The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  “At this point, I don’t particularly care.” He forced down the nausea her words provoked, forced himself not to think about them. Not to wonder if they were true. “It’s time for me to go.”

  “I’m not going to forgive you,” she said. “I assume that’s why you came, and I’m not. I can’t believe you’d do this to me, your friend.”

  He didn’t stop walking toward the door. Perhaps he had wanted forgiveness, some part of him at least. Had wanted her to say she understood why he told the princes, even though he knew she wouldn’t. Even though he knew he’d lost a friend. But he couldn’t believe she’d done what she had either.

  “I don’t particularly care about that right now either,” he said without turning back to her.

  His stomach churning, he pushed open the door and walked away.

  Chapter 25

  CATHAL WAS in no mood to be social, which happened quite rarely and was a problem since he was at a party. Normally he had no problem socializing, being charming, dancing, but tonight, his heart just wasn’t in it. Yet he was at a party celebrating Vrai’s birthday that Philip and Amory were hosting in the palace.

  At least it wasn’t a party that had been planned to celebrate his own, now former, betrothal.

  Perhaps that was why he didn’t want to be there. He’d been required to attend far too many parties for a betrothal he didn’t want in recent weeks. Or perhaps it was the circumstances of how that betrothal ended, and his own father’s actions, that left him less than thrilled about socializing.

  Perhaps it was that Philip and Amory had finally decided what to do about Father. Cathal had known there would be punishment, had known from the moment Father told him he’d negotiated the betrothal without Philip’s approval that there would be consequences of some kind. He just never anticipated what would happen. Philip was forcing Father to abdicate his title and powers and retire to an estate in the countryside, where he would live under the eyes of royal guards. It would be another type of confinement, but one that allowed him the presence of his family, and poor health would be given as a reason to anyone who didn’t have to know the real story. Cathal wondered if it was too much to hope for that they might contain all whispers of treason within the royal family.

  And he hadn’t even begun to think of what Father’s abdication of the title meant for him. He was about to gain it, something he hadn’t expected, or wanted, for a long time to come.

  All in all, he’d rather be back in his rooms, in his bed, curled around Flavian.

  Flavian, who seemed much more comfortable and amenable to being at a party than Cathal did, or than Flavian had seemed at any other party in all the time Cathal had known him. But it was the first party Flavian had attended as himself.

  Flavian was making quite a splash too. To Cathal’s surprise, no one remarked upon the resemblance between the artist Flavian and the lady Flavia, which was all to the good for Flavian’s safety. Cathal couldn’t believe no one saw the resemblance, but with his hair cut, in his own clothes, Flavian did look quite different than he had before. He didn’t sound the same either, speaking in his normal masculine tones and suppressing his accent, something he told Cathal he’d practiced for a long time when he decided to flee Ardunn. And Cathal had spent far more time staring at Flavian than anyone else would have while he was disguised as Velia’s companion. Companions tended to be invisible to most. There hadn’t been any mention of a connection when Flavian had been introduced either, probably something Philip and Amory had orchestrated. Gratitude welled up inside Cathal as he turned his attention briefly from Flavian, involved in a discussion across the room, to Philip and Amory, dancing together.

  Maybe the party would be more enjoyable if he danced with Flavian. His gaze moved back to Flavian. Flavian looked quite animated as he talked. Cathal liked seeing him that way, He wondered if he could convince Flavian to dance with him tonight. Flavian had once said he didn’t dance, but perhaps it was only that he didn’t dance as Flavia. Getting to hold Flavian in his arms as they moved around the floor… he’d like that very much. It would be almost as good as if they could skip the rest of the party and retire to his bedchamber.

  But he couldn’t leave his brother’s party so early, no matter how much he might want to.

