Chapter 9

80 days left

A ria's first attempt at hosting had been a disaster. She'd bungled her welcome speech—skipped it, more accurately—and managed to embarrass her father all in one fell swoop. Even the quill in her mind could not list all the day's flaws. Perhaps she'd failed so spectacularly, it was worth praise rather than a mark. Surely no one could outdo it.

When her father extended his arm to invite her to dance, she took it with a forced smile, a display for the watching members of court. She wore that smile through the first bars of music until the rhythm of the steps was established and her father relaxed his own court mask.

"I'm sorry," she said preemptively.

"Regret does not erase foolishness, Aria."

She felt his frustration in the tenseness of his dance posture, saw it in his scowl.

Even though she'd apologized, even though she'd promised herself never to act against her father again, she found her voice clawing its way into justifications. "I thought it an elegant solution. By passing the title to the second son, the problem of a Caster in court is avoided, but so, too, is the problem of offending a loyal family or of making others in court fear losing titles without crime."

"Yet you maintained a bloodline of magic in a titled position. If the second-born heir bears a Caster of his own, what then? Did you preserve them only to disown them at a later generation?" Her father sighed. "You undermined my position by interruption. Then, by referencing the court itself, you placed the power of decision-making outside the Crown. The court is only auxiliary to the Crown."

"Auxiliary, perhaps, but still foundational," she protested. "Loegria was founded upon the idea that the Crown should not hold absolute power. What of the law where even a monarch can stand trial by Upper Court?"

"That law is ancient and has never been practiced."

"So it's a mistake?"

"It's simply an unnecessary precaution, and it isn't the topic at hand. You presented a weak front when, always, the Crown must be strong. Far better for one family to lose a title, even undeserving of the loss, than to introduce weakness to the Head of State."

He was right, of course. Aria had spoken without thinking the entire matter through, and she couldn't blame her thoughtlessness on her curse. It was the same failing that had pushed her to attempt peace with Widow Morton against all sound advice.

Recklessness. Mark.

It had felt so unjust—watching Lord Reeves make such a heartfelt plea that no one seemed to hear. His words still echoed in her mind: I've done nothing wrong . Personally, Aria could never imagine making that claim with confidence, yet his bright eyes had been genuine, his stance firm. Facing ruin for his entire family, he'd been composed rather than angry, firm rather than belligerent, and ...

And here she was, defending a Caster. Again.

"It seems I cannot get anything right," she whispered. "No matter how I try."

As the music ended, her father gave another sigh, this one softer. "I never doubt your earnestness, Aria, but unbridled emotion serves no one. Remember that. In the future, you may bring concerns to me beforehand, but you will not challenge me before the court."

"Yes, Father."

They parted, and the king led Eliza to the dance floor next. Eliza practically bounced beside him, light on her toes, expression eager. The queen had already vacated her throne; no doubt she'd gone to join the orchestra. Aria couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her parents dance.

Lord Christopher, a potential suitor, sidled up to introduce himself. He invited Aria to dance, and numbly, she agreed, though her legs already ached. By a stroke of luck, he was happy to hold the conversation without a partner.

By the time the music broke, so did her ability to smile, and her head had taken on a pounding ache.

"I'm terribly sorry." She mustered a shallow curtsy. "I must step out for a moment."

Exhaustion made her teeter as she walked. She caught a glimpse of Eliza surrounded by a group of friends. Her sister's beaming smile faltered, meaning Aria's breezy expression was not as convincing as she'd hoped. Aria looked away, unable to stop the wretchedly ungrateful thought that, right now, her sister was simply one more person to disappoint.

The hallway leading toward the kitchen was empty, and Aria didn't make it far before her legs gave out. She staggered into a pillar, then sank down, tucking herself as close to the wall as possible.

She'd come to the ball armed with a plan—win the favor of Lord Reeves, subtly interview him about the abilities of Casters, probing for ways to undo a curse—and she'd failed spectacularly. It was how things always happened.

For a few moments, the burning in her eyes kept her awake. Then she blinked the tears away, and exhaustion dragged her into sleep.

