The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  “You won’t be the only one with a sketchbook. As I said, these events are much more relaxed, and they do last for most of the afternoon. A lot of ladies bring sketchbooks to pass the time. You wouldn’t look out of place.” Cathal’s lips turned up in a small smile. “I think you’d enjoy yourself this time. Just consider it.”

  Chapter 11

  CATHAL WAS surprised when he saw Flavian accompanying Velia the next day. He had been almost positive Flavian would find an excuse to avoid the excursion, and he wouldn’t have blamed Flavian in the least for wanting to—none of what was happening had been part of Flavian’s expectations. Flavian’s resentment and trepidation were understandable, especially now that Cathal knew the rest of Flavian’s plans.

  So Cathal was surprised, pleasantly so, to see Flavian with his sketchbook in hand. And the glow of pleasure he felt at the sight was only surprise and satisfaction that Flavian had done as he said and might actually enjoy himself, nothing more. Flavian deserved something to be a little easier, stuck, as he was, in a situation not entirely of his own making.

  But Cathal knew the feeling was far more than that, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He couldn’t let himself be attracted to Flavian. Especially as Cathal’s betrothed was walking right next to Flavian, and Cathal had heard nothing more from Philip about ending that betrothal. He wasn’t surprised; he doubted there was a way to end the betrothal without plunging them all into a potential war.

  Even with Philip, Amory, and Etan following later, they still needed more than one carriage to take them from the palace out to the cliffs. Velia’s aunt and uncle were attending, and Elodie was going, along with all of her ladies. Amory’s sister, Adeline, and her husband accompanied them as well. They had been at the palace visiting with Amory and Philip and chose to go directly to the picnic.

  Cathal didn’t mind. He liked Adeline quite a bit. She resembled her brother in temperament and was clever and kind and sensible. A bit quiet, but she had taken to life among the nobility well, if only by serenely ignoring the petty posturing and gossip. After getting to know her, Cathal had thought more than once that if he had to marry for the title, he should try to find a woman like Adeline, someone he could be friends with.

  The trip out to the cliffs was pleasant, with easy, light conversation. Cathal tried not to feel relieved that Father had chosen to join them at the cliffs later, but the carriage ride would have likely been something much different if he’d gone with them.

  Servants had been out at the cliffs all morning preparing for the party. The grass in the area set out for the picnic had been trimmed down from its high, wild state. Several tables and chairs had been set out in one area under gauzy awnings. Musicians played softly from a small platform. Blankets were layered over the grass farther out for those preferred to sit and enjoy the view.

  The sun was shining overheard, a few clouds dotting the sky. Elodie had fretted over those clouds earlier, but they weren’t likely to bring rain, and she had been convinced by Cathal and Amory not to call off the picnic, which was already set up anyway. She seemed pleased as the party swirled around her.

  Only a princess would call an event like this a picnic—with tables and servants and such an array of food. It was unlike the picnics Cathal remembered from his childhood, when he’d spent time during the summers out at Alzata, the royal estate Philip had given Amory after their marriage. Then picnics had meant a basket of food begged from the kitchen, eaten down by the lake with his brothers and Philip in between games. A far cry in so many ways from the day’s event.

  Cathal made a point of staying at Velia’s side, still trying to take every opportunity to get to know her, but he realized quickly that he wasn’t going to manage it at this event. As always, Velia was mobbed by courtiers, everyone wanting to get near Cathal’s bride and future duchess. After a while, he gave in to the inevitable, deftly extricating himself from the group surrounding Velia and Elodie, and wandered into the rest of the party.

  He meandered idly through the groups, nodding at people who greeted him, exchanging a few words before moving on. Etan was sitting at a small table with Adeline and her husband, the three of them talking and laughing while they ate, but Cathal didn’t join them. Philip and Amory had arrived at some point. He should have gone to them, but he didn’t do that either, telling himself he would pay his respects to the princes later. Nor did he stop for long to watch a laughing group of young men and ladies playing lawn games. He didn’t want to get pulled into a game himself.

