Beatriz

That night, Beatriz decides to finally sneak out of the lavish rooms that are her prison. She's made no attempt up until now, but that doesn't mean she hasn't been considering it. She and Nicolo have negotiated terms, and if all goes to plan, she'll be queen of Cellaria in two days' time and going to war with her mother soon after that, but Gisella is still a threat and a variable, and Beatriz hasn't given up her search for stardust that might fix whatever is wrong with her magic.

Beatriz wants options, so she's been monitoring how often the guards change shifts, which guards are more lax in their duties, the layout of the private corridor that contains only her suite and Nicolo's. Tonight, she decides upon returning to her rooms after dinner, the stars have aligned and she won't waste the chance.

She bids good night to her guards—Tomoso and Ferdinand, who will be changing shifts in roughly half an hour—and tells them not to allow anyone to enter, including her maids. She's so tired, she explains to them, that she'll make do undressing herself for the night.

At the mention of her undressing, both of their faces turn Cellarian red and they stutter out their own good nights, and Beatriz has to smother a giggle.

Once she's alone in her room, she strips off her evening gown and the layers of petticoats and corsetry underneath, leaving it all in a heap on the bench in front of her bed. Then she finds the maid's uniform she's collected in pieces—the kerchief and apron taken when a maid had removed hers after Beatriz insisted the fire be left burning far too long, turning the room into a virtual furnace; the dress she stole after accidentally spilling wine on a maid and insisting the girl change into one of her ever-so-slightly-out-of-date day dresses as an apology; the slippers she got by insisting the maids remove theirs before entering her room and subtly kicking one pair under the sofa when they were distracted. Each piece of the uniform came from a different maid, and while each might have thought it strange that their clothing had gone missing, they couldn't fathom that a princess would be stealing their work uniforms.

The dress is slightly too tight across the shoulders, the shoes a size too big, but Beatriz can manage, and when she glances at her reflection in the mirror, tucking the last of her distinctive red hair underneath her kerchief, she's satisfied she looks nothing like herself. She wishes she had access to all the paints and creams in her full cosmetics case to perfect the illusion, but given the circumstances, she'll do.

Besides, after a week of flawless prisoner behavior, she doubts her guards or anyone else will be expecting any different of her tonight.

The last thing she takes is truly hers—a ring from her jewelry box, a heavy gold thing with an emerald roughly the size of a peach pit. She slips it into the pocket of her apron and does her best to smooth away the lump.

She watches the clock and paces her sitting room, listening for the sound of approaching boots, the low exchange of words between the two sets of guards as they switch places. Patricchio and Alec are on duty now, and both guards, she knows, have a habit of indulging in a couple of glasses of wine with their supper.

Once she's sure Tomoso and Ferdinand have gone, she slips out the door, smile at the ready for Patricchio and Alec.

"The princess has gone to bed," she tells them, softening the edges of her Cellarian accent so that she sounds more like a commoner than a noble. "She asked not to be disturbed until morning."

"I was hardly expecting she'd be up for a game of chess, was I?" Alec grumbles, but neither he nor Patricchio spares her more than a passing glance, and she makes her way down the hallway, relief flooding through her.

Beatriz follows a group finishing their shift out the servants' exit, careful to keep her distance lest they look too closely at her, and when she steps out of the palace, she takes a deep breath, enjoying the kiss of the night air on her skin and in her lungs. She hasn't exactly been imprisoned indoors since she agreed to play nice with Gisella and Nicolo, but there is a world of difference between promenades around the sea garden with guards shadowing every move and this.

Freedom.

Temporary freedom, she reminds herself as she strolls away from the palace and through the streets of Vallon. She will have to return to her gilded cage—fleeing now, with no weapons or money or horse, would only see her swiftly caught and returned to Nicolo, destroying any trust she's spent the last few days earning with her good behavior. This freedom is only hers for a matter of hours, but she intends to make the very most of it.