  Vrai didn’t know a decision had been made about Father; no one did yet outside the princes, Etan, and Cathal. Vrai was quite obviously enjoying himself, despite the situation with Father. But then, Vrai hadn’t been involved in the intrigue the way Cathal and Etan had, and Vrai trusted them to know what needed to be done. He worried about Father, but Vrai was guided by that trust. Vrai was also dancing with a pretty friend of Elodie’s, which made for a pleasant distraction.

  Cathal’s gaze was pulled back to Flavian, as it had been all night. Every time they were separated, he watched Flavian. He couldn’t remember ever being so compelled to look at someone, to be with someone. As if Flavian felt Cathal’s regard, he turned and met Cathal’s stare. Cathal had to smile. Flavian looked so good, and more importantly, he looked more comfortable. Maybe that meant Flavian wouldn’t leave. Maybe he would stay with Cathal.

  Flavian flashed him an answering smile, and Cathal decided they had been apart long enough. He began walking toward Flavian, but he hadn’t made it more than a few steps when someone called his name. He kept himself from cursing with some difficulty and turned to Bastien. As much as he wanted to go to Flavian, he couldn’t ignore Bastien, especially since Cathal hadn’t seen him in quite a while. Bastien was Philip’s cousin on his mother’s side and no relation of Cathal’s, but he was a friend.

  “Bastien, good to see you.” Cathal met Bastien in a hug of greeting. “It’s been too long. I’m glad you came.”

  “I had business in Jumelle that I managed to line up with Vrai’s party.” Bastien spent most of his time on his family’s lands in northern Tournai, running the estate and breeding horses. “I was going to apologize for missing the announcement of your betrothal, but… well.”

  “Yes, well. How much have you heard?”

  “I haven’t been in Jumelle long, but the gossip is flying,” Bastien said, his voice dry.

  Cathal could only imagine. Gossip moved fast in certain circles of Jumelle, and in many circumstances, he would have no problem helping it along. Not this time. Since Bastien was a trusted friend to him and to Philip, Cathal gave him an edited account of what had happened with Velia, leaving out anything Philip wanted to keep confidential and everything about Flavian. By the time Cathal had finished, Bastien’s eyebrows had climbed toward his hairline.

  “I have no idea what to say.”

  “Neither do I, most of the time,” Cathal said. He had never thought the spies would get so close, had never thought his father would play a part in their entry into the palace, however unwitting. And he didn’t want to think about it tonight, if he could avoid it. “How is your sister? Did she come with you?”

  Bastien shook his head, a fond look in his eyes. “Pry her away from the horses? Impossible.”

  Cathal laughed, and they chatted about family matters for a while, carefully avoiding any mention of Father, but trading news and stories of siblings.

  “You should come to Jumelle more often. We miss you here.”

  Bastien shrugged. “I miss all of you too, but you know me. I’m not really one for the city.”

  “Make an exception every so often, all right?”

  “I’ll do my best. You’re welcome to visit as well. We’d enjoy having you stay.” Bastien glanced over Cathal’s shoulder. “But it seems that someone wants to speak with you.”

  Cathal’s first thought was of Flavian, and a bright burst of happiness suffused him. But when he turned around, Celeste stood before him. Disappointment dragged him down from that momentary lightness, which wasn’t Celeste’s fault. Leaving her immediately would be beyond impolite. If tempting.

  Both he and Bastien greeted Celeste, but Bastien soon excused himself to join Etan, who Cathal had notice
d was carefully avoiding Tristan and the young woman he had just married. Cathal had stayed close to Etan when Tristan first arrived, but Etan had waved him off after a while. He’d kept an eye on Etan anyway, but he should have done more, perhaps, and stared at Flavian a little less.

  “You haven’t danced tonight,” Celeste said suddenly after a few moments of pleasantries and banal social chatter. “You always dance.”

  “I’m not in the mood for dancing tonight.” Well, that was a lie. He stole another glance at Flavian, who was looking back at Cathal, but he quickly looked away when Cathal caught him. Cathal frowned. Why had Flavian looked away? Just a few moments ago they had been trading smiles.

  Celeste followed his gaze. “That is a surprise. I wouldn’t have expected it.”