  It wasn’t until he saw Flavian that he realized he’d been looking for him. He should have turned around right then and gone back—joined a game, joined Etan or Philip, joined Elodie and Velia again in their circle of admirers. But he didn’t. He walked toward Flavian instead.

  Flavian was seated on one of the blankets that had been spread at the edge of the picnic area. He’d somehow managed to seat himself in a way that looked ladylike, which might have been an accident. But he shouldn’t think poorly of Flavian. He had managed to fool everyone with his act, covering his less graceful moments well. Still, the appearance was nearly flawless, seated as Flavian was in the sunshine, blue skirts spread around him. They’d picked dresses perfect for his disguise, the light, fluttery blue gown he wore not as intricate as the peach dress decorated with floral embroidery that Velia wore but still appropriate even with its high neck. Cathal never would have thought Flavian was a man if he didn’t know, and he was suddenly grateful for that; if he didn’t see it, then no one else was likely to, and that would keep Flavian safe.

  A cloud passed overhead, leaving Flavian sitting in bright sunlight, which set his red-gold hair aglow. Suddenly, he wasn’t thinking of Flavian’s costume but of what the man looked like out of it. It should have been his cue to turn around—it was a bad idea to go to Flavian when he was thinking things like that.

  It was a bad idea to think things like that.

  As he got closer, Cathal was pleased to see the sketchbook open in Flavian’s lap. He seemed to have avoided notice of the rest of the party so he could sketch in peace. But at the moment, Flavian was just staring out in front of him, his hand holding the pencil poised over the page. Cathal looked up to see what had fascinated Flavian and was struck himself. Flavian was sitting as close as he could to where the flat grassy area began sloping down toward the cliff edge. The slope was grassy and thick with wildflowers in hues of pink and purple and blue. They tumbled down to the edge of the rocky cliff that dropped off into the calm waters of the sea.

  He stopped beside Flavian. After a moment, Flavian looked up at Cathal, and Cathal’s breath caught. Flavian’s eyes were wide with wonder—at the beauty of the view, Cathal assumed, but it was Flavian he thought was beautiful. Especially as Flavian was at the moment, when his walls seemed to be lowered, perhaps because of his art. If so, Cathal wanted him drawing all the time so he could see Flavian’s face so open, his eyes so full of emotion.

  Flavian’s eyes were the brilliant color of the sea in front of them. That was what they reminded Cathal of, the clear blue of the sea. They were hardly ever as calm as the sea. So much turbulence in Flavian’s eyes usually. But at that moment, Cathal saw peace and wonder. He was loathe to intrude on it, but Flavian had already seen him. It was possible that whatever magic came over Flavian as he appreciated and translated the view to paper had broken without Cathal saying a word.

  A veil dropped over Flavian’s expression as he realized Cathal was standing beside him. But traces of that wonder were still there, and Flavian didn’t seem as closed off.

  Cathal took a chance. “May I join you for a moment? Only if I won’t bother you. I don’t want to interrupt.”

  Flavian tilted his head. “Shouldn’t you be with Velia? Won’t she miss you?”

  “Probably, but I don’t think she’ll miss me. She and Elodie are socializing with a group of other young ladies.” He glanced behind him, but he couldn’t see the group from where they were. “And some men as well. They
dance attendance on Elodie.”

  “Unsurprising. She’s Prince Philip’s sister and a lovely girl. They always danced attendance on Velia back in Ardunn as well.”

  He wondered if Flavian thought that would make Cathal jealous and drive him back to Velia’s side. If Flavian didn’t want his company, he could just tell Cathal to go, because Cathal wasn’t jealous. Not of Velia speaking with a group of young courtiers. He’d never been jealous about any of his previous lovers either. He should be back at Velia’s side, but not because of the men who clustered around her and Elodie.

  “You can sit if you like,” Flavian said after a few moments. Cathal had had more gracious invitations in his life, but he didn’t plan on turning that one down in spite of its delivery.

  He seated himself next to Flavian on the blanket, close enough to converse, but not so close that it would be remarked upon in any way. Because he should be with Velia, and he shouldn’t be seen as too cozy with his betrothed’s companion.

  “I’m glad to see you brought your sketchbook.”

  “I am as well.” Flavian was looking out at the view again, but he flicked a glance at Cathal. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, trying to keep his amusement at Flavian’s statement, which sounded a bit like a grudging afterthought, out of his voice. “May I see what you’re drawing?”

  Flavian hesitated but ultimately tilted the sketchbook so Cathal could see the drawing. Cathal was not an artist himself, but even he could see it was good. Flavian had been drawing the view that seemed to so entrance him—the flowers spilling down the hillside to the cliff’s edge, the sea and the sky above with its interesting pattern of clouds. It was clear that Flavian was skilled, but the drawing wasn’t just technically correct. There was something else to it—a feeling conveyed, some of that peace and wonder Cathal had seen in Flavian’s eyes coming across on the page almost magically. If Flavian’s plan was to support himself in his new life as an artist, Cathal didn’t think he would have trouble doing so.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Flavian looked at him, as if measuring his sincerity. “Thank you. It’s not finished, and it would be better if I could paint it. Color would truly capture it.”

  Cathal could see that. The colors of sea and sky and flowers were dramatic. He would like to see what Flavian could do with them. “You can come back and paint it. We’re not far outside Jumelle. You could have brought paints today, though you wouldn’t have been quite as inconspicuous if you had.”

  Flavian wasn’t the only person with a sketchbook at the party, as Cathal had predicted. There were a few men and several women sketching. Some of the women might have been trying to attract attention from male suitors but certainly not all of them, and those who did were sitting in far more centrally located areas and doing far less sketching.

  “I don’t have anything to paint with.”

  “You don’t?” He would have thought someone who was as serious an artist as Flavian—because it was obvious Flavian was a serious artist—would have the necessary supplies to paint.

  “No, I left everything behind in Ardunn when I ran.”

  Cathal kicked himself. Of course, Flavian would have had to leave behind most of his possessions. Running from his family unnoticed would necessitate that, and traveling with a trunk filled with ladies’ clothing would leave little room even if he had been able to bring more. He wondered how much Flavian actually had to begin his new life, or would he be starting over completely when he finally left the palace?

  “I’m sorry.”

  Flavian shrugged. “I’ll replace it. Until then, I’ll draw and store up all my ideas for paintings.”

  The statement was matter-of-fact, unworried, but he didn’t think Flavian was as calm about it as he tried to sound. Sympathy welled up inside Cathal, but he kept it hidden. He doubted Flavian would appreciate Cathal’s sympathy. “You’ll have plenty of inspiration once you are painting again.”

  “Yes.”

  They lapsed into silence after that, and a few minutes later, Flavian began to draw again. At first, he drew haltingly, glancing at Cathal sideways, but Cathal forced himself to stare out at the view, and soon Flavian relaxed—Cathal could see it in the lines of his body and the way his hand flew across the page, confident and sure. As Flavian appeared to lose himself in the drawing, Cathal gave into temptation and allowed himself to study Flavian surreptitiously.

  Flavian drawing was yet another facet of the man Cathal was becoming far too fascinated with. Flavian drawing was calm and focused and more open. Seeing him like that made Cathal want to see more, learn more, discover more of who Flavian was. Cathal shouldn’t have come to Flavian, he knew it before, and he knew it now. He should be at the side of the woman he had to marry, not becoming even more fascinated by the prickly man masquerading as her companion.

  “May we join you for a moment?”

  The voice startled Cathal, and Flavian jumped, pulling the pencil clear of the page just in time to keep himself from ruining his drawing.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Amory looked down at them, his smile contrite. He balanced his son, who was smiling and clutching at a small toy cat, on his hip.

  Cathal stood to bow. Amory was a cousin by marriage, but he was still the prince’s consort, and Cathal needed to show him the proper respect. Flavian began to scramble to his feet to do the same, and Cathal reached out to help him up, but Amory waved at Flavian to stay down.

