The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  The gentleness had Flavian swallowing back a lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “All right.”

  “Good.” Cathal smiled. “Do you want to change out of that gown?”

  “I—I don’t have anything to change into, and I shouldn’t anyway. If someone came in….”

  “I locked the door. No one will come in, and you can borrow something.” Cathal’s smile became a grin. “My things might be a little long on you, but you’ll probably still be more comfortable.”

  The idea of not wearing a gown for a while, especially after the argument that drove him to Cathal, was too tempting. “Thank you.”

  Cathal pointed Flavian toward his dressing room. Flavian felt a little strange searching through Cathal’s clothes, despite Cathal’s permission. He quickly chose a shirt and a pair of loose pants that Cathal probably used to sleep and stripped out of his gown. The pants were too long, but he tightened the drawstring so they stayed up. The shirt, tailored for Cathal’s larger frame, was also too large. He rolled the sleeves up. It was the best he could do, but he was more comfortable than in the gown.

  Cathal was waiting for him in the sitting room, lounging in the corner of the couch. Two goblets of deep red wine sat on the table. Flavian picked up one of the goblets and sat next to Cathal. After taking a long drink of the wine, he said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Cathal caressed Flavian’s cheek again, in a way Flavian was privately beginning to adore. “Do you want to tell me?”

  Flavian wanted to bristle, but he also wanted to tell Cathal. It was an odd feeling. “Velia and I had an argument. She doesn’t think I’m doing a good enough job playing the role of her companion. I’m not being convincing enough.”

  “Did you tell her that we know? That it doesn’t matter?”

  “No point. You may know, and Their Highnesses, but no one else does, so we have to keep up the pretense.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I’m not very good at this.” He slumped and drank more wine.

  “I think you’re brilliant at it, and I never would have suspected you’re really a man. No, you’re not perfect, but you’re doing your best.” Cathal was almost fierce in his defense of Flavian from himself and the absent Velia, and far too much affection welled up inside Flavian because of it.

  “Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed Cathal softly. He set his wine back on the table, then kissed Cathal again, deeper, longer, hoping the kiss would convey what Flavian couldn’t let himself think, let alone say.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” Cathal asked, his voice ragged, after long moments of kissing.

  Flavian looked into the molten gold of Cathal’s eyes, at his kiss-swollen lips. Cathal was slow to smile, but when he did, the whole room lit up, or maybe that was just Flavian. “In a little while? Can we just stay here?”

  Surprise flashed across Cathal’s face, but he nodded, and his beautiful smile appeared as he stroked a hand over Flavian’s hair. Flavian smiled too, helpless not to, and he kissed Cathal again, lightly, before he snuggled up against Cathal’s side, nuzzling his head into Cathal’s neck.

  Cathal froze, and Flavian wondered if he had done something wrong, but then Cathal’s arms wrapped around him securely. He pressed a kiss to Flavian’s hair. Flavian sighed and sank closer, letting Cathal’s presence calm him.

  Chapter 17

  THEY SET out to the glassworks owned by Amory’s family in the morning. The outing had been put forth as a spontaneous one—Amory had suggested at breakfast, which had been a quiet meal with the Ardunnians, the princes, Elodie, and Cathal and his parents, that Velia and her family might enjoy seeing the workings of a glassworks—but Cathal knew it had to have been carefully calculated between Amory and Philip at least, even if Cathal hadn’t known about it. From the expression on Father’s face, Father hadn’t known either, and he wasn’t certain what to think of the idea.

  Velia and her uncle and aunt responded with polite interest and enthusiasm for the proposed trip, but Cathal watched Flavian out of the corner of his eye, and not only because Cathal seemed to have more and more trouble keeping himself from watching Flavian when they were in the same place. Flavian’s expression was also a polite mask as he bent over his plate, doing his best to melt into the background, but his eyes, when he glanced Cathal’s way, were sparkling, practically snapping with interest.

