did those words mean so much to me?
He took my hands in his again. “You’re not the first Procus lady to let frivolous desires lead to more serious indiscretions.”
He thought I was guilty of the charges. It was probably to be expected, but the thought made my cheeks flush.
Prince Estevan’s lips tilted up at one side in a charming smile, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I would hate to see you suffer at the hands of the Ministry of Justice for a simple love of rosedrops.” He lifted my hands and kissed them, first one, then the other. “Marry me, and I’ll make those smuggling charges disappear forever.”
Chapter 6
“No,” I blurted, my heart pounding, my stomach roiling with nerves and foreboding. I barely knew what I was saying, but every bone in my body screamed that this was all wrong.
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“No. I won’t marry you.”
“You’d rather face sentencing for smuggling than accept my proposal?” The prince’s voice was low and hard. “The Ministry of Justice is not known for their mercy.”
Mercy. If you attract his advances again, I will not be merciful. I stumbled away as I remembered my father’s fury after the Founder’s Day celebration—the excruciating pain of his grip on my jaw, and the rage in his eyes as he stared me down.
What would my father do if he found out I had kissed the man he hated most in the city? No wonder Prince Estevan’s kiss had terrified me.
“I’ll take my chances,” I finally said. There was nothing marriage to the prince could truly solve. My father might be second in the city, but he was first in the power of his cruelty. Not even the prince could protect me from my father every second of every day.
~
I settled into a spindly, wooden chair at a long table in the center of the palace library and set the small pile of legal papers on the table before me. I’d found them on my bedside table when I’d woken after
fainting in front of the clerk at the reading of my charges.
The legal papers didn’t contain much more than a written record of what he’d told me, but they included a few more details on each charge, plus a longer record of the investigation and the sentencing date I’d never heard him say. By my estimation, it was six weeks away.
I tapped my fingers on the table and tried to focus on the papers before me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Prince Estevan’s offer in the moonlit garden the night before. Would it be so bad to consider it?
A moment later, I shook my head and lifted the papers. Prince Estevan might be the ruler of Asylia, but he didn’t know the depths of my father’s cruelty like I did.
That meant I had six weeks to prepare to keep my life. If I stayed away from the prince, and I kept my mouth shut about my father, perhaps I could live out a labor sentence in peace.
I laughed under my breath at the ridiculous thought. Survive a labor sentence? I could barely brush my own hair without magic.
A familiar, feminine voice echoed from just down the hallway. “But Wes, I’m sure Prince Estevan said the library was right down this—” The dark-haired girl broke off mid-speech as she stumbled to a halt at the entrance and gaped at me.
“Ella?” I couldn’t believe it.
My former Royal Academy classmate smiled and stepped into the room. “Belle? What are you doing here?” She wore a pretty, light-blue dress, and her dark hair curled around her shoulders, for once not twisted into a loose bun. The hint of a long, pale scar lined one side of her face, and her cheeks were flushed and rosy.
A tall, broad-shouldered young man with blond hair came to a halt behind her and rested one hand on her lower back. “Who’s this, El?” He frowned at me.
Perhaps he mistrusted the guilty expression that had no doubt just appeared on my face. I hadn’t seen a newspaper since I’d been arrested, but I’d assumed the arrest had been city-wide news. Did Ella not know I was being charged with smuggling? Or was she surprised to see me out of the dungeon?