Aria woke as arguing voices approached from down the hall.

" ... expect nothing less from a birdbrain like you!" an angry young voice shouted.

"You're jealous my birds are smarter than you," another voice snapped in return. "There's nothing you can do that a falcon can't do better except irritate me!"

Face flushed, Aria dragged herself up on shaky legs, trying not to tumble out of hiding. With every second, the voices drew closer.

"I'd like to see a falcon bake a pie. On second thought, I'd throw in the whole bird!"

"Take it back, Leon."

"Make me, beak-nose!"

Aria braced herself to be discovered—her mind still humiliatingly blank of excuses for her position—when she realized the arguing parties had no interest in her. The two teenage boys who came into view elbowed and jostled and grabbed until one finally seized the other and rammed him into the wall.

Aria gasped, but before she could step in, a familiar man caught up, separating the boys with the help of his cane.

Guillaume Reeves. Dressed in his black mourning attire and more handsome than any Caster had a right to be, due mostly to the ripples in his tawny hair and the single dimple in his right cheek.

Though it might also have been his green eyes, bright as spring, warm as summer.

The green eyes staring right into hers.

Of all the people to find her ...

While Aria gaped, Lord Reeves recovered.

"Your Royal Highness." He made a proper bow, just as he'd done to her father.

Behind him, the two boys—who Aria now realized were twins—stared at her. They each wore cornflower-blue suits and black armbands, but one was thin as a twig, with long, sharp features and dark hair. The other was rounded in every sense of the word, with wheat-blond hair and what seemed to be a permanent frown. They were the exact same height with the exact same brown eyes.

"Boys." Lord Reeves tapped his cane sternly against the floor.

"Y—Your Highness," stammered out the dark-haired boy. After a half second, he seemed to remember the bow, tacking one on.

"Hi," said the other, narrowing his eyes without even a semblance of a nod.

The abrupt lack of formality startled a nervous laugh out of Aria. She tried to smooth her hair and sleep-skewed dress.

Slovenly. Mark.

"That's not how you greet royalty," the dark-haired boy hissed.

The blond boy clenched a fist. "I'll greet how I please, you skinny chicken!"

Lord Reeves stepped smoothly in front of the twins, blocking them from view as they continued their hushed argument.

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness. We were just on our way out."

"Don't go," Aria said in a rush, transparent in her desperation. She'd meant to be more composed than this.

Her initial plan, formed before the party began, had been to ask Lord Reeves to dance immediately after his presentation. Foolish of her not to think it through. Of course her father wouldn't want a Caster in court, not after Widow Morton, and she couldn't blame him. It was unsafe for the kingdom.

Lord Reeves stared, as if waiting to hear a single reason she wanted him to stay. Even his brothers had stopped arguing to watch.

"Truthfully, I'd hoped to ask you to dance."

The blond boy snorted. Though his twin shot him a warning look, Lord Reeves kept his attention on Aria, his brow creasing in a frown. Clearly, she'd done something to earn a mark, but she was too frazzled to pinpoint it.

"I'm afraid I don't ... know your names." She smiled weakly at the twins, shifting on her feet as they protested standing in one place. Though she wasn't certain how long she'd slept, the nap had done nothing to refresh her, and with the embarrassment thus far, all she wanted was to slink away to the kitchen and disappear.

But she thought of Eliza, and she stayed.

The twins introduced themselves as Corvin and Leon before Leon promptly asked, "You're not even at the dance, so how could you want to dance with Baron?"

Aria blinked. "Baron?"

Lord Reeves cleared his throat. "Another time, Your Highness. Please accept my apologies."

She couldn't very well bludgeon him into staying, and her mind grew dizzy as it spun through possible excuses, rejecting each one in turn. Her etiquette, finally, managed something. "Please accept mine as well. I was sorry to hear of your father's passing, and I did not have a chance to pay my respects at the funeral."

She'd been confined to her room with a fever. Strange how that now seemed a happy memory, full of blissfully uninterrupted sleep.

