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Guests trickled out of the ballroom as evening slipped into morning. Older people, tired from the night’s festivities, hiding yawns behind their hands; couples whose night’s festivities were only beginning, unable to stop touching each other as they hurried to his or her room; drunkards weaving back and forth across the hall, supported by friends or servants trying to get them back to their rooms before they collapsed. I stayed in the kitchens as much as possible, washing dishes, disposing of garbage, warming up milk and pouring cups of tea for other servants to take to their needy charges, and dreading Prince Gilbert’s summons.
There was a reason I didn’t tell Prince Chevalier about that, and it was that I still hoped I could fix this by myself. Finding an acceptable explanation for the Rhodolitian princes’ behavior might be difficult, but if I could at least convince Prince Gilbert I knew nothing about Prince Chevalier’s work, wouldn’t that help? And if Prince Chevalier didn’t come to rescue me, wouldn’t that count for something?
It was a bad idea. Declining his summons was a bad idea, and accepting it was a bad idea.
“Ivetta.”
I looked up from the sink full of dirty dishes to see Theresa standing next to me, pale-faced with worried green eyes.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“You need to go home now,” she said.
I gave her a questioning look. “Why?”
“Because Prince Gilbert wants you, and if you leave now, I can just say I couldn’t find you.”
I dried my hands and swallowed the ball of lead in my throat to give her an encouraging smile. “It’s fine, Theresa. I’ll go.”
“No,” she said firmly, putting her hands on my shoulders to stop me from walking past her. “That man is dangerous. I can’t let you do this.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her, removing her hands from my shoulders and heading for the stove where a cook was already warming more milk for another guest. “He just wants a glass of warm milk.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” she asked accusingly.
“Calm down. Maybe you need a glass of warm milk.”
“Don’t go in his room, Ivetta,” she warned me.
“I don’t intend to. Ooh, maybe some warm cookies, too,” I said thoughtfully, watching another cook pull a fresh tray from an oven.
“I’ll go tell Prince Chevalier,” Theresa decided.
I turned and grabbed her arm. “No. Don’t do that,” I insisted.
“Ivetta-”
“If you tell Prince Chevalier, there will be trouble. The kind of trouble that might start a war.”
She pursed her lips into a frown. “I don’t like this.”
I shrugged. “We can’t be spoiled all the time, right?”
She sighed and gave me a quick hug. “Just…be careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
I kept up the calm, confident act all the way to Prince Gilbert’s room, but it faltered when I raised my fist to knock on his door. He could just take the milk and cookies and tell me to leave. It was possible. It wouldn’t happen, though, not with my luck. Once I knocked on that door, that was it. Whatever happened, happened, and I had to go along with whatever he wanted, because he was the prince of an enemy nation, and I couldn’t risk offending him.
No pressure.
I took a deep breath and knocked. My heartbeat counted the seconds before the door opened.
“Welcome back, little dove,” he said with that same charming smile he’d worn all night. “Or should I call you Belle?”
He was in his pajamas. Black pants, dark gray shirt. And telling me to come into his room by holding the door open. I reluctantly did, my mind racