The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  “Lord Cathal, what are you doing here? I mean, good afternoon, my lord.”

  He might have been insulted, but he was almost used to Flavia’s not-quite-polite comments. They seemed at odds with the demure young woman, but not with the sharp wit that sometimes shone through.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Flavia. I’d like to speak to Lady Velia, if I may,” he said, pushing all musings about the woman in front of him from his mind.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. She isn’t here.” Flavia clutched the door handle with one hand and the edge of the door with the other, as if she was ready to shut it any second, or as if she wanted to.

  He glanced past her into the slice of sitting room he could see, though he didn’t know why. Empty.

  “She isn’t here. I’m not lying to you.” Flavia’s eyes narrowed to slits, the cerulean almost sparking. “Why would I?”

  “I never thought you were, Lady Flavia. I apologize,” he said smoothly, trying not to think about how off balance the woman made him, and had since the first moment he saw her. “Do you know when she’ll return?”

  “No, my lord. She and her aunt went into Jumelle for some shopping. I believe one of your sisters accompanied them.”

  It was market day in Jumelle. He couldn’t quite picture Velia combing through the market’s offerings, but it was always an interesting spectacle, and the shops were open as well. Of course, he could be wrong—Velia might enjoy the market. Jumelle was well supplied with products from not just Tournai but any number of far-off places on a daily basis, but market days brought even more goods and handcrafts into the city. Along with a diversity of people and foods and even street entertainments.

  For some reason, he rather thought Flavia would enjoy seeing the market. He wondered why she hadn’t gone. Usually Flavia was with Velia. He would know—he couldn’t ever seem to stop himself from paying attention to her when she was there.

  “Is there something wrong, my lord?” Flavia asked.

  “No, not at all. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” She glanced away and then back. “You’re looking at me strangely.”

  “Am I?” But he supposed he was. Perhaps not strangely, but certainly intensely.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice containing just a bit more bite. But he was watching her lips, her wide mouth with its rosy lips as it formed the words. Another contrast—the sharp tone and the sensual lips. He shouldn’t like that… shouldn’t be staring at her lips, shouldn’t be imagining what it would feel like to kiss them, what it would feel like to have them on his skin.

  “My lord?” she asked, confusion seeping into her voice.

  He tore his gaze from her mouth and looked back into her eyes. Saw them widen, awareness flooding them. And desire too, the same desire he felt for her reflected back to him, and something snapped inside him. Flavia wanted him, and he couldn’t in that moment, with her standing there staring at him with wide eyes, her breath coming more and more quickly, find a reason to stop himself.

  She gasped when he reached for her. “Lord Cathal, what are you doing?”

  But he didn’t stop moving, even when she repeated her question. He took her arms and crowded her back into the room, kicking the door closed behind them and spinning to put her back to the door. Then he leaned into her and finally brought his lips down over hers.

  And knew immediately that he was in trouble, because he wasn’t going to want to stop kissing her.

  Chapter 7

  FLAVIAN FROZE, his mind going utterly blank the instant Cathal’s lips touched his.

  Because Cathal was kissing him.

  Cathal was kissing him. Flavian never, ever, expected it to happen, or for it to be like this. A passionate, uninhibited kiss with Cathal’s firm body pressing against his, pushing him into the unyielding surface of the door. Who would have thought that a man like Cathal would kiss like that? And for an instant Flavian drowned in it—the feel of Cathal’s smooth lips on his, the firm grip of his hands on Flavian’s waist—as Cathal devoured him.

  But then reality came back in a flood. “We can’t do this.”

  Flavian tried to speak clearly, but the words were lost in the kiss. He brought his hands up and braced them against Cathal’s shoulders, trying to push Cathal away, but Cathal was strong and, well, Flavian’s traitorous body wasn’t trying its hardest. The kiss was so good; Cathal’s body against Flavian’s felt so good.

  But he couldn’t. They couldn’t, not only because Cathal was betrothed to Flavian’s friend but also because Flavian wasn’t what Cathal thought. He wasn’t a woman as Cathal thought he was. And if Cathal found out Flavian was a man, it would be disastrous for him and for Velia. That last was what finally galvanized him to push harder against Cathal’s shoulders. He still wondered if he was really trying to push Cathal away—he couldn’t do anything to make Cathal think he was a man, but he needed to do something more than mumble into the kiss and push at Cathal, especially when half the time his fingers tried to curl into the fabric of Cathal’s clothing. Flavian couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t let Cathal find out.

  Cathal tore his mouth from Flavian’s. “Flavia?”

  Flavian shook his head to clear it. For an instant, relief flooded him. Then he felt it against his hip, even through the layers of Cathal’s clothing and Flavian’s skirts—Cathal’s hardening member—and if he could feel that, then Cathal could feel him. “Cathal—”

  “Who are you?” Cathal gripped his upper arms, pushing Flavian into the door in a way that felt far less pleasant than it had a moment earlier.

  “Cathal—my lord—”

  “Who are you?” Cathal ground out the words, enunciating each one so it was almost its own demand. “Are you Velia’s lover?”

  “What?” Shock cut through rising panic. “That’s crazy. No, of course not.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe that, finding a man living in Velia’s suite in disguise.”

  The sneer in Cathal’s voice had anger snapping to the surface. “I would think my obvious reaction to you and your kiss would show you that I’m not Velia’s lover.”

  “Who are you, then? Why are you here?”

  “I’m… Flavian. I’m no one, no one important.” Flavian stumbled over the words. Cathal’s face was dark with anger, his eyes implacable and cold.

  “If you’re no one, why are you in the palace disguised as a woman? What are you doing here?”

  Flavian stared at Cathal before Cathal’s hands flexing on his arms, giving him a small shake, shocked him out of his stupor. “Nothing. I don’t even want to be here. I just wanted to leave Ardunn. I’ll leave, right now. Just let me go.”

  He was horrified to find himself practically begging, but he couldn’t take the words back, and he wouldn’t want to if they convinced Cathal not to send him back to Ardunn. But Cathal only stared at him for long moments before stepping back and pushing Flavian into a chair.

  “Stay there. I’ll be back shortly.” Cathal turned on his heel and left the suite, closing the door behind him with snap.

  Flavian jumped from the chair a heartbeat later. He certainly wasn’t going to wait for Cathal to come back with guards to take Flavian prisoner and interrogate him before Cathal shipped him back to Ardunn. He was getting out of here. He’d throw the possessions he absolutely needed in a bag, leave a quick note for Velia, and be gone. Or perhaps he’d just leave the note—Velia could find a way to get his things to him, and there was no way of knowing how long Cathal would be.

  Flavian rushed to the door, just to make certain Cathal was out of sight. But the door wouldn’t open. He flipped the lock, but it still wouldn’t open. Panic rising, he tugged and pulled, leaning all his weight into it and stumbling back when he lost his grip on the handle. Forcing himself to stop, he stood back and contemplated the door.

  Somehow, Cathal had locked him in the suite from the outside. Flavian hadn’t even known that was possible. But he couldn’t think about that at the moment. He had to fi
nd a way out. He ran to the sitting room window and opened it, pushing the glass panes wide. He was far too high up to jump, he knew that already, but maybe he’d missed something when he looked out the window previously, something that might help him climb down—a trellis would be lovely, even some ivy or conveniently placed ledges.

  But there was nothing. Nothing except a long drop to a stone terrace. If jumping didn’t kill him, it would certainly break bones and make running away impossible. He cursed viciously. There had to be a way out. He pulled the window shut, then turned to contemplate the rest of the room.

  He was still tearing through the suite when the door opened. For a wild second, hope crashed through him, lifting him, because Velia was returning and she would let him out and he could run before Cathal got back. But it wasn’t Velia, and if he’d thought about it, he’d surely have realized it would be ridiculous for Cathal to lock him in if the door could be opened from outside. And Cathal, who stood in the doorway staring at him, wouldn’t be that stupid.

