The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  “My lord,” Flavian replied, trying to keep his voice quiet so his more masculine tone wouldn’t be too noticeable. His voice was the only thing about him that didn’t lend itself to his disguise. Cathal didn’t seem to notice, but he did keep staring at Flavian, gold eyes never wavering. Flavian couldn’t seem to look away either. He wasn’t sure he was breathing, and he wasn’t sure he cared.

  The soft, yet pointed, clearing of a throat broke the inexplicable tension of the moment. Flavian looked away immediately. What had that been? He could not be attracted to Cathal, his friend’s betrothed. No, he wasn’t. Not at all. That strange moment was just because the man was so handsome, and Flavian had been thinking about painting him, but he couldn’t paint Cathal, nor anyone else. It had obviously shaken him that he even wanted to. Yes, that was all it was.

  He sneaked a glance at Velia, assuming it was she who had broken in on the bizarre moment. He battled back a blush at the thought of what she would think, but Velia wasn’t looking at him or Cathal. No one was. Everyone was looking at the girl standing next to Cathal, and from the trace of impatience on her pretty face, he surmised it was actually she who had interrupted what could have been a very awkward moment. Perhaps Flavian should thank her.

  “This is Her Highness, Princess Elodie,” the duke said with what might have been veiled reproach in his tone. Because she reminded everyone of her presence? Flavian would have thought she should have been presented immediately.

  He stumbled a little, his thoughts distracting him enough that he nearly bowed instead of curtsied and then had to recover. He managed not to fall over, which was about all that could be said for his curtsy. Velia had tutored him in the movement often enough that it should have been perfect. He barely bit back a scowl at his own lack of skill and hoped no one had seen.

  But when he straightened, he knew Cathal had caught his mistake. He was looking right at Flavian for some reason. He should have been looking elsewhere, like at Velia. Why was he looking at Flavian? Was he judging him for his lack of grace? Lack of grace would be what his near disastrous error would be taken for, surely. There was no way Cathal could suspect anything just from one stumble. So he had to be judging Flavian for it. Flavian’s eyes narrowed into a glare before he even thought. Wanting to curse, he dropped his gaze to the ground in front of him until he could get his face under control again.

  Meanwhile, the princess was speaking. “I’m so pleased to be able to meet you here today. Cathal is one of my favorite cousins, though I suppose I shouldn’t admit that. Still, I was eager to come and welcome you, especially when my brother, Prince Philip, and his consort, Prince Amory, were unable to do so.”

  Princess Elodie had a light, almost teasing tone to her voice and a smile that was warmer than merely polite. Neither of which visibly affected Velia’s uncle and aunt, but their rigid propriety in the face of a princess would likely keep them from showing any disapproval at her words. The emperor must have wanted whatever he was getting out of the marriage for him to marry a cousin into a royal family that he decried due to the marriage of two men. Flavian still wondered what Velia’s marriage agreement exactly was. He would have thought the emperor would have contracted for the princess, perhaps for one of his sons, if he really wanted something from Tournai. But Flavian shouldn’t question—it had gotten both him and Velia out of the empire.

  The princess was speaking again. “We are eager to make your acquaintance and to know Lady Velia better before her marriage to our cousin. As such, my brother invites you all to stay with us at the palace. And I must insist you accept. I cannot take a refusal when I’m so looking forward to forming a friendship with my cousin’s future wife.”

  Flavian froze. This was not happening.

  THE FIRST meeting with his betrothed hadn’t gone exactly as Cathal had thought it would. During the carriage ride to the port, Father had been full of instructions on what Cathal should do and say when he met Lady Velia and just as full of annoyance at Elodie’s presence. Cathal wasn’t surprised by either of those things.

  Father would have preferred Elodie not come with them, but Cathal knew that Father would have been even more upset if Philip or Amory had been available to accompany them. A representative of the crown traditionally attended this type of meeting, and though Father believed himself a suitable representative, Philip didn’t think so. First, because Father was the father of the bridegroom, and second, and possibly more importantly, because Philip likely didn’t trust Father in the matter. He had, after all, negotiated with a not-entirely-friendly empire and not disclosed it to the crown prince of Tournai or any of the prince’s advisors or ministers.

