by Lucy Tempest
I didn’t know which I wanted to do more, run my hands through his silky hair or punch Fairuza in the eye again. Or punch them both. What had he been doing in there anyway? Couldn’t he at least have the decency of pretending he was giving the rest of us consideration?
I knew I had more important things to get riled up over, but that did nothing to curb my irrational anger.
“Good morning, my ladies,” he greeted us with a wide grin. It wasn’t like any of the ones he’d given me in private, was as perfected and put-on as the rest of his outfit.
I couldn’t help the snarky grumble that whistled through my clenched teeth. “Is it?”
None of our handlers looked pleased with my comment. Fairuza curled her lip at me in distaste. I mirrored her expression, no doubt looking far uglier doing it.
Cyrus’s fake smile dulled slightly. “I take it you’re still spooked by yesterday’s incident? It’s only natural if you are.”
“Do we know what caused it?” Ariane asked, diverting his attention, softening his uneasy expression into a thoughtful one.
“The rope holding up the chandelier snapped under its weight,” he said, like it was an answer he’d memorized, likely fed to him by his council.
“Or it was cut on purpose,” Loujaïne interrupted, lips in a grim line.
It was an effort to control any tells, to give my best wide-eyed look of confusion. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
Cyrus gave his aunt a quick, cutting glance. “It is unlikely that someone did.”
“It was fine and firm for decades,” Loujaïne snapped. “Why would it snap yesterday when the room was full of nobility?”
“Because it hasn’t been replaced in decades?” Cyrus suggested, his tone signaling that he was done with this conversation. “And that is what an accident is, Your Highness.”
Loujaïne, nevertheless, persisted. “Rope that tears looks different than one that’s cut. The Head of the Royal Guard said this was cut.”
As Cyrus’s posture stiffened and Farouk reached a hand for the princess’s shoulder, Cora snuffed out the oncoming disagreement with an uninterested drawl. “Well, you did spurn twenty noblewomen yesterday. One of them was bound to set you on fire for that.”
While I had to stifle my snort at Cora’s comment, everyone, even Loujaïne faced her with stunned expressions.
Cora cocked her head at all of them, before rolling her eyes with a long-suffering sigh when no one seemed to catch on. “The last two times you sent girls home it was in a private setting.” She turned to Cyrus. “Yesterday, you didn’t even bother naming the eliminated or sheltering them from the embarrassment of being personally disqualified by you. You spurned them right in front of a roomful of their peers, publicly humiliating them by picking girls they no doubt think are inferior to them.” She made a vague gesture at herself and me, making him more uncomfortable with each word. “Highborn girls probably see public rejection as grounds for retaliation.”
“Maybe one or more wanted to take the place down on their way out,” I joined in, following the path she’d paved me—whether purposefully or not—out from Loujaïne’s scrutiny. “If it was to derail the competition or just express anger and exact vengeance, we’ll never know.”
“That…makes sense.” Cyrus nodded, hand rubbing his jaw, brilliant eyes narrowed in contemplation. “But most have already embarked on their travel home, so we neither have the means nor the time to conduct an investigation.”
Loujaïne waved a hand, looking suddenly fed-up. “Perhaps it was an accident, perhaps it was one of the understandably upset noblewomen. There is no need to let such accusations follow them out the palace. And since there’s no way to prove it either way, the last thing we need is to spark a feud with another land over unsubstantiated speculation.”
I almost wanted to laugh at how quickly she’d conceded. But whatever relief I felt at throwing Loujaïne off my trail fizzled out when I noticed Cora’s sideways glance and rosy lips quirked in a smirk.
What was going on inside that golden head of hers?
Master Farouk coughed into his fist, getting our attention. “Can we please get back to the reason we are gathered here?”
Loujaïne nodded, tucking her hands in the flared sleeves of her floral emerald robe. “This hall is where the finalists of Cahraman’s first Bride Search settled. It is believed that each room holds its own luck, so your destiny might reflect that of the girl who boarded there.”
“There are six rooms, though,” Cherine pointed out. “I don’t remember there being a sixth suitor during Abraxas the First’s Search.”
“That’s another part of the tradition,” Cyrus said, not entirely looking at her. “With every Final Five is a female member of the prince’s family, to see the girls in a way he can’t, and decide who she thinks is the best.”
Cora raised her eyebrows at him. “I thought you were the one picking?”
His eyes landed on me then, bright and hypnotic as ever. “I wish it were that simple.”
Chapter Three
As Cyrus’s gaze bore into mine, it felt as if I’d forgotten how to breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, he tore his eyes away, and continued, his deep voice ringing off the marble floors and walls. “Varying factors went into choosing who left every Elimination Day, including opinions and impressions. Mine were among many.”
Curiosity smothered my inner turmoil. What opinions did I inspire and what impressions did I invoke during our time together? Because I had surely done the opposite of everything expected of potential brides. He didn’t even need the watchful eyes of his guards, judges and aunt to know that I wasn’t princess-worthy, that I was trouble. He’d experienced that firsthand.
“But you weren’t even there,” Cherine pointed out, pouting. “Did you just read reports on us?”