  CATHAL KNEW what he should have done as soon as he locked Flavia—no, Flavian or whoever he was—in. He should have had the guards take Flavian into custody and gone immediately to Philip. Because it was entirely likely they had found their spy. A man from Ardunn dressed as a woman and playing companion to the betrothed of a member of the royal family… how could he not be the spy?

  But something held Cathal back from quite believing it. He didn’t think it was only his fascination with Flavian, which hadn’t died with the revelation that Flavia was Flavian, though it had to. Cathal couldn’t be with a man—he couldn’t be with a woman other than Velia either. That kiss had been a terrible mistake. And he was left with this knowledge, this ridiculous situation. He should go to Philip. Instead, he found himself procuring a dose of truth potion from the stores of the palace guard and going back to Flavian.

  Whether Cathal’s reluctance to believe Flavian was the spy, despite his own anger and shock, was caused by how intrigued he was with the Ardunnian or his instincts and experience wouldn’t matter soon enough. The truth potion would tell him everything he needed and would affect what he brought to Philip.

  Flavian stood staring at Cathal when he stepped back into the suite. He wasn’t certain what he’d been expecting Flavian to do. He knew very well Flavian couldn’t have escaped once Cathal used the spelled key in the door, and trying to hide would have been ridiculous. But it still surprised him to find Flavian standing in the middle of the sitting room, slightly disheveled but still wearing the gown. Perhaps he’d at least thought Flavian would have changed out of the disguise. He certainly couldn’t hide he was a man anymore.

  Cathal closed the door behind himself, locking it again with the special key before dropping the key into his pocket. He wasn’t going to have the man run out on him.

  Flavian was still watching him, but he glanced past Cathal too, toward the door. “I thought the guards were going to come drag me away.”

  He realized that Flavian always spoke in a low whisper, probably to disguise that his voice wasn’t feminine, only now that he didn’t. The difference was disconcerting. Everything about it was disconcerting.

  “I thought I’d wait on that for a little while. Until I know more.” Cathal stepped farther into the room. “You say you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re going to prove it to me.”

  “And how am I going to do that?”

  Cathal held up the small vial filled with vivid blue liquid. “This is a truth potion. You’re going to drink it, and you’re going to answer my questions.”

  “Am I?” Flavian snapped and folded his arms across his chest. “Why would I agree to that?”

  “To keep me from bringing the guards to your door, if in fact you are innocent of wrongdoing.”

  Flavian flinched slightly. “This is a lot of trouble to go to because you think I’m your betrothed’s lover.”

  “That’s not why I’m doing it,” Cathal said. And he wasn’t. Father would be outraged at the thought of Velia having a lover, if only because it would cast doubt on whether any of her future children were Cathal’s, but Cathal was far more concerned at that point about Ardunn’s spies than Velia’s potential lover.

  Flavian scrutinized him for a moment. “So how does this work?”

  He wasn’t sure why he felt so relieved that Flavian seemed to be agreeing. By all rights, he shouldn’t even be giving Flavian the truth potion—not by himself and not without Philip’s approval, at least. “You drink this. I ask you questions. The potion won’t compel you to answer, but it will force you to tell the truth if you do answer.”

  “Well, that’s stupid. What good is it if it doesn’t make someone answer all your questions?” His words had an edge to them, but Flavian stepped closer nonetheless, holding out a hand for the vial.

  The sorcerers were working on a potion that would do exactly what Flavian said, but they hadn’t come up with anything reliable yet. Not that Cathal owed him an explanation. “You don’t think it tells me something when someone refuses to answer a question?”

  “I suppose it does.” Flavian contemplated the little glass vial for a moment before unstopping it and downing the contents in one go. His face twisted into a grimace that would have been comical in any other situation. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”

  The involuntary comment nearly forced a snort of amusement from Cathal. “I’ll let them know you think it should taste better, shall I?”

  “Yes, do.” Flavian looked as if he was fighting a smile as well, then he shook his head. “What do you want to ask me?”

