Chapter 49

The grand chamberlain announced the name of every guest as they entered the hall, and his voice boomed proudly over the din of the revelers who had already made their way into the ballroom. I hadn't been announced myself yet—as an esteemed member of the king's circle, I would follow with other nobles and council members—but I wandered about the hall anyway, admiring its transformation.

Long tapestries depicting a triumphant Marnaigne bull hung between black marble pillars, and there were heavy bowers of gilt flowers swagged everywhere the eye could see. Hundreds of golden candelabras held thousands of lit tapers, each made of onyx-colored wax. The air shimmered with their heat, giving a hazy, dreamy atmosphere to the night, filling it with the promise of provocative things to come.

Though the hall was just half full, there was a palpable buzz building as couples strolled through the crowds, searching for friends to see and be seen with. Women in enormous gowns of taffeta and satin brocade preened and made last-minute adjustments to their companions' masks. Heads tossed elaborate feathered fascinators this way and that, and the candles caught the sparkle of so many jewels, both real and paste, that I felt as if I'd stared directly into the sun.

You'd never guess that only hours ago, these well-dressed partygoers had cheered, watching as a family was publicly executed.

"It all looks so lovely!" cried a small voice, and I looked down to see Princess Euphemia standing beside me. She wore a dress of deep charcoal with an old-fashioned black tulle ruff, full of extravagant pleats and embellished with onyx paillettes along its edges. Her mask was little more than a piece of black lace covering her entire face, its ends artfully pinned to her shining curls.

"Phemie! What are you doing here? I thought everyone was to enter later on, with your father."

"You're not supposed to know who I am!" she protested, pointing to the mask. She sighed. "Papa said I'm too little to stay for the whole party, but he let me come look at everything before it's too crowded." Beneath the lace, I could see a pout beginning to form. "I always miss the fun!"

"Don't be silly," I said, and knelt down so we were eye to eye. "I think you're the lucky one tonight. Balls and parties are never as fun as you imagine they'll be. Feel how warm it is in here already?"

She nodded suspiciously.

"Now imagine how it will be later tonight when there're hundreds more people, dancing and sweating and stinking the whole room up! And look at all that champagne," I went on, pointing to one of the banquet tables, where a stacked arrangement of crystal coupes towered. "All the grown-ups will have too many of those and laugh too loudly and step on everyone's toes. Oh, how my poor feet will ache tomorrow!"

Despite her best efforts to keep her frown, Euphemia giggled.

"And you, you get to go upstairs and put on a comfortable nightgown and eat macarons while Margaux tells you bedtime stories. That sounds like a perfect night to me."

"But I'll miss all the dancing," she murmured sadly, her eyes fixed on the handful of couples already waltzing about the room as the orchestra played softly underneath the grand chamberlain's announcements. "Papa said I could dance once with him but then I have to go to bed."

I mulled this over, looking as thoughtful as I could beneath my own mask. "Oh, that's really too bad…. You see, I'm actually in need of a dance partner myself." I fumbled for the little booklet hanging from my wrist on a black ribbon and opened it, revealing the rows of empty lines. "See? My second dance is wide open."

"I could dance with you!" Euphemia suggested, brightening. "If Papa says yes!" Without waiting, she took the dangling pencil stub in her hand and scrawled her name across the second line. She opened up her own dance card and proceeded to fill in my name, beaming.

"Papa is sure to say yes," a voice said behind us. "Especially when I explain that I've already claimed you for the third." Leopold stepped out of the crowd and bent to write his initials with a theatrical flourish.

"Thank you, Leopold!" she exclaimed, leaping up to hug him.

"Leopold?" he asked, playfully aghast. "I'm not Leopold. I'm a handsome lothario, come from afar with the intention of dancing with every pretty girl I see. Can't you tell by my mask?"

He'd certainly done his best to look the part. Leopold was delightfully undressed, wearing only a fitted striped vest over his shirt, allowing the fine lawn of its sleeves to billow like a romantic notion of a bygone era. His mask was black velvet, shot through with golden threads, like lightning during a summer storm.

My face warmed just looking at him. Only hours before, I'd been kissing this rakish devil— He kissed me! my mind sang out—as we tussled in the tangle of my bedsheets. I wanted to laugh at the unexpectedness of it all. I wanted to shout my befuddlement to the heavens. I wanted to kiss him again, right then and there, consequences be damned.

Euphemia giggled, bringing me back to the moment, and Leopold glanced my way, eyes sparkling beneath his domino. With a hum of appreciation, his eyes roved over me, taking in the crown and the cut of my dress before spotting the dance card swinging from my right arm.

"And you, pretty miss? Might you be in need of a dance partner?"

He took my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips before flipping through the booklet. My breath caught as his thumb traced an absentminded circle on the soft skin of my inner wrist. Could he feel how my heart raced as I imagined where his hands might roam while we were on the dance floor?

"Oh dear," he murmured, keeping his voice playful for Euphemia. "Your card is nearly empty. This won't do at all." He took up the little golden pencil and proceeded to fill in every line with his initials. "Much better," he announced once he was done.

"Are you certain I want to spend so much of my evening dancing with you?" I teased. "Some might say your zeal borders on presumption."

"Are there other ways we might spend the evening instead?" he asked with a wicked smile.