  For that matter, he hadn’t even disclosed it to his own son.

  Cathal did not blame his cousin for wanting an observer of his own at the meeting. He was somewhat surprised that Elodie had been chosen, but he supposed that, despite her flightiness, she did notice things. She could be relied upon to recount everything that happened. If she didn’t get distracted by what Lady Velia’s gown looked like or something else interesting to her. No, he would have thought that Philip would have sent someone else just to be safe.

  Of course, he didn’t know that his cousin hadn’t. Cathal of all people knew that not everyone was as they seemed and saying spies were everywhere was not always paranoia. The carriage, along with its driver, was from the palace. He and Elodie had taken it to collect his father. For all Cathal knew, the driver would report everything he saw and heard back to Philip when they reached the palace. And Cathal didn’t resent his cousin for that either. Father took his responsibility to family and country seriously, but Cathal didn’t understand his actions in negotiating the marriage.

  Father had told Philip of Cathal’s betrothal before Cathal had the chance, and Philip hadn’t been pleased. Cathal had been touched to find that many of his cousin’s misgivings were for Cathal, but Philip needn’t have worried. Cathal had been prepared for the duty for his whole life.

  By the time they arrived at the dock to meet the ship from Ardunn, Father was peeved, Elodie was bubbling over with enthusiasm, and Cathal was tired. He just hoped his betrothed was someone he could like. He was going to have to spend his life married to her. Liking would be good, so would attraction, though neither was necessary for a marriage like theirs.

  And Lady Velia was beautiful, just the type of woman he was usually attracted to with her soft curves and golden curls. She was ladylike and demure and absolutely correct in her responses to their introduction, and charming in what little conversation they had between meeting on the dock and traveling back to the palace. She was well dressed, if not in a fashion popular in Tournai. He had no doubt it was the fashion in Ardunn—she was entirely too well put together, from hat to embroidered shoes, for it to be anything but. Altogether, a woman he would have noticed, and one who, at first glance, wouldn’t make a bad duchess.

  So why couldn’t he stop staring at Lady Flavia?

  The woman who had been introduced as Velia’s companion was not conventionally beautiful. Flavia was lithe not curvy, her features a bit delicate, her mouth full and lush—she was pretty in a way but would never be considered beautiful. And though she was dressed as well as Velia, she didn’t seem as comfortable in the finery as the other woman did. But Flavia’s eyes were absolutely mesmerizing. Even in the first moment they focused on him, wide and startled, the large, blue-green eyes captured Cathal, and he found it difficult to look away from their swirling depths.

  But he had to, and he had to forget about the surprising spark, so sharp he would have thought it a literal spark, when they touched. Because Flavia was not his betrothed.

  And still his gaze kept going back to her. Flavia looked horrified when Elodie announced they would be staying at the palace. Cathal was certain Father had mixed feelings about the invitation, but that was to be expected—Flavia’s reaction was strange. Why wouldn’t she want to stay at the palace? The invitation was an honor, and Velia accepted it with graciousness
and just a hint of a belief that it was her due.

  But Flavia was not happy. As they all moved toward the carriage, Elodie chatting easily with Velia’s aunt and Father talking with her uncle, pulling Cathal into the conversation, Flavia whispered furiously in Velia’s ear. He couldn’t hear what she said or how Velia responded, but he saw Velia’s dismissive gesture and Flavia’s narrowed eyes and compressed lips. The woman was fuming and trying not to show it.

  He could have let someone else help Flavia into the carriage. He could have found some reason to step away after helping Velia into the carriage. He should have let someone else help her. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to know if the heat of that first touch had been an anomaly or if it would happen again.

