“Did you grow up with the king, then?” I ask.
Something on Leandros’s face looks saddened by the question. “During our adolescence, yes. We were quite close actually. Along with my friends.”
“Were?” I catch on to his use of the past tense.
“He pushed everyone away once he became king. He doesn’t trust a soul. I suspect that’s why no one is allowed near him.”
“I suppose,” Rhoda says after a pause in the conversation, “that I would be distrustful, too, if I were a king, knowing that the last one had been murdered.”
I don’t know much about the late king and queen or their murders, but I do know that the culprit was never caught. Some, of course, speculate that the new king is responsible. But that hardly matters to me.
It has no bearing on my plans.
CHAPTER
5
As we rise from our bench, Hestia and Rhoda invite me to join them and the rest of the ladies in the sitting room for some embroidery before suppertime.
“And that’s my cue,” Leandros says. “Farewell, ladies. Alessandra, I do hope to see more of you in the future.”
I nod, shading my eyes slightly with my lashes, before turning to Rhoda and Hestia. “I’m not much for embroidery, but I could bring one of the new outfits I’m working on.”
“Yes!” Hestia exclaims. “Then you can teach me some stitches. Oh, won’t you, Alessandra?”
There’s something so genuine behind the question. I can’t help but answer with “Of course.”
“Wonderful,” she answers. “I can already tell we’ll be fast friends.”
We start for the palace together, and a servant standing farther down the creek joins us. I don’t usually take note of servants, but this one is quite handsome.
“Oh, this is Galen, my manservant,” Rhoda explains. “He accompanies me most places and will be carrying the embroidery supplies to the sitting room for us.”
“My lady.” He bows, a head of chocolate-colored curls dipping toward the ground.
Unaccustomed to being introduced to servants, I merely incline my head, but neither Rhoda nor Galen seems offended. In fact, as soon as we reach the castle, they both start off in what must be the direction of Rhoda’s embroidery supplies, the two already deep in conversation.
After I gather my own things, I have a servant escort me to the sitting room. I’m told the room belonged to the late queen, which she used for social activities with the ladies at court. Apparently, the Shadow King has permitted the female nobility to continue their needlework there, since there isn’t a current queen to make use of it.
The doors are opened for me, and I enter into a circular room with marbled floors and a beautifully painted ceiling made to look like the night sky, stars and all. Tall windows let in plenty of natural light, and a chandelier dangles down, lit with a hundred candles. Though the palace has already been fitted with wires for electricity, I love that the queen kept such a beautiful light fixture.
Plush cushions and chairs spiral around the room, most of them already occupied. The few empty ones I spot are embroidered with black roses on the seats and backs. I’ve noticed the design throughout the entire castle, and I wonder the reason for it. The royal family’s coat of arms is a black stallion kicking its front legs into the air. So this must symbolize something else.
“Alessandra!”
I startle at the voice.
“Over here. I’ve saved you a seat!”
Right in the center of everything, Hestia stands and waves me over. She’s somehow managed to change her entire outfit, grab her embroidery, and beat me down here. Now she wears a blue overskirt over the top of her black pants. Little bluebirds are sewn over the fabric.
I’m not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed by the blatant imitation of my blue attire.
I tread over to her, clutching a swath of fabric in my arms.
Ladies have their skirts settled around them so they can sit more comfortably on the settees and chairs. Since I’m wearing pants, I opt for a large pillow on the floor, crossing my legs at the ankles as I sit.
Whatever conversation had been ongoing when I entered continues. Hestia babbles on about the lord she spent the most time dancing with at the ball last night.
Rhoda joins me on the ground, uncaring that her ankles are exposed when she sits.
“If it’s not too rude to ask, may I inquire as to your age, Alessandra?” she asks.
“I’m eighteen,” I say. “And you?”
She huffs out a breath. “Twenty-four. I’m fairly certain I’m the oldest unmarried lady at court.”
“Surely not,” I say, spreading out the fabric along my lap so I can find where I left off.
Rhoda nods. “I must admit, however, that I’ve already been married once. So perhaps it doesn’t matter that I’m currently single?”
“What happened to your first husband?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing so dreadful as leaving me. He only died. Not even the richest man can escape old age.”
I raise a gloved hand to hide a smile. “Not a love match, then?”
“No, but he left me quite a lot of money, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. And he gave me Galen! Galen was his valet, you see. And after my husband died, I just sort of kept him. He was such a huge help in making all the funeral arrangements and helping me adjust.”
“Yet you’re in a hurry to be wed again?” I ask.
She straightens her skirts. “Oh, I don’t have to marry again. Not with my fortune, but I would very much like to have something heated and passionate. I was wed at far too young an age to a shriveled old man. I’m ready to be with someone young and healthy. Someone I can love. Don’t you want that?”
I’ve done passion before. That’s what it was with Hektor. It didn’t go over well. Passion doesn’t lead anywhere good. It turned me into a murderess.
However, I’m beyond flattered that she would confide in me about her desire for passion without marriage. She’s trusting me with this information. It prompts me to answer her honestly.