"Thank you, Highness," Lord Reeves said softly, his voice hoarse. Clearly the passing of his father was still fresh, and Aria felt a pang of guilt realizing that her only thought toward him this evening had been to set a trap.

"I'm on my way to the kitchen," she said, leaving it open in invitation, then realizing how foolish she was. She had to be the only member of court to ever waste time in a servant area.

Undignified. Mark.

Leon surged past his brothers to stand directly in front of her. "Can you take me? I want to investigate the pastries!"

Aria took a step back, offering a startled laugh before she relaxed. As his eldest brother moved to intercept, she waved him off. "Yes, of course. Though I never thought them suspicious until now."

Corvin rolled his eyes. "He just wants to complain about spices and order people around."

"This is a palace kitchen, you flightless ostrich! They'll have a real cook!"

"All ostriches are flightless, and all cooks are real, so you're—"

"It's this way," Aria said, gesturing quickly. As she took the lead, her knees wobbled, and she stumbled.

Lord Reeves stepped up beside her, offering his arm, though he did so stiffly.

"Thank you, Lord Reeves," she managed, biting her lip. "I'm afraid I'm a bit clumsy these days."

"Not at all, Your Highness." He gestured over his shoulder. "With these two knocking down walls every hour, I can hardly ever catch my own bearings."

From behind them, Corvin snickered to his twin. "Baron said you're so clumsy, you knock down walls."

"When we get to the kitchen," Leon shot back, "I'm gonna shove a pack of herbs down your throat and cook you like a turkey."

"The one we should cook is you. You could feed a whole hamlet. I'm not even food enough for a cat."

He paused as if realizing what he'd said, and Leon hooted with laughter.

Aria smiled, though she should not have; indulging fights between siblings was surely unmannered behavior.

"This is a generous offer," said Lord Reeves, "but I hesitate to keep you from your other guests."

"They're Eliza's guests, truly." Aria had already mismanaged her job as hostess, and she couldn't imagine making it better by standing around, nodding off during conversation. Better to let her father smooth out the event with no further interference from her. "It's no trouble, Lord Reeves."

"It's no longer ‘Lord Reeves,'" he said, a bit of an edge to his voice.

Surely it must sting to have the title taken from him, but without Aria's intervention, it would have been taken from his family completely. Could she not earn a moment's gratitude?

Bitterness. Mark.

"Lord Guillaume, then." He was still part of a titled family, after all.

"You didn't have to ask Baron how to say it?" Leon piped up, suddenly right on their heels.

Aria frowned. "Of course not."

"But it's a weird name no one uses."

For that, he earned another sharp elbow from his twin.

Aria was left with only the former Lord Reeves to address her remarks to, so with a side glance, she said, "It's a Patrian name, isn't it? Like my mother's. It's lovely, if a bit uncommon."

"No one aside from my own mother has ever found my name lovely."

No matter how she tried, she could not get a thing right. How was she meant to slyly interrogate a Caster for information on curses when she couldn't even manage a regular conversation with one? She could hardly manage anything given the steady pounding in her head and the increasing heaviness of her eyelids.

Lord Guillaume said, "I forget the queen is Patrian."

Aria startled upright, blinking hard. "Most of court does, encouraged by both my parents. It was a necessary political union, not a pleasant one." She rubbed her forehead. "Forgive me. I'm not myself."

"So you've said." He studied her, green eyes much too piercing.

Realizing her makeup would be more obvious up close, Aria quickly looked away. She spoke for a moment about the tapestries they passed and the historic scenes they depicted. Something she said made the twins bicker again, and she winced, though Lord Reeves hardly even glanced back. As long as their arguments remained verbal, he did not seem inclined to intervene.

"Your Highness is fond of history," he said.

"Very much so." She meant to expound, but the walk to the kitchen was a short one, with its necessary proximity to the ballroom. So as it turned out, Aria had seized an opportunity, then accomplished nothing with it. Per usual.

"Here we are," she said, somehow managing to hold back her grimace at such an inane comment as she swung open the kitchen door.