Beatriz

Beatriz opens her eyes to meet the stares of a dozen ladies of the Cellarian court, including Gisella. Daphne certainly could have picked a more opportune moment to reach her than during the dinner party Gisella insisted Beatriz attend with her and her friends—though friends is certainly a loose term from what Beatriz can see. Still, perhaps, Beatriz reasons as she notes that most of the stares are intrigued rather than fearful, she can use this to her advantage.

She heaves a dramatic sigh, touching the back of her hand to her forehead and casting her gaze upward—where the night stars would be shining down if they weren't ensconced indoors, in Lady Pignalle's dining room.

"The stars," she says, letting her eyes drift closed. "I'm sorry, they're just so loud tonight, I can hardly concentrate." She opens her eyes again and drops her hand, turning her attention back to Lady Pignalle, who'd been speaking before Daphne interrupted Beatriz's thoughts. "I'm sorry, Adriella—you were telling us about your husband's new racehorse?"

"I…," Lady Pignalle says, her eyes darting to Gisella, then back to Beatriz. "Yes, Your Highness. Descended from King Cesare's prize stallion."

"Ah," Beatriz says. Even now, the sound of King Cesare's name alone is enough to make her feel ill. "Well, the late king did have excellent taste in horses."

It's such an inane comment that Beatriz wants to roll her eyes, never mind that she's the one saying the words. Why Gisella insisted she come tonight, she has no idea; she has to assume it's an attempt to bore her to death. But when she glances at the other girl across the round dining table, Gisella is watching her with curious eyes.

"Your Highness," another one of the ladies says—Lady Traversini, a woman about five years older than Beatriz. "If I may ask…what are the stars saying?"

The question prompts a flurry of whispers from the rest of the table, and Beatriz is shocked that the woman is bold enough to ask it. There is nothing outright heretical about it, even by Cellaria's standards, but were King Cesare still alive, it might very well be enough to earn her a thorough and likely violent interrogation, if not outright execution. Now, under Nicolo, things are more lax. Not lax enough that Beatriz can easily access stardust, unfortunately, but more lax all the same.

Beatriz knows how to play a role, so she offers Lady Traversini a bright smile. "They say there is change coming," she says.

"Of course there is," Gisella says, sipping from her goblet of red wine. "Cellaria will be blessed with a new queen soon, after all. What a change that will be."

The words pool like tar in Beatriz's stomach. She doesn't need the reminder that her wedding to Nicolo is looming ever closer, and that as soon as it's done, Gisella will kill her. Looking at her now, Beatriz struggles to imagine it. She and Gisella have been at odds, but they were friends once. She should know better than to be so sentimental, but when she tries to imagine their situations reversed, she doesn't think she would be able to kill Gisella, even after everything. But she's underestimated Gisella before, and that isn't a mistake she intends to make a third time.

Daphne said Pasquale and Ambrose were heading to Cellaria, with Violie and Leopold in tow. Though she knows Cellaria isn't safe for Pasquale, her heart lifts at the thought of seeing him again—a possibility she hadn't allowed herself to hope for before. And as afraid for him as she is, she knows he's safe with Violie. The real question is whether or not they'll arrive before her wedding, before Gisella sees her promise to the empress through.

Beatriz still hasn't seen Nicolo since their conversation in the servants' corridor—and it's getting more and more difficult for her to believe it's an accident. He's avoiding her, and she understands why. She can still feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek, his dark gaze on her, his stubbled cheek beneath her palm. She was using him, pulling out every last trick she'd learned from her training with the courtesans, but she would be lying if she said it didn't affect her.

Her feelings for Nicolo had been a fire, bright and hot but young enough to smother without much trouble. Or so she'd thought. In that moment in the servants' corridor, she could feel them banking to life again, threatening to burn her from inside.

She knows who Nicolo is, she knows he's a coward and a snake, that he betrayed her once and will doubtless do it again if she lets him. Sometimes, though, her body has a tendency to forget that.

Beatriz, you shameless harlot,Daphne's voice whispers through her mind as she paces her sitting room that night. For a moment, she thinks Daphne has used more stardust to speak with her, but it's only a memory of the countless times her sister has chided her for letting her feelings get the better of her.

She thinks of Daphne, cold and calculating. From across the continent, Beatriz decides to borrow those qualities, wrapping them up in layers of softness and charm. Nicolo has ignored her for too long, and while neither of them may like it, he is her best chance at getting out of Cellaria before Pasquale reaches her and likely loses his head in the process.

Crossing to her desk, she scribbles a brief note.

You've been working too hard and you must relax sometime. Join me for dessert in my rooms?

Beatriz takes the note to the door that leads from her sitting room to the main hallway, opening it to find two guards stationed just outside. She passes the note to one of them with a bright smile.