“I’ve already had my love match.”
She quirks a brow. “But you are unwed. How did it end?”
“He decided he didn’t want me anymore. Passion leads to fierce heartbreak, Rhoda. You might think twice about how badly you wish for it.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She looks off into the distance at nothing, lost in thought for a moment. “Either way, I’m getting ahead of myself. I still have four months of mourning left.”
“Mourning,” I repeat.
“Yes, I’m not wearing black because I wish to. A wife is required to be in mourning for a year after her husband’s death. I’m to only wear black, and if I attend social functions, I’m not allowed to fully participate; I must watch from the sidelines.”
My mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious!”
“Very serious, I’m afraid.”
“No, no, no. This won’t do at all, Rhoda! I take back what I said. You do need a passionate tryst. There’s no sense in mourning after a man you never loved. We must find you someone immediately. Is there anyone at court who brings out a passion in you?”
It turns out there are several men Rhoda is interested in. I promptly forget all the names she tells me, but she titters on about their looks and titles.
At first, I’d chosen my two new friends as a way to appease the council, but I’m realizing now just how useful the two will prove to be. Rhoda is knowledgeable about all the men at court. She’s been observing them carefully (from afar, of course) since her husband died. She might be my opportunity to better fit in with those at court. And Hestia is almost obsessed with how I dress. I suspect she’ll be the primary source on all gossip about me, since she’s making such an effort to be like me. Knowing how those at court view me at all times is invaluable. It was only luck that the council revealed what little they knew of me already. I need to be on top of how I’m perceived constantly if I’m to kno
w what the king and his court think of me.
At a break in Rhoda’s discourse, I ask her, “Is this why you came to court? For the men?”
“Oh, no. I came to court because the king requested it.”
“He requested it?”
“Yes, many of us were invited to stay. Well, to be honest, it’s almost a bit of a command. I don’t think I could leave if I wanted to, but I’m having such a fun time sizing up all the men at court, I don’t mind one bit.”
A command.
A thought strikes me. “Rhoda, were you in the palace on the night the king’s parents were murdered?”
Sadness shadows her features. “Yes, oh, it was a horrible night.”
“And Hestia was here, too? And Leandros?”
She thinks. “I believe so.”
“And he’s commanded you all to stay at court? He’s commanded everyone here to stay at court?”
She looks up at me suddenly. “Oh, you think—”
“Yes.”
The Shadow King is trying to root out his parents’ murderer. He’s invited everyone who was there the night they died to stay at the palace. He’s ordered their indefinite stay so he can keep an eye on them and find the culprit.
But that can’t be why I’m here. I wasn’t here when his parents died. And according to Leandros, the king doesn’t let anyone get close to him. All his social interactions are elusive at best.
So why has he invited me to stay at the palace? Can it truly be simply because my plan is working?
I ponder this as I finish the hem on the skirt I’m working on. I’m fashioning something new, a skirt that hangs down to the floor in the back but rises to above midthigh in the front. I will, of course, be wearing tight pants underneath the outfit. I don’t think even the king could avoid kicking me out of court if I showed off my legs outright.
The finished product is even better than I imagined, but I need to fashion a top to match, and I haven’t thought of the design for that yet. I’d hoped the skirt would inspire me. I hang the garment in my wardrobe for now.
The note arrives just as my stomach grumbles for supper.
My dear Lady Stathos,
I’d be honored to have you join me for dinner tonight.
—KM
* * *
ANOTHER SERVANT LEADS ME through the palace. I take careful note of all the turns and staircases, trying to acquire a mental map of the place in which I’m now living. Eventually I’m taken through a doorway and led into a large room. I was expecting a parlor, but this is a library. Books span shelves that reach clear up to the twenty-foot ceiling. As far as I can tell, not a speck of dust coats a single tome, despite how old some of them look.
A fire has already been built into the hearth on one wall, and two rather large armchairs stretch out before it, one on either side of a short table. Tea has already been laid out.
The servant holds out one of the chairs for me, and I sit.
“His Majesty will be just a moment.” And with a bow, he leaves me alone in the room.
At a hint of movement on the floor, I snap my neck in that direction. What I’d written off as a fur rug placed between the table and the fireplace, I now realize is Demodocus.
“Hello again,” I say.
Demodocus cracks open one eye for a brief second before resuming his nap in front of the fire.
“Had a busy day, did you? All that fetching got the better of you, I suppose.”
Demodocus rolls over, putting his back to me.
“Message received. I’ll let you get back to it. But where is your master?”
I glance around the room, taking in the colors on the spines, when the king arrives.
Only he doesn’t use the door.
He walks right through a wall of books.
My back snaps straight in my chair as I watch the Shadow King take shape through the books, the shadows around him growing lighter when he’s all the way through the wall.
He’s already watching me when his eyes take shape beyond the tomes, and I wonder if he was observing me, waiting for my eyes to land on that exact spot on the wall before stepping through solid shelves.
My eyes harden of their own accord. “Is that supposed to impress me?” Belatedly, I tack on, “Your Majesty.”
His knee-high boots tread softly on the carpet as he crosses the room. “I have already guessed it takes quite a lot to impress you.” He pulls the opposite chair out for himself and sits.
We watch each other for a moment in silence, but finally, curiosity gets the best of me. “How long have you been able to do that?”
“Walk through walls? The ability runs in the royal family, though it doesn’t develop until a child starts to grow into adulthood.”
“A side effect of the shadows, no doubt.”
The Shadow King grins as he brings his teacup to his lips. “No doubt,” he says after a swallow.
I can tell he’s greatly amused by my questions, and that realization has me shutting up. I put my full focus on my teacup instead, drinking while looking around at the great expanse of a room. I can neither give him exactly what he wants nor be too predictable. I have to walk a very fine line. It is the same with every man.
“I see Demodocus is performing his duties excellently as watchdog,” the king says to the dog’s back.
I stifle a smile. “Is that really what he’s for?”
“When he’s around, I’ve noticed those at court are less likely to approach me. When I bought him, he was meant to be a source of protection.”
“And instead you were stuck with a teddy bear,” I say with a fond look at the dog.
After a knock and the king’s call of “Enter,” servants bring in our supper. It would appear they’ve brought all four courses at once. A bowl of soup is set before me, and the smell of squash and cream wafts upward, making my mouth water. Next to it is placed a tray of fruits, neatly sliced, with a serving bowl of sweet yogurt for dipping. The main course is cured elk, cut in spiced strips and placed on a bed of greens.
And finally, a slice of chocolate cake for each of us is positioned in the center of the table, chocolate drizzle steaming along the sides.
The men in tights and wigs halt along the edges of the room.
“Leave us,” the king says. “We won’t need anything else.”
There’s something about watching him give orders that has my blood flowing faster in my veins. He has such power. Men are forced to obey him without a word of protest. They would do anything he commanded.
I want that power.
Seeing it up close has my resolve hardening.
When the door closes, I shift the plates and bowls in front of me, moving everything to the sides of the table until my path is clear to the chocolate cake. That, I bring forward, until it’s directly in front of me.
I don’t look at the king, but I get the sense that he’s watching me closely. As I take a bite, the soft cake practically melts in my mouth, and I know I made the right choice to start with it while it’s still warm.
When I can’t take the awkwardness any longer, I deign to look up. The king has his own slice of cake in front of him.
“How alike we are,” he says after licking a drop of drizzle from his lips.
“Because we both enjoy chocolate? You can’t get out much if you think that an uncommon trait.”
He takes a drink from one of the goblets that was brought in with the food. “I didn’t mean the chocolate. When I see something I want, I reach for it without hesitation.”
Perhaps if he were looking at me another way, I would think he also meant to convey that he wanted me. But his gaze isn’t heated. It is relaxed, and I am getting the distinct impression that he doesn’t get to do that often.
“What are you reaching for now?” I ask.
He takes only a moment to think. “The world,” he says simply. “I want to own all of it. For every city to bear my coat of arms and for every person throughout the continent to know my name and reco
gnize my reign.”
I let myself imagine it for a moment. For the whole world to know my name and live under my rule. What better way to feel complete and whole and accomplished?
“And you?” he asks, cutting into thoughts of me standing on a tower, overlooking all that is mine. “What do you reach for?”
Perhaps I should think longer about my answer. I should be careful and calculated, but I say truthfully, “Acknowledgment.”
He tilts his head to the side.
“I am a second daughter. Practically ignored. Never invited to parties or balls. Never thought of or really seen. I long to truly live. To be a part of everything.” No longer kept hidden away while Chrysantha experiences it all. I never wanted to wait my turn.
“I see you,” the king says, and the shadows around him heighten ever so slightly, as if they, too, are acknowledging me. “Tell me, Lady Stathos, what would you do with the acknowledgment you so desire if it was suddenly given to you?”
“How do you mean?”
“It can’t be just the attention you’re after, can it? That would be very petty, and you do not strike me as the petty type. So tell me—this acknowledgment. Why do you want it?”
I take a slow sip of wine while I think through my answer, wondering what he expects me to say. In the end, I opt for the truth again.
“I want friends. I want to be a bigger part of the world around me. If I’m seen and respected, others will value my opinion. I want the power to change things.”
“Change? Such as changing a law that prevents younger daughters from entering society until the eldest is engaged?”
“Exactly,” I answer.
“I think we might have some common goals, Lady Stathos.”
I remember my earlier conversation with Rhoda and the realization that the king is looking for a murderer among those at court. That, coupled with all the questions he’s presented me with tonight, prompts my outburst.
“Why am I here?” I ask.
The king interlaces his fingers in front of him and leans his chin over the top. “I have a council breathing down my neck. I am nineteen. A young king, they say, and until I am twenty-one, I have to go to them for permission for everything I do and heed their counsel in all things. What they want most is for me to find a wife and ensure that, should anything happen to me, an heir is already taken care of.”
The Shadows Between Us Page 4