  Oh, yes, the whole trip to the glassworks had been crafted by Amory, crafted for Flavian and his interest in art, not for Velia. Amory was intelligent enough to hide that purpose in plain sight, knowing Flavian tried quite hard not to draw attention to himself. Since he had learned Flavian’s secret, Cathal had observed even more how Flavian tried to fade out of sight, even of Velia’s aunt and uncle. The genuineness of that habit had strengthened Philip’s belief in Flavian’s story, actually. But Amory had found a way to indulge Flavian’s curiosity about glass art without singling him out and making everyone wonder.

  The party to the glassworks ended up numbering only Cathal, Amory, Flavian, Velia, and her aunt and uncle. Cathal got the impression Philip never intended to attend, pleading duties at the palace, as Philip had seen the glassworks before. Elodie had another engagement planned and seemed slightly put out that she couldn’t go with them, but she was mollified somewhat when Amory told her if she wanted to tour the glassworks, he or Adeline could take her another day.

  Father was less easy to placate. He obviously didn’t care for the surprise outing, but Cathal couldn’t understand why, unless it was simply that an excursion to a business owned by Amory’s family would only emphasize that Amory was born a commoner. It was something Father still criticized vociferously whenever he had the opportunity, though he knew better than to do it in front of Philip or anywhere it would get back to Philip. Father also couldn’t accompany them due to previous commitments, but Cathal thought that all to the good. Father’s veiled derision was not something Cathal would have looked forward to.

  And Cathal was rather looking forward to the outing, not for any particular interest in glass art but for how Flavian would react. Cathal’s new favorite pastime seemed to be finding ways to get past Flavian’s outer shell, the mask that Flavian wore, and see him interested, excited, full of wonder.

  Lost in passion.

  But he couldn’t think about Flavian like that at the moment—couldn’t remember what happened to Flavian’s face when Cathal touched him, how his cerulean eyes went dark with desire—not when he was surrounded by his father and cousins and his betrothed and her family. Because no one could suspect what they’d done, not just for his sake, but for Flavian’s.

  They went by carriage to the glassworks. Cathal had almost suggested going on horseback since it was a pleasant day, but he wasn’t certain Flavian would be able to ride a horse in a gown. He hadn’t seen Flavian do it, and he doubted it was something Flavian had practiced, considering what he thought would be the short duration and limited scope of his masquerade. Part of Cathal, a mischievous part, wanted to see if Flavian could do it, but he couldn’t put Flavian through that. Not in front of other people.

  Amory’s older brother, Alban, met them at the entrance to the building. Cathal supposed Amory had to send word they would be visiting—it would be less than kind to invade a place of business with sightseers and royal guards with no advance warning, despite Amory’s family owning the business in question—and he could only be grateful it was Amory’s brother and not his father who met them, even though Alban was only marginally less overbearing and obnoxious than Arnau was.

  Alban accompanied them as they made their way through the large building, but, though Alban talked quite a bit about the greatness of their family’s products, Amory and one of the master glassworkers gave them the most information.

  They were taken through various rooms and shown bits of the glassmaking processes, but they were never allowed too close to any of the artisans as they worked. The master glassworker, who seemed to know Amory well though the
man wasn’t overly familiar with the prince’s consort, showed them the drawings and plans for several designs and took them through other rooms housing different types of glasswork—mirrors, chandeliers, vases, goblets, and ornaments in various states of completion.

  Willem volubly professed his admiration for Tournai’s glasswork. Alban seemed to sense some sort of like-minded man and took to talking to the duke, probably hoping he would purchase numerous pieces to take back to Ardunn with them. Cathal was certain the purpose of the outing was not for Alban to secure more sales for his father’s business, but he trusted Amory to handle his brother if necessary.

  Cathal found himself interested despite himself as they walked through the glassworks, but he spent most of his time observing Flavian’s reactions. Flavian was mostly ignored by the rest of the group, as Flavian liked it, but he saw that Amory and his master glassworker often subtly addressed explanations to Flavian. It was so smoothly done Cathal wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching.