  Flavia looked at the hand he held out to her as if she wasn’t sure why he was offering it, but an instant later, she shook her head and smiled, taking his hand. The smile was charming and unexpected; the feeling when they touched was the same as it was earlier. Something that might have been dismay darkened her eyes. It matched what he felt himself. Breaking eye contact, she got into the carriage and dropped his hand quickly.

  Somehow, he ended up sitting across from Flavia in the carriage. It wasn’t deliberate. He had planned to sit as far away from her as he could, closer to Velia. Because he should get to know his betrothed. Father didn’t see that as an issue—Cathal would have to marry her whether he liked her or not. It was only Cathal who hoped that he could like her.

  The driver got them underway as soon as they were all seated. Father engaged Velia’s uncle in conversation, something about the voyage. Cathal found his attention straying across the carriage to where the ladies sat. Elodie had the attention of Velia and her aunt with a discussion of gowns and current fashions, but not Flavia. He wondered if Flavia was sulking over whatever Velia said to her, or if she was just naturally quieter.

  She looked up, and their eyes met, the vivid blue-green so startling in its intensity that he was actually a bit deflated when she turned away to look out the window. The eye contact had just been a second, but it felt longer. And for some reason, he didn’t believe Flavia was naturally quiet and retiring. There was something about her, so much in her eyes.

  He watched her covertly as the carriage rumbled along the pavement. It wouldn’t be appropriate to be caught taking an interest in a woman not his betrothed—caught or no, he couldn’t take an interest in her that way. He had to ignore how she intrigued him and focus on the woman he would be marrying in a matter of weeks, the delay the only concession to Tournai’s traditions Father seemed willing to make.

  But Flavia was different from the norm. She didn’t seem to care for the idea of staying in the palace, when most would jump at the chance, or at least gracefully accept it, and she was ignoring a conversation with a princess about fashion even though she herself was wearing a gown of high quality that had to have been made for her. All of that was odd, and odd was suspect in one who would be so close to the crown prince. Cathal didn’t know if Velia intended to keep Flavia with her after their marriage or if she would return to Ardunn. If she stayed, he would have to know more about her.

  He would watch her for those reasons and no other. As part of his duty to the prince and Tournai. And he would ignore the little voice inside that said he wasn’t watching Flavia for duty or responsibility.

  She continued to look out the window as the carriage followed the road from the port of Jumelle into the city proper. Stared out the window might be a better way of describing it. A lot like when a child very pointedly was not going to look at anyone, wanted nothing to do with anyone in the carriage. He remembered seeing that expression on his brothers’ and sisters’ faces when they were young. All that was missing were the arms folded defiantly over the chest. Flavia kept her hands clasped in her lap.

  But as time went by and the carriage clattered on, the tone of her stare changed. She still stared outside to the exclusion of all else, and her gaze was still almost frighteningly intense, but it was different. Her rigid posture relaxed somewhat, and it was less that she was looking out the window to avoid the other people in the carriage and more that she was actually seeing what was outside. He watched her scrutinizing everything as if she were taking in every detail and storing it away. For what, he had no idea.

  “Do you like Tournai so far, Lady Flavia?” he asked and then wondered whether it was a good thing to engage her in conversation.

  She jumped slightly in her seat and turned a startled gaze on him, but no one else in the large carriage seemed to notice. After blinking once, then again, Flavia finally spoke. “What I’ve seen of it is beautiful, my lord.”

  “Is it like where you live in Ardunn?” he asked, fully aware that it was a conversation he should be having with his betrothed, but a glance at Velia showed her still engaged in an animated discussion with Elodie.

  Flavia glanced at her as well, as if unsure about something. But she looked back at Cathal after just a second. “No. It’s very different. I grew up inland and farther north. It’s cooler there and mountainous. Spring will have barely taken hold there, but here, everything is in bloom. The colors are so vivid.”

  Her voice was unexpected. He’d noticed it in passing the first time she spoke to him, but that had only been a few words, and the impact was greater now. Her voice was low and quiet, her accent adding a wisp of the exotic to her otherwise fluent pronunciation of Tournai’s language that was somehow appealing. He felt as if it wrapped around him as she spoke, raising goosebumps on his skin. He resolutely ignored it.