"Have this delivered to the king, please," she says. "And ask the kitchen to send up red wine and some of those delightful citrus tarts."

Just twenty minutes later, Beatriz's guards announce that the king has arrived, opening the door to her sitting room and ushering Nicolo inside. He's flanked by his own guards, but they remain outside, leaving Nicolo and Beatriz alone.

In the twenty minutes since she sent the note, Beatriz has transformed herself, changing out of the modest pale rose brocade dress she wore to dinner and into an emerald-colored evening gown with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a daringly low neckline. While the jewelry box and cosmetics case she used when she was in Cellaria before weren't placed in her rooms along with her extensive wardrobe, there were plenty of other, more ordinary items to use. A long gold chain with a ruby pendant further highlights her décolletage, and she has touched up her face with a hint of kohl around her eyes and a swipe of red lip paint.

The way Nicolo's eyes widen slightly when he sees her, the brief hitch in his step, tells Beatriz her efforts were not in vain.

"Nico," she says, offering what she hopes appears to be a guileless smile. "I'm so glad you came. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"Not at all," Nicolo says, stepping forward to close the distance between them. She offers him her hand and he bows over it, brushing a kiss across her skin. Belatedly, she realizes she's supposed to curtsy to him, as king, but she can't bring herself to. Not when it's just the two of them. She doesn't think her body will let her. "But it is busy being king," he says, rising again, though he keeps hold of her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

"Well, as we discussed, I would like to help you with that," she says, keeping her voice light.

Nicolo laughs. "Let me get some wine first, will you?" he says, escorting her into the adjoining dining room.

While Beatriz was getting ready, her maids brought the citrus tarts she requested up from the kitchens. Two places are set on either side of the table, each with a goblet already full of red wine, with the half-full bottle at the center. Beatriz instructed the maids that tonight, she and Nicolo would be serving themselves, which she's sure will set the court gossip mill aflame for at least the next few days.

Nicolo holds one of the chairs out for her, and once she's seated, he takes the other. Beatriz lifts her wine goblet toward him.

"To us," she says.

Nicolo's brow furrows in something like suspicion, but he echoes her toast and they both take a sip.

"You're in a very good mood today," he comments as he picks up one of the tarts, each one barely bigger than a single bite. Beatriz does the same. He takes a bite, chews, swallows before speaking again. "It's unnerving."

Beatriz snorts. "Why? Because I'm being held here against my will, forced into marriage with a man who's betrayed me several times? While I suppose that's enough to make anyone a bit peevish, I've decided to look on the bright side of things."

"And what is the bright side?" Nicolo asks warily.

"The food," Beatriz replies without a second's hesitation. He glances up, a second tart halfway to his mouth, surprised. "The food in Cellaria is far superior to anything found in Bessemia."

Nicolo smiles at that, popping the tart into his mouth. He follows it up with a sip of wine before leaning back in his chair to look at her. "Why does it feel like you're trying to seduce me?" he asks finally.

Beatriz is prepared for this. She knows if she tries to flatter him with lies, he'll see straight through them. She embraces the truth, mostly.

"Because I am," she tells him, shrugging. "What other power do I have here, Nico? Apart from the fact that you want me? Of course I'm going to use that, and you're a fool if you expected anything less."

For a moment, Nico doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes another sip of wine, mulling her words over.

"It doesn't suit you," he says finally.

A sudden worry nags at Beatriz, but she struggles not to show it, masking her insecurity in faux confusion. "The lip paint?" she asks, touching her fingers to her bottom lip, tracking the way his eyes follow the movement, lingering there.

"Powerlessness," he says. "I've seen you with the world at your feet, Beatriz, and I've seen you after you took a fall that few people would manage to rise from. Even then, you weren't powerless. Pretending to be so now, that is what doesn't suit. You could sooner convince me you were an empyrea."

It is an ironic choice of words, but Beatriz is the only one who knows that.

She laughs, letting the sound come out hard. "You and your sister have kidnapped me, you're responsible for killing Pasquale, you have my every step trailed by guards because you know if I had half a chance, I would run. You've taken every bit of control over my life, and yet you still—"

Nico interrupts her. "What were you doing with my cousin in the sea garden yesterday?"

Beatriz pauses, noting the flicker of envy in his eyes at the mention of Enzo. That, too, she expected, and she allows her mouth to curve into a true, spiteful smile.

"Hedging my bets," she tells him. "I've given you my terms, Nico. Should you not find them amenable, I'm sure he will. My marriage to Pasquale has already been annulled; I'm sure I can get ours annulled as well—assuming, of course, it takes that long for him to rally his supporters and dethrone you. I heard gossip even in Bessemia that he's a far more popular choice for king than you are. Perhaps the coup will happen before the wedding."