"Oh, but you have to dance!" Euphemia said seriously, blessedly oblivious to her older brother's inference. "Leopold is the best dancer! He won't step on your feet no matter how much champagne he has. Dance with Leopold and then you'll have fun tonight too. Even without the macarons and bedtime stories."

"Bedtime stories?" he echoed, raising his eyebrows as his grin widened.

"Do you really think so, Euphemia?" I asked, ignoring both Leopold and the nervous flutters he inspired.

The little princess stamped her foot with theatrical discontent. "You're not supposed to know who I am!"

Aloysius suddenly appeared at Leopold's shoulder. "Your Royal Highness. Your Royal Highness," he added, spotting Euphemia. "And…Mademoiselle Trépas," he said, squinting to ascertain my identity under the mask. "We're beginning to line up for the king's entrance."

With efficiency, Aloysius led us through the crowd, guiding us out a side door I'd never before noticed and leading us through a maze of halls until we arrived at an intimate parlor just off the ballroom, steps from the grand staircase.

Marnaigne was already there, dressed in a fine suit of amber wool. A cape, black velvet with ermine trim, hung from his shoulders, suspended by a massive chain of gold medallions. Bright tourmalines, as pale as freshly churned butter, winked from their centers, and he was again wearing the Imperial Crown. His face glowed with a wide smile, and I could hardly believe he was the same man who'd put a family to death hours before.

"Your Majesty," I murmured, and dipped into a low curtsy.

"Hazel! How well you look this evening. Lovely, lovely," he praised me approvingly.

"What about me, Papa?" Euphemia asked, racing into his arms.

"You?" he asked, hoisting her into the air and spinning her around so that her full skirts flew out in a flurry of ruffles. "I'm afraid to admit I don't know who you are!"

Euphemia tore away her mask, mussing her coiled hair and laughing with delight. "It's me!" Her cheeks were red and her eyes burned bright with the evening's excitement.

"So it is!" he exclaimed. "You look so wonderfully grown-up and sophisticated, I hardly recognized you."

"If I'm so very grown-up now, may I stay at the party longer? For three dances? Please? Look!" She held up her wrist, allowing her father to skim over Leopold's and my initials.

"Two dances claimed already!" he marveled. "I suppose I need to secure my spot before someone else tries to take it, hmm?" With bold strokes, he scrawled his name upon her first dance before setting her down. "Hazel, I do want to make sure to have a moment with you as well. Which dance would you prefer?"

Before I could stop him, the king took up my wrist and opened the booklet.

"Why, it's nearly full already!" he exclaimed, laughter booming from his chest. "Though I'm not surprised in the least. Actually…it seems your whole night has been claimed…." He paused, scanning the list. I could tell the exact moment he noticed that the dances had been claimed by the same set of initials. His gaze snapped to Leopold, standing in the corner, chatting with Aloysius. "I see."

Marnaigne turned his attention back to me, his eyes running over my gown and up to Bellatrice's headdress of stars pinned in my hair, and I knew exactly what he saw: a girl playing at dress-up, a little nothing plucked from the depths of the Gravia, suddenly elevated to heights beyond all expectation. It didn't matter that I'd saved him; it didn't matter that he continued to rely on me.

I wasn't who he wanted for his son.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

"His Royal Highness was far too kind and terribly exuberant," I said with a light smile, trying to mend the damage I saw playing out over Marnaigne's face. It wasn't anger, not yet, but it was coming. I needed to divert the rage before it broke. I needed to smooth everything over, show him it was a simple misunderstanding, assure him there was nothing to worry over. "My…my third dance is open. I would be most honored to share it with you, René."

I used his given name on purpose, hoping to remind him that he liked me, that he trusted me. I wanted him to remember all the time we'd spent together, all the ways I'd helped him. But he dropped my hand, letting the dance card sway between us, treacherous as a snake.

"This will not happen," he hissed, leaning in so that only I was shocked by the sudden vitriol in his tone. His words burned like acid. "Do you understand me, healer? He is not for you. If you don't put a stop to this"—he swiped at the dance card, tearing it from its ribbon, and it landed open upon the carpet, revealing the long line of Leopold's initials—"I'll put a stop to you."

"Your Majesty…," I beseeched, tongue-tied and fumbling, but his attention snapped to Bellatrice as she entered the room, wafting in on her cloud of perfume. Her eyes had a far-off, dreamy look, and I worried she'd already begun sampling the champagne. Or something even stronger.

"You're late," he snapped.

She started to laugh and then hiccupped. "It's impossible for me to be late. We're the hosts of this grand affair."

"I wanted you here ten minutes ago, and instead Aloysius had to track you down like a bloodhound, like you were nothing more than a common criminal— What are you wearing?"

Leopold's eyes darted to mine. What is going on? he mouthed.

I couldn't do anything but frown.

Bellatrice glanced at her dress, lingering at the forked tongue of the snake between her breasts. "Oh, this?" She spun in a circle. "Do you like it?"

Before King Marnaigne could start in on his eldest, Euphemia grabbed his hand and gently swung their arms back and forth.

"Is it almost time for the dancing, Papa?" she asked, looking up at him, her expression hopeful and guileless.

The entire room seemed to freeze, waiting for the king's response.

Finally, a smile returned to his lips, and I wanted to hug the princess.

"Yes," he announced, all traces of his temper vanishing in an instant. "Yes. Let us greet our public, and the dancing can thenbegin!"