She never spent time in Vallon during her first stay at the palace—everything she wanted came to her, after all—but she's seen maps and overheard servants talk about the places they go, the shops they frequent. She knows that there is an apothecary near the castle, one that is open late enough to cater to servants during their off hours, and she sets about looking for it, meandering down busy streets lined with various shop fronts and public houses.

Beatriz could ask for directions, she supposes—the chances of anyone recognizing her out of the context of her life in the palace are slim—but for the time being she's enjoying the act of wandering, of aimless steps and the sense of exploration.

How many nights did she spend like this in Bessemia, her sisters at her side, wandering down the streets outside the palace in Hapantoile, blending in with a crowd and pretending, for just a moment, they were like any of the other people around them? No duties weighing heavy on their shoulders, no empress mother guiding their every step, no future already decided for them. The longing to go back to that simpler time wraps around her heart and holds fast. It's been more than a month now since Sophronia's death, but Beatriz still can't quite conceptualize the fact that she will never see her again. And Daphne…

Beatriz's breath catches. She can't let herself imagine a future where their paths cross again either—it will hurt too much when that hope is dashed once more. All she allows herself is the wish that Daphne survives, that she lives out a long life, happy and free, even if Beatriz can't be a part of it.

Her eyes light on a squat whitewashed building with soft glowing windows and a bright yellow awning rippling in the evening breeze. On the black lacquered door is a cowery flower, painted in gold—the Cellarian symbol of the apothecary. Triumphant, Beatriz makes her way to the door and rings the bell beside it.

"Come in, but hurry up—we're closing soon," a woman's voice calls out, and Beatriz pushes the door open, triggering the tinkling of a second bell above her head. She won't need more than a moment of the woman's time.

The apothecary is just shy of middle age, with sun-kissed skin and wild black hair pulled into a haphazard bun at the nape of her neck, frizzy pieces escaping to frame her sharp face. She stands behind a glass counter lined with glass jars of various sizes, filled with liquids, powders, and even some whole items like frog legs and tiger teeth, a rag in hand. She glances up at Beatriz, taking her in with startling shrewdness.

"I don't know you," the apothecary says, straight to the point.

Beatriz smiles. "I recently took up work in the palace," she explains, maintaining the common Cellarian accent she used with her guards.

The woman doesn't return Beatriz's smile. "And?" she asks when Beatriz doesn't continue. "I told you, I'm closing. If you want something, you'd best get to the point."

Beatriz drops her smile and steps toward the counter, making a show of biting her lip and glancing around the room. It may inflame the woman's impatience, but it's a necessary ruse.

"I…heard that you can get things most wouldn't carry," she says carefully.

The woman's expression still doesn't shift. "I have the broadest selection of medicines and herbs in the city, that's true. What. Do. You. Want," she says, enunciating each word as if Beatriz is a wayward child.

But Beatriz can't say it outright. She's bluffing, after all—she doesn't know that this apothecary has stardust, but from what she's overheard around the palace, if anyone will have it, it will be her. And someone in Cellaria must have it. After all, if there is a demand for stardust, there will be a supply, laws be damned. And she can't imagine that there aren't plenty of people demanding stardust here. If she's right, she might be able to use the stardust to unlock her stifled magic, but if she's wrong…well, King Cesare might be dead, but possessing stardust in Cellaria is still a crime punishable by death, and she isn't keen to test Nicolo's feelings on that.

She proceeds carefully with the story she's rehearsed in her head—one inspired by the story Violie told her.

"My mother," she says, clasping her hands in front of her and wringing them. "She has Vexis—the doctor says she doesn't have long left, that there is no hope for her. But I heard…" She trails off again. "I heard that you might have a cure."

The apothecary's expression doesn't waver. "There is no cure for Vexis," she says, her tone softening somewhat. "You were given bad information."

Beatriz blinks rapidly, summoning ersatz tears, and closes the distance between them, until she is just on the other side of the glass counter. "Please, I will try anything. Anything," she says. "I have five younger siblings—the youngest still an infant, and our father is gone. If my mother dies…" She trails off once more, choking back a fake sob.