  “Don’t, really. I just came to visit for a few moments.” Amory settled gracefully on the blanket next to Flavian and sat the baby on the blanket as well. Cathal sat back down on Amory’s other side. “I won’t stay long. You looked peaceful over here, and it won’t stay quiet if they notice Julien and I are here.”

  Amory was right about that. Sooner or later, someone would realize Amory had disappeared from the crowd. It wasn’t as if they were actually hidden, just a bit removed from the rest of the party. And once someone spotted Amory, people would certainly begin coming over to cozy up to the prince’s consort and son. However they felt about Amory and his marriage to Philip, courtiers still tried to curry favor with Amory in the hope of that favor translating to favor from Philip—had, in fact, from the moment he became Philip’s lover, long before they were married.

  “How did you escape in the first place? Throw Philip to the wolves?”

  “He can take care of himself,” Amory said, mischief sparkling in his eyes. Julien seemed to agree, smiling and clapping his hands.

  Cathal smiled. “I didn’t know you were bringing Julien with you.”

  “We only decided before we left. It’s the kind of event we can bring him to, and since we could, we wanted to.” Amory smiled down at his son. He and Philip loved their son beyond anything and took any opportunity they could to spend more time with him, unlike many of the nobility who left most of the raising of their babies to nursemaids.

  Julien was a beautiful baby, Cathal could admit without much bias. The child had inherited the best features of both his parents, who were handsome men. He had Amory’s curls but in Philip’s dark hair color, and Amory’s deep brown eyes and fair skin. Julien even had a pleasant disposition, but Cathal wasn’t the one trying to get the child to sleep at night. And he was quite all right with that.

  “He’s fascinated by you.”

  Amory’s remark, directed at Flavian, brought Cathal out of his musing. Flavian was looking at the baby as if he wasn’t entirely sure what manner of creature Julien was. A frown drew Flavian’s brows together as he contemplated the baby, who was smiling and staring at him, dark eyes wide. Fascinated, just as Amory said.

  “I don’t know why he would be, Your Highness,” Flavian said, hardly glancing up from his focus on Julien.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Amory asked.

  Cathal would have laughed at the mingled shock and horror on Flavian’s face if he didn’t think it would insult both Flavian an
d Amory unforgivably. Though Amory seemed to be suppressing amusement of his own. Cathal wondered if Amory was trying to torture Flavian for some reason when Amory lifted Julien and handed him to Flavian.

  Flavian sputtered a few protests, obviously trying to be polite to Amory and avoid having to hold the baby at the same time, but he still took the infant prince when Amory released him into Flavian’s hands. Cathal couldn’t hold back his grin as Flavian held the child out from him and stared at him. Julien stared back just as seriously.

  Amory laughed. “He won’t bite or break, but you don’t have to hold him.”

  Relief washed over Flavian’s face, and Cathal joined in Amory’s laughter, unable to hold it inside any longer. It was kind of adorable really, how flustered Flavian was. Cathal was content to be the child’s doting, honorary uncle and nothing more, but Flavian just looked lost.

  As Amory was reaching for the baby, Julien lunged at Flavian. Flavian let out a strange squeaking noise, almost a yelp, but the baby just grabbed for the long strand of beads Flavian wore around his neck. Cathal doubled over laughing and only laughed harder when Flavian glared at him. He was no help at all as Amory took the baby back and tried to pry the necklace from his little fist.

  “Stubborn child. Let it go. It’s not a toy.”

  Julien didn’t get upset, much to Cathal’s surprise, but he didn’t let go either. Flavian was still glaring at Cathal, but he glanced down at the smiling, cooing baby and then up at Amory.

  “Can the necklace harm him, Your Highness?” Flavian finally asked.

  “No, not unless the chain is breakable,” Amory said, still holding his son’s little fists in his hands, fists that did not want to give up their shiny prize. Stubborn child indeed. Cathal could see a lot of Philip in the boy already, though Amory didn’t lack stubbornness himself. “The beads aren’t, and they look too big for him to swallow.”

  “Then let’s let the prince play with it, Your Highness.” Flavian unclasped the necklace, letting it fall into the little prince’s hands.