Nicolo looks at her for a long moment before reaching for his wineglass. He lifts it toward her like he's toasting her, a small smile curling at his lips. "There you are," he says with a knowing smile. "Not powerless at all."

Beatriz doesn't know whether Nicolo is giving her a compliment or simply reminding her that he sees through her. She should know better by now, should have learned how to hold her tongue. But she thinks she could sooner pull the sun down from the sky than keep her thoughts to herself, no matter how many times it's gotten her in trouble.

Nicolo drains his wine goblet and sets it on the table with a thud that echoes throughout the quiet room. He surveys her for a moment, dark brown eyes glowing in the candlelight.

"Very well," he says, sitting back in his chair. "We have an agreement—when we marry, you'll become queen, not queen consort."

Beatriz blinks. Whatever she'd expected him to say next, that wasn't it. "And we'll go to war with Bessemia," she says.

Nicolo nods. "Stars help me if I try to stand in your way, but it won't be an easy fight."

"Of course not," Beatriz says, mind whirling with what this means, how she can use it to her advantage. Chiefly, it means she doesn't need Pasquale to risk his life to rescue her any longer. He and Ambrose can run as far as they can, settle somewhere far away and safe. It's all she wants for them—peace. She refocuses on Nicolo. "Easy fights don't beget kings and queens of legend, do they? If we can conquer Bessemia, the whole of Cellaria will praise you as its king. Any doubters will be silenced."

Nicolo nods slowly. "If we can conquer Bessemia," he echoes.

Beatriz hesitates. She shouldn't push her luck tonight, not when he's agreed to her terms, but once again, she can't help herself.

"There is one more thing I need before I agree," she says, leaning across the table, gratified when his eyes drop to the display of her cleavage. She'll take every advantage she can get in this moment. "Gisella, banished from court. Permanently."

Nicolo's eyes snap back up to hers, surprise clear on his face. "Gisella?" he asks. "What for?"

Beatriz raises her eyebrows. The list of Gisella's sins against her is long enough on its own without telling Nicolo about her conspiring with the empress to murder her, but it isn't enough. She knows it isn't enough. Even if they are at odds right now, Gisella is still Nicolo's twin, and that is a bond Beatriz understands better than most would. So she reaches for the bottle of wine at the center of the table and refills his glass, then her own, before taking a sip.

"The arrangement between you and my mother—there's more to it than you know," she says. "And I suppose it's time you knew the truth."

Beatriz doesn't tell him everything. She makes no mention of being an empyrea, and she doesn't tell him that Pasquale is still alive, but she tells him the outline of her mother's plan, the truth of her attempt to rescue Lord Savelle, what she is certain are the details of her mother's true agreement with Gisella.

"You believe your mother tasked my sister with killing you?" he says slowly when she finishes, disbelief clear in his voice.

The rest of it, she notes, he accepts easily enough. It isn't entirely surprising—she's sure he had suspicions. He saw her expertise with disguises firsthand, and not many princesses make a habit of staging jailbreaks or escaping Sororias. He seems to understand exactly who Beatriz is and what she's capable of—it's his twin he underestimates.

"According to my mother's empyrea, her wish to conquer Cellaria can only be fulfilled if I'm killed on Cellarian soil, by Cellarian hands," Beatriz says. "And Gisella stopped just short of outright confirming that hers are the hands my mother enlisted to do it. You aren't so na?ve, Nico, that you don't believe her capable of it?"

Nicolo pauses. "I'm not," he says finally. "But let's assume your suspicions are correct—banishing her won't help. Gisella doesn't need proximity to kill you."

Beatriz knows he's right. Gisella had a part in poisoning King Cesare and Nigellus, even if she didn't directly administer either poison herself.

"What do you suggest, then?" she asks.

"Keep her close," Nicolo says. "Watch her, be ready for whatever strike she may make. I know my sister—she isn't one to attack face to face."

"No," Beatriz agrees. "She prefers to stab people in the back—metaphorically, to the best of my knowledge, though I can't say I'd be surprised if she did so literally."

A smile flickers over his face. "All the same," he says. "The best solution, it would seem, is to never show her your back. At least not until after we've conquered Bessemia and she has a chance to…reevaluate her choices."

Beatriz is tempted to push him further, but this time she does succeed in holding her tongue. He's right, more or less, though she knows the safest option would be to kill Gisella before Gisella can kill her. She isn't foolish enough to say that to Nicolo, however. That, she knows, would be too far to push him.

For now, she'll simply have to mind her back and her front and keep Gisella as close as she dares.

"Very well, then," Beatriz says, lifting her glass toward Nicolo. "We have a deal."

Nicolo raises his glass as well. "To us, then, and the future of the Cellarian empire."

The clink of her goblet against his echoes throughout the room, sounding to Beatriz's ears like the chains she once wore around her wrists.