“He was there,” said Cora, idly twisting one long lock of her wavy hair. “He helped me pull you and Ada up off the wall, remember?”
All eyes turned to him. Loujaïne and Fairuza wore matching expressions of stony-faced shock, though Loujaïne’s had to be an act. She had known the entire time what he was up to. This explained her reaction every time she had seen him around me. She’d hadn’t been annoyed with a random servant’s misconduct, but disapproving of her nephew singling me out.
How had he convinced the whole palace to be in on his ruse? How did no one slip up and address him as their prince? How long had he planned and trained for this?
As the Prince of Cahraman he must have had all the time in the world to perfect his deception. While I got the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants option when Nariman tossed me into this kingdom and contest.
“Yes, I was, though I shouldn’t have been,” he admitted, that fake smile back on his effortlessly handsome face.
I didn’t know how I’d missed it before, how he held himself gestured, walked, how regal his every move and expression was. Though my perceptions of a real-life prince was too bogged down by the old, fat, drunkard merchant-lords I’d served in taverns throughout Ericura, he was every bit the storybook prince that fueled most folktales.
“The last time a prince of Cahraman needed a Bride Search was over a hundred years ago.” He sighed mid-explanation, as if the subject now exhausted him. “The eliminations were conducted by his advisors and immediate family. He only got the final week to pick the one he agreed with the most out of the Final Five. Even then, his closest female relative provided him with the ultimate truth on his candidates.”
I did not like where this was going.
I liked it even less when I caught Loujaïne staring at me, her silver eyes flashing with a combination of disturbing feelings, a familiar concoction that had been brewing the whole month. Each time I’d caught her watching me, I’d found one of three intense emotions: suspicion, recognition and anger. It was like I reminded her of someone she hated. It was hard not to be on edge with her eyes on me, and it was harder still not to be curious about whom I reminded h
er of.
My first night here, I’d spun up a story about safeguarding my jewelry as an excuse to get into the vault. Pretending they were all I had left of my mother had softened Loujaïne’s hardness for a minute. Until I’d said my mother’s name.
Apparently, the name Dorreya had an unshakeable impact on her the way it did on me. Not that it was possible she could have known my mother…
“You don’t have a sister, do you?” Ariane asked Cyrus as he started pacing the hall.
He stopped by the bust of Morgana I of Almaskham, who I realized had the same brow-ridge and facial spacing as him, possibly the same deep-set eyes. “No, I don’t. And my female cousins are competing for my hand, so neither can be the sixth lodger in this hall.”
“What about your mother?” I asked, praying this wasn’t going where I thought it was.
His false expression cracked, letting a real emotion slip through. Hurt. “She’s not with us anymore.”
The blood heating my face sank to my feet, numbing them and leaving me unsteady.
It had never occurred to me that he had no mother, mostly because he’d told me so little about himself. But that explained why we never heard of a queen. It was one crucial detail that tied my feelings to his once again.
I wanted to say I was sorry for bringing it up, tell him I knew the agony of being motherless, talk to him about my mother and hear about his. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. That was too personal, too intimate, and we weren’t on these terms anymore. Relating to his loss didn’t make me forgive the mind-boggling ruse that had me connecting with him in the first place.
“No sister, no mother, no cousins, which leaves…?” Cora counted on her fingers.
Loujaïne stepped forwards. “Me.”
I squeezed my burning eyes shut. Of course it had to be her. I wouldn’t get away with anything under her watchful eyes.
“I’ll be here if you need anything,” Loujaïne said. “Questions and such. And to give each of you a good part of my day.”
“That’s not necessary,” Cora said bluntly.
“But of course it is. For all intents and purposes, one of you will be my daughter-in-law.” Loujaïne approached, soft, calculated steps clacking down the hall. “You will also spend time with one another. I see most of you are already friendly.” Loujaïne paused to eye me. “Or at least friendly with one person.” Her frosty gaze released me to move to Fairuza with a softer version of her disapproving glances. “So we’ll shuffle the group dynamics a bit. If you’re not with me, you’re with the prince or with one another.”
“What’s the purpose of having tea time with the competition?” Fairuza asked, composure replaced with impatience.
“To see how you interact with others in a one-on-one setting, especially competition,” Cyrus said, stepping onto the center circle inlaid in the marble like a bull’s eye. Fitting really, being the target of all this. “Beauty, talents, education and party planning are not all it takes to be a queen.”
“What else is there apart from giving you heirs? Shouldn’t you be checking if they’re all fertile to begin with?” Fairuza butted in.
Cyrus inclined his head at her in acknowledgment. “This is precisely why the presence of a princess of the land is important. You will one day do whatever my dear aunt does as a princess, and even more the day you become queen.”
“It’s a job, girls,” Loujaïne said. “If you’re not up to it, you can always decline and make our search easier.”
Predictably, Ariane, Cherine and Fairuza met this offer with a shouted “NO!”
Loujaïne’s lips twisted at their overzealous response. “Good. The final week starts now, with the first test being your choice of room.” She spread her arms. “Choose.”
With a sweeping glare, Fairuza went back inside Alysanne of Arbore’s room without another word.
Cherine beat Ariane to the room of Morgana of Almaskham leaving her to pick Helia of Orestia’s room. I smoothed the sculpted bumps of Zafira’s wavy hair to announce my choice.
That left Cora with either Ethelstine of Orcage or Primavera of Campania.
She shrugged and opened Primavera’s room.
“Great. After you settle in, we will call you for lunch, then we can officially begin the personal tests,” Cyrus announced, watching Loujaïne fling open Ethelstine’s door.
After all doors closed, he paced towards me, hands behind him, a familiar ease settling in his smile and posture. “So, how was your night?”
“Stressful.”
His breath hitched on a breathless laugh. “Not talking about the fire, are you?”
“No.”
He lowered his head, loosening his hair from its side-part and back over his eyes, making him less stiff, less noble, more…mine. My Cyrus, not Fairuza’s Prince Cyaxares.
Which version was the real one? I wanted it to be the one I knew, not the persona that had appeared since last night. But I suspected the one I faced now was neither.
“I thought you at least suspected who I was,” he said quietly, coming closer, lifting his hand in an appeasing gesture, the rings on his fingers catching the sunlight streaming from the towering window at the end of the hall.
Those were not stolen from the vault as I’d thought, but his. A gold signet ring, beveled with his coat of arms—a sun. A decorative bronze ring, its sapphire stone set in a seat of claws. And a rose-gold one set with a silver pearl that stopped at the knuckle of his little finger.
Upon closer inspection, it couldn’t be his ring. It was too small. A woman’s ring.
His mother’s?
At the thought of it, I was hit by a downpour of misery.
Before I’d resorted to stealing, I’d sold off everything my mother had left me, the last thing being her ring. The day I pawned it had been when I’d said goodbye to her forever.
Suddenly all my anguish turned to anger. “How was I supposed to? You were dressed like the rest of the staff, served us in between sneaking around. And you led me down through the tunnels and into you family vault.”
He came even closer, grazing his lower lip with his pearly teeth. “It seems it was a better disguise than I thought.”
Dragging my eyes away from his lips, I shook my head, insistent on making it clear how mad I was. “Yes, considering your own cousins didn’t recognize you.”
“I was banking on that,” he admitted. “I’ve seen Cherine only once when we were children, and the rest of our ‘friendship’ was through correspondence.”
“And Fay-Fay of Arbore?” I asked mockingly. I knew I had no leg to stand on, but I couldn’t help letting how disappointed and bitter I felt spray out of my every pore.
He shook his head. “Never had any contact with her before last month. I heard plenty about her, though.”
“How is it you communicated with your second-cousin and not your first?”
He slid Fairuza’s door a sideways glance. “Because my father and her mother thought there was no need. They assumed that once she came of age they would send her here and I would marry her with no complaints.”
Intrigue broke my resolve, softening my frown. “Why didn’t you?”
His attention was back on me fully. “I told you down in the market, remember?”
There was something almost fearful in the way he said it. Like it would have hurt him if I had forgotten that day, or what he’d said.
Did that happen often? People not caring about or remembering what he had to say unless it was directly related to his status as a prince?
But I remembered everything he’d ever said to me, each word a block that built a lasting structure in my mind. Our conversation in the market was engraved there. About him wanting to go beyond what had been planned for him, so that even if he didn’t find what he needed, and settled for what he already knew, he’d know he’d explored all his options. It had reminded me of my argument with Bonnie about her urge to venture beyond our island. But looking back with his new status in mind, his endeavor was
far different from Bonnie’s simple thirst for adventure.
He hadn’t been talking about traveling, but about his rejection of Fairuza as his only option for a wife and holding the Bride Search to see if there could be someone else. That if he failed, he would have then married her knowing he hadn’t surrendered to his destiny without trying to change it.
Was that why I remained here? Because, under the protection of anonymity, he’d shared too much about his true self with me? If that had been his true self at all.
Confusion squirmed inside me, felt like my intestines were trying to strangle each other.
“I remember you messing with me,” I mumbled.
His eyes widened. “Messing with you?”
“Don’t you remember?” I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from trembling. “Pretending to enjoy my company, to be someone who’d help me grocery shopping and be all domestic and affectionate?”
“I wasn’t pretending!” he yelled abruptly, only noticing the volume when it echoed back to him. He cleared his throat, lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “I wasn’t pretending.”
I wanted to believe that was true, that our time together meant as much to him as it did to me, so much I wanted to smack myself. His feelings towards me ought to be the last thing I fixated on. Yet my intense feelings for him took up as much space in my conflicted being as those I held for the Fairborns’ safety.
But he’d escorted Fairuza alone to her chambers. That still gnawed at my petty brain.
I hugged myself tighter. “Then what was the point of it all?”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you our time together was honest?”
“It would have, if it had started honestly,” I seethed.
Irony, thy name is Adelaide.
But maybe not. I’d been forced to impersonate a noblewoman for a noble cause: saving my new family. Cyrus had created a servile persona to spy on his prospective brides.