  Flavian was absorbed in everything he saw. In other places, glass wasn’t considered art but instead goods to be used. He wouldn’t have encountered its intricacies in a study of art outside Tournai. Judging by how raptly Flavian was listening, he hadn’t learned much about glass in the library either. Not surprising. The art of glass was quite specialized, and Flavian wouldn’t have been able to learn much in a casual study.

  Flavian looked eager to hear more than just the general overview of the process of making glass and shaping it into the various creations that Amory’s family sold, and perhaps a little disappointed that he wasn’t told more. But certain parts of the process were secret and couldn’t be revealed for fear that another glassmaker would hear and put them to use. The master glassworker was polite about it, but Alban wasn’t quite as diplomatic when Velia’s uncle asked a probing question. Amory had to smooth that over, which he easily did.

  Cathal wasn’t surprised by Flavian’s disappointment at being given so little specific information. On the other hand, he was a little surprised at the disappointment that flashed across Velia’s face. He hadn’t thought her particularly interested by the tour, but she had exclaimed over many of the finished pieces. She took Cathal’s arm as they walked through the building on their way to refreshments in one of the showrooms. He wanted to talk to Flavian, ask him what he thought about what they’d seen, perhaps get him talking about glass and art and see how excited Flavian might become about those things. Flavian had passionate opinions about art that he’d shared with Amory and Etan, and Cathal found himself wanting to hear them too.

  But Velia was his betrothed, unless Philip could do something to end the betrothal. Cathal couldn’t complain about being at her side when that was where he was supposed to be in the eyes of everyone, where duty and honoring a betrothal agreement required him to be.

  “Did you enjoy the tour today, my lady?” he asked as they walked. He matched his steps to her slower, shorter ones, and they lagged behind the rest of the group.

  “Yes, very much. I’ve never seen anything like this, and I didn’t know how glass is produced.” She smiled up at him with more than a hint of flirtatiousness. “They didn’t tell us much about the process. I wish I could hear more.”

  “Oh? I didn’t realize you were so interested in glass.”

  “Oh, well, I didn’t either. As I said, I didn’t really know anything about it before today. Except that Tournai glass is so beautiful, the best in the world, and the pieces I’ve seen today are finer than most. I’m developing quite an appreciation for it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Tournai is proud of its glassmakers, and Prince Amory is naturally proud of his family’s enterprise. It’s possibly the preeminent glassmaking business in the country.” But neither he nor Philip could stand Amory’s father or brother, which made dealing with the business a difficult proposition. Even Amory had trouble.

  “I can see why. But now I want to know everything about it. Won’t you tell me more?” She blinked wide, green eyes up at him, the look a sweet appeal that she had to have practiced in her mirror at some point in her life for it to be so perfect.

  “More, Lady Velia? About what?”

  “About the glassmaking process. There seems to be so much they didn’t tell us.”

  He’d expected Flavian to be eager for more knowledge, not Velia. The summary they’d been given should have been enough, especially after the reasons for its vagueness had been explained to them. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “Oh, but you must. You live here after all, and Prince Amory is your family. Surely he must have told you something.”

  “Not about his family’s secrets of the glassmaking business.”

  “I can’t believe that. You seem so knowledgeable about so many things, Lord Cathal.”

  He wanted to roll his eyes, but he restrained himself. Her attempt at flattery and flirtation was a bit thick this afternoon, but he might have liked them once. She was an attractive woman, and he would be marrying her soon. Still, he couldn’t get past how practiced she seemed. She wasn’t giving him anything beneath the carefully crafted surface. Not as Flavian was opening up to him.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but not about this, Lady Velia. I have no idea what the secret to such exquisite glassmaking is.” He shrugged slightly. “Prince Amory’s family has been doing this for generations, so I assume it has something to do with some combination of a method honed over hundreds of years, high quality materials, skill of the craftsmen, and maybe magic.”