  “I’ve always thought Tournai was beautiful, but I’m probably biased,” he replied, reaching for the light, meaningless conversation so prevalent at court. He usually excelled at it. “I don’t have anything to compare it to either since I’ve never been anywhere else.”

  Her gaze had drifted back to the window, but she looked back at him when he spoke. “I had never even seen the sea before we began the journey here. I look forward to seeing more of Tournai.”

  Almost immediately, something came into her eyes that he couldn’t quite figure out—wariness, maybe—and then they went blank and shuttered. Odd. “I would be happy to show you and Lady Velia more of Tournai whenever you wish.”

  Her blue-green eyes seemed to weigh him, but she only murmured, “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Yes, thank you, my lord,” Velia added, joining the conversation and threading her arm through Flavia’s. “It’s very kind of you to offer, and we would enjoy it very much.”

  “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

  Velia was drawn back into conversation with Elodie with a question about her hat of all things. She smiled at him, a smile full of apology, and gave Elodie’s questions her attention. Velia kept her hold on Flavia’s arm, but Flavia just turned to look out the window again.

  Chapter 3

  STANDING IN the middle of his bedroom in the suite he and Velia had been given to share, Flavian admitted to himself that he was in trouble. Well, he admitted how much trouble he was in, because he had known he was in trouble from the instant Princess Elodie had invited them to stay in the palace. His stomach churned with a mess of emotions he couldn’t begin to sort.

  It was supposed to be over. That night, he was supposed to be free of the charade, of the life he had before and the danger of being dragged back to it. It should have been easy enough—he would have stayed behind, feigning illness, while Velia and her aunt and uncle went to dinner with her betrothed and his family, and he would have slipped away before they returned. Except that simple, easy plan rested on their being in a house in Jumelle, not in the royal palace.

  He had talked himself into some sliver of hope on the trip from the harbor up to the palace that he still might be able to get away as planned. He let his first glimpses of the city soothe him, let himself imagine how he would paint it. It was a beautiful place, warm and welcoming and so different from Ardunn, and he had a dozen ideas for paintings in the first few moments. Seeing
Jumelle—his new home—was almost enough to distract him from his worry, almost enough to distract him from his inconvenient reaction to Velia’s betrothed.

  But the less thought about that the better.

  The little sliver of hope he’d held close had flickered out as soon as he saw the palace. Oh, it was an impressive building filled with interesting art that on any other day he would want to study, but it was not a building he could escape from easily. He had been to the emperor’s palace in Ardunn—one of the emperor’s palaces, the one the emperor spent most of his time in—more than once, when he and then his younger sisters were presented at court. Well, all of his sisters except one. There was no presentation before the court for those given to the emperor.

  He must have expected Tournai’s palace to be something like the emperor’s palace. It wasn’t. Ardunn’s imperial palace was a massive complex of buildings and towers and domes, populated with royals, nobles, and servants of all kinds. It was a small city unto itself and had left a young Flavian shaking with intimidation when he first saw it. But even with all the guards the emperor kept in prominent positions, Flavian could have made his escape from that palace. With that large an area, with that many people, he thought he could have gotten lost in the crowd and slipped away.

  But Tournai’s palace was completely different, and now that he thought about it, he should have realized it would be. Tournai, though a prosperous, peaceful country, wasn’t an empire. Logically, its crown prince’s palace shouldn’t be the massive edifice of the emperor of Ardunn. From what he gleaned on their arrival, only the prince, his consort, their son, and Princess Elodie lived there all the time, with Lord Cathal and one of his brothers keeping rooms in the palace that they stayed in more often than not. There were servants as well, but that still didn’t amount to anywhere near the number of people in the imperial palace. It also didn’t amount to the level of activity in the imperial palace. He had found when he stayed there that the palace never slept; at any moment of the day, something was going on, people were in the corridors.