  “Expected what?” he asked, but he knew Celeste wasn’t stupid. Far from it.

  “You and the artist.”

  “Celeste,” he said and stopped because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her. He couldn’t let Flavian become the source of gossip and be tempted to leave, but he didn’t want to deny Flavian either.

  Celeste laughed. “You look so scared. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t know. What we had didn’t end well.” His fault, he knew. He’d walked away from her when he and Philip had fallen out briefly and Cathal had stayed away from the palace. Part of him had expected her to wait for him, and she hadn’t wanted to. He couldn’t blame her.

  “It didn’t, but I’m not harboring any ill will. You didn’t love me, Cathal, and I knew that. I didn’t love you. We enjoyed each other, then it ended. Do you really think me that vindictive?”

  “No, Celeste, of course not. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He didn’t know what to think. It was the first real conversation he’d had with Celeste since their affair ended.

  Celeste tilted her head and studied him. “You care about him.”

  “I—very much,” he said quietly. He glanced toward Flavian. Flavian looked away again.

  She reached out and squeezed his arm briefly. “Treat him better than you did me at the end.”

  “I will, but I don’t plan on it ending.”

  FLAVIAN HAD been doing quite well. Memories of his visit to Velia tried to undermine that well-being, but he pushed them aside, knowing it had been a mistake to see her. There had been times since Velia was captured that he felt guilty for doing so well when Velia was imprisoned. But Velia had gotten herself into her own mess. She might not have turned him over to the emperor, but if what Cathal said was true, and Cathal had never lied to him, she’d tried to cast blame on Flavian for her crimes. He wasn’t certain he could forgive her for that.

  So he pushed guilt aside, pushed aside everything else Velia had said too, and tried to live the life he had envisioned when he left Ardunn. He recognized himself when he looked in the mirror again. Soon he would begin acquiring painting supplies. He would have already, but he’d been hesitant to spend too much time out in Jumelle. After Velia’s news that the emperor was searching for him and with agents of Ardunn still in Jumelle, he thought it best to stay in the palace for just a while longer.

  And therein lay the difference. He was living in the palace. He should be looking for a place to live in Jumelle or deciding where to go if he didn’t want to stay in Jumelle, but he wasn’t doing either of those things. Instead, Flavian had settled into a cozy set of rooms in the palace, was beginning to feel at home in them. The palace could possibly be home, as long as Cathal was with him. And Cathal seemed to want to be with him. They were still spending their nights together.

  But Cathal hadn’t renewed his offer after his betrothal was no longer a hindrance, and he hadn’t asked Flavian to move into his suite with him instead of into one of his own. Velia’s words about Cathal echoed through his mind despite his best efforts to silence them, and he couldn’t help wondering whether Cathal still wanted him or if, now that he was free of his betrothal, he wanted to be free of Flavian too. When he was with Cathal, when Cathal was touching him or talking with him, Flavian never worried, but when they were apart, the doubts crept in.

  As they did at the moment, while he watched Cathal.

  Flavian kept telling himself he was being ridiculous. Cathal couldn’t possibly spend every moment with Flavian at Vrai’s party. Cathal had to talk to other people. Flavian understood all of that. He did.

  But then Cathal hugged the handsome, bronze-haired man. Hugged him. Flavian didn’t think he had ever seen Cathal greet someone so informally in public, and only his brothers in private. Cathal seemed so familiar with the man. They had a long, intimate conversation that only ended when they were interrupted by Lady Celeste.

  Flavian wanted to go over to Cathal. He wasn’t certain what he planned to do—stake a claim? It seemed ridiculous that he could ever have a claim on Cathal. Perhaps he just wanted to see what Cathal would do when confronted with Flavian as Cathal apparently flirted with someone else. But then he heard someone whispering behind him about how Cathal seemed to be getting on well with his former lover, and Flavian couldn’t move if he wanted to.