  Velia laughed, a light, musical sound. “I’m not disappointed. Well, maybe just a little, but only because I’m so curious. I shouldn’t admit it, but I’m curious about everything. Today just whetted my appetite. I’ve always admired Tournai glass. There are several exquisite pieces, a few of them quite old, in the imperial palace. I wonder now if they were made here.”

  Had he finally learned something about Velia? “Perhaps, but there are other families who work with glass here, and their work is of excellent quality as well,” he said.

  “I’m sure there are. It’s always said that even the least of Tournai’s glass is better than anyone else’s best. The clearest mirrors, the most intricate designs. Can you blame me for wanting to know all of the secrets of how they come to be?”

  He thought her words overly effusive, but that wasn’t uncommon at court, and perhaps she was trying to impress them as much as Father wanted to impress her uncle. “I suppose not. Shall we join the others?”

  Velia glanced ahead of them to where the rest of their party was disappearing through a doorway. “Yes. We wouldn’t want them to have to come looking for us.”

  He nodded and led her down the corridor toward the laughing voices of the rest of the group. Amory’s brother had taken everyone into a room furnished like a well-appointed sitting room. Comfortable but ostentatious, it was obviously meant to impress wealthy customers. Food in the form of small sweet and savory pastries and fruit and drink had been set out on a table for them. Cathal couldn’t even deny that his eyes sought out Flavian as soon as he walked into the room. Flavian was seated on a chair along one wall, already doing his best to fade into the background.

  Cathal couldn’t blame him when he heard Arnau’s loud, falsely boisterous voice cresting above the rest of the conversation in the room. Apparently, Amory’s father had joined them. Cathal forced back a wince and led Velia across the room to where Arnau was talking with the duke and duchess. It would be unbearably rude not to introduce Velia to the man, even if Cathal wished they could leave instead.

  Amory did his best to mitigate his father’s tendencies toward putting on airs and pomposity as he had done with Alban, but there was only so much Amory could do. Cathal knew that, and he knew Amory did as well. They fell into a conversation about the glass they had seen on the tour, Velia gushing to Arnau and Alban about the beauty of the pieces and Willem chiming in with his more restrained admiration of the workmanship. C
athal was certain that a sales pitch, hopefully subtle, would follow, but the discussion seemed to be going smoothly, so he left it alone.

  He really wanted to sit with Flavian and talk with him. But if Cathal did, he would only draw attention that Flavian didn’t want. Instead, he made his way to the drinks and poured himself a glass of wine. He stood and sipped it there, away from the group, sunk into his thoughts and… his dissatisfaction.

  “You can’t do it, you know.”

  Amory’s quiet voice made him jump, sloshing the wine in his delicate goblet, but thankfully not spilling it. He hadn’t noticed Amory coming to his side. “Do what?”

  “Live for your father, or even as your father expects.”

  Anger simmered suddenly inside Cathal, but he kept his voice low so only Amory could hear. “It’s not that simple.”

  “I know.” Amory nodded toward his father and brother. “I spent years trying to make him proud of me, trying to understand why he was so disappointed in me. It frustrated me and angered me. It hurt me. All I wanted was to be part of this, but I couldn’t be what he wanted, and finally, I had to admit that to myself and start living my life.”

  He’d forgotten for a moment about Amory’s relationship with his father, and he hadn’t known the details of it. He hadn’t known Amory felt that way toward his own father. Some of Cathal’s anger drained away.

  “How did you manage to do it?” Because he had no idea how to even begin doing it himself, if he even could. Amory hadn’t had an arranged betrothal with important political implications to contend with when he began building his own life.

  “It’s not easy. It’s very difficult really to break out of the mindset that you must fulfill all his expectations.” Amory smiled slightly and looked over at Flavian, who was staring down into the wine glass in his hand, and then back at Cathal, his gaze intense, knowing. “Maybe it takes something more important. Something you want more.”

  Cathal looked back at Flavian. The maddening, attractive man. “Maybe.”