  Cathal gestured for Flavian to sit and took the chair across from him. “Are you spying for Ardunn?”

  “What? No.” Flavian’s voice held so much shock and insult that Cathal might have believed him even without the truth potion. Or perhaps not—Flavian had to be quite the actor to manage the deception for as long as he had. But with the potion, he had no choice. He had to believe Flavian. More of his anger began to ebb away.

  “Who is the spy?”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t know there was a spy,” Flavian answered immediately.

  “Why are you here and dressed as a woman?”

  Flavian hesitated. “I needed to get away, to leave Ardunn. Disguising myself and running was the only way. Velia offered to let me travel with her.”

  “Why did you need to leave Ardunn?” And why in disguise? Cathal couldn’t understand why Flavian didn’t just leave if he wanted to live somewhere else. Unless he had done something illegal in Ardunn.

  Flavian watched him steadily for several moments this time, as if deciding whether to answer Cathal’s question. Then he sighed and spoke, each word sounding as if it was dragged from him. “The most important reason… loving another man, preferring male lovers, is illegal in the empire, punishable by imprisonment or even death. I prefer men. I couldn’t stay, especially when my father decided to send me to the army, where I probably would have ended up killed anyway, rather than keep me at home and wait for someone to find out.”

  “So why not just leave? Why the disguise?”

  “Because if they find me, they can drag me back. I’m not of age.” Fear was concealed poorly in his large eyes.

  Cathal studied Flavian. He had to be over the age of majority, or he was far younger than he looked. “You have to have attained your majority already.”

  Flavian shook his head. “Not in Ardunn. The emperor changed the age of majority for men to thirty. I have several years to go.”

  Cathal hadn’t known that, but then there had been a lot of changes in the empire during the current emperor’s years of conquest and subjugation that probably weren’t well-known outside the empire.

  “I can’t go back,” Flavian continued, his voice vibrating with suppressed emotion. “I won’t. I came here to get away, to start a new life. To be free of the empire. I never intended for this ridiculous act to last this long, and if I had my choice, it wouldn’t have. I would be myself again and not h
ere in the palace. I would have found a place for myself in Jumelle, perhaps, or somewhere else. That’s what I want.”

  Silence stretched between them when Flavian’s words trailed off. Cathal had to believe him. It wasn’t possible to resist the truth potion, and Flavian had answered every question, even though the answers to some were of a personal nature and difficult. And Cathal knew Flavian was not their spy and had no knowledge of any spies in Tournai.

  He still didn’t know what to do with Flavian.

  But he didn’t have to have Flavian hauled off by the guards, and he felt far too much relief in that. He would discuss the situation with Philip, but Cathal couldn’t imagine how Philip would react.

  “All right. That’s enough for now.” Cathal stood abruptly.

  “What? What now?” Flavian looked up at him, eyes wide and a little panicked.

  “Nothing for now. You can stay here. I may have more questions later.” Cathal strode to the door, turning as he opened it. “I’d be careful what you say to anyone until that potion wears off.”

  IT WAS late when Flavian heard the suite door open and close. He tensed, hugging his knees closer to his chest, but no one came to his door. Soft footsteps tracked across the sitting room until he heard the door to Velia’s bedroom open and close in turn. He sagged when the door latched shut, his forehead falling to rest on his knees.

  Just Velia returning late from dinner and a theater outing. She hadn’t been pleased when he refused to go, but for once, he didn’t care. With what had happened with Cathal, he wasn’t in any mood to play Lady Flavia—he wasn’t even sure he could.

  He hadn’t bothered with the lady’s nightgown Velia insisted he wear, as if someone would ever take him for a woman in a thin nightgown. The charade would be over the moment anyone saw him. Still, until tonight, he had worn them, agreeing to her request and locking his door. Tonight, it hadn’t seemed to matter, so he’d stripped out of the gown he’d worn that day—the gown Cathal would have been happy enough to strip him out of before he found out the truth—and changed into loose drawstring pants and a sleeveless shirt, both soft, lightweight, and very comfortable to sleep in.