  He’d heard before that Cathal and Celeste had been lovers, and as comfortable as they looked to be with each other, perhaps they might be again.

  Perhaps Cathal was done with Flavian, or at least done pursuing anything permanent with Flavian. Perhaps he’d never really wanted to at all. Cathal had been betrothed to Velia. Maybe Flavian was just the better alternative to a life solely with a wife he hadn’t wanted. Maybe Velia had been right.

  But to turn to others in front of him?

  Flavian’s fists clenched as anger and hurt bubbled up inside him. He clung to the anger. The anger, the heat of it, was far better than the emptiness of pain. He wanted to scream at Cathal. He wanted to put a fist in Cathal’s face. But Flavian refused to cause a scene that would reflect poorly on the princes, who had been so kind. Spinning on his heel, he wove through the crowd of party guests as quickly as he could. Staying in the room one more moment and not hitting Cathal would be impossible.

  Flavian burst out into the corridor, startling two women who were near the door, but didn’t stop. He strode past them, past several people who loitered in the corridor—couples flirting, friends in conversation. His only thought to get away and calm down. He turned into another corridor, toward his rooms, and walked even faster.

  “Flavian!” Cathal’s call echoed down the empty corridor. Footsteps came faster on the marble floor when Flavian didn’t answer. Flavian was just about to break into a run when Cathal caught his arm.

  “Flavian, where are you going so fast?” Cathal came to stand in front of Flavian, worry washing over his features when he looked at Flavian’s face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  Cathal’s voice was so gentle, brimming with concern, that Flavian wanted to cry, but he forced tears back, forced his spine straight and his shoulders firm. “I’m going back to my rooms. Leave me alone.”

  “What happened? Did someone say something to you?” Cathal’s hand slid down Flavian’s arm to hold his hand.

  “Let go of me.” He pulled his hand from Cathal’s and stepped back, refusing to react to the hurt that flooded Cathal’s face.

  “Flavian, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “What’s wrong is that I can’t be a plaything for you. Someone you toy with until someone better, prettier comes along. I suppose I was good enough when you were betrothed to someone else and your options were limited, but not anymore.” It hurt to say the words, but the anger gave him the push to get them out.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you? Or do you just not want me anymore because I’m not dressing in skirts? Would you prefer a woman, a beautiful woman? Or a more handsome man?” He fired off the questions coldly, the only way he could keep from yelling.

  “Not want you? How could you think I don’t want you? I asked you—”

  “You asked me to be your lo
ver outside your marriage. Well, now you aren’t going to have a marriage, so you don’t need a lover outside it.” Flavian hardly knew what he was saying anymore. His hurt, his fear, was too much, and he let his anger lead. Let it all out because then Cathal wouldn’t have a chance to hurt him more. Wouldn’t have a chance to tell Flavian he didn’t want him. “You’re already looking for someone else to spend your time with.”

  “I’ve spent every night with you.” Cathal waved his arm back toward the room they just left, the gesture sharp, controlled. “I’ve spent the entire party thinking about being alone with you.”

  “Oh, really? Was that before or after you flirted with your old lover? Even I can see what you saw in her. She’s quite beautiful. I can’t blame you for wanting to be with her again.” Only he could. He did. And he would be furious with Cathal for doing it.

  “Who?” For an instant, Cathal looked confused, then comprehension dawned. “Celeste? That’s long over.”

  “Didn’t look like it.” He folded his arms over his chest. “It looked like you and she were quite friendly, laughing together.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to be with her.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “Yes! Enough of this, Flavian. I don’t understand how you don’t know how I feel about you, how you can still think I only wanted you dressed as a woman. I want you for you.” Cathal reached for Flavian’s hand again, trying to draw him closer.

  “Do you? It looked like you might want her. Or maybe that far-too-handsome man you were talking to before her. If you want to be with a man, maybe you’d prefer someone like him. You seemed close, looked like you know each other well.”

  “Who are you talking about now? Bastien? We’re friends, nothing more.”