"I have nothing for you," the woman says again, but this time, Beatriz hears the thread of uncertainty in her voice, the temptation.

She digs her hand into the pocket of her apron, pulling out the emerald ring and placing it on the table between them. She doesn't speak, instead letting the apothecary look the ring over. She picks it up, eyes widening, and turns it over in her hand.

"Where did you get this?" she asks, awe in her voice.

Beatriz meets her eyes. "From a very important person," she says. "Someone it would be considered a grave crime to steal from, a crime that would cost me my life." The apothecary lets out a long exhale, setting the ring back between them, her fingers lingering for a moment on the stone. "I told you I was desperate," Beatriz says, her voice quiet. "There is no risk I will not take, no price I will not pay, to save my mother's life. Tell me again that I am beyond your help and I will walk out that door and trust the stars to guide me to someone who will."

The woman holds her gaze but doesn't speak. Won'tspeak, Beatriz realizes after a moment, not even to lie to her again. Suddenly, Beatriz is sure that she does have stardust, that she is on the cusp of giving it to her, but not quite there yet. She can't even blame the woman for her hesitance—she knows how many Cellarians King Cesare saw burned on the slightest suspicion of using stardust. But Beatriz has one last card to play.

"Fine, then," she says, the words coming out bitter. She drops her gaze, pockets the ring again, and turns away from the apothecary, walking toward the door. She counts her steps as she goes. One, two, three…

"Wait," the apothecary says when Beatriz's hand is on the doorknob. "Lock the door and draw the curtains. I have what you're seeking."

Not ten minutes later, Beatriz is making her way back to the castle, without the emerald ring but with the smallest vial of stardust she's ever seen, the glass bottle the same size as her smallest finger, tapered at the bottom to a point. She didn't dare keep it in her pocket, in case a guard stops her. Instead, the apothecary helped her tuck the vial into her braided hair, hidden beneath her kerchief, secure and out of sight. The apothecary also gave her explicit instructions on how to use the stardust, how to phrase her wish just so, and warned her that even if she does everything right it still might not have the effect she wishes.

Stardust is tricky,she whispered as she unlocked the door and ushered Beatriz out onto the street again.

But Beatriz knows that well by now. Still, there is a chance it will work and that is enough for her.

She reenters the castle through the servants' quarters, just as she left, then climbs the stairs and winds through the hallways, unstopped by the guards on duty until she reaches the door to her rooms, where Patricchio and Alec are still on duty. When they see her, Alec scowls.

"What are you doing back?" he asks.

Beatriz smiles and approaches, pushing her kerchief up just enough to reveal a bit of her hair while keeping her vial of stardust safely concealed. She watches with some satisfaction as the guards take her in with fresh eyes, that glimpse of hair enough to see her for who she truly is.

"P-Princess," Patricchio says, stumbling over her title. "What are you…you shouldn't be—"

"King Nicolo gave strict orders," Alec interrupts, his face turning a violent shade of red.

Beatriz's smile widens. "Of course he did," she says sweetly. "And he will be so terribly disappointed in you should he learn that you let me by, won't he? He assigned you such a simple job, after all." She clicks her tongue. "But I won't tell him. Will you?" she asks, looking between them. "He might be a bit cross with me, but I daresay he'd be much angrier with you two. You'd likely find yourself without jobs at the very least."

The men look at each other, flustered. Finally, Patricchio turns back to her and clears his throat. "There's no reason the king needs to know, Your Highness."

"Provided it doesn't happen again," Alec adds.

"It won't," she says.

Alec pushes the door open for her and she reenters her room, pausing just before the door closes behind her. "Oh, and Alec?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

She channels Daphne into the sharpness of her smile, making it strong enough to draw blood. "Contrary to what you said earlier, I'm always up for a good game of chess, but I should warn you I never lose."

She notes the way he swallows, blanching. "Yes, Your Highness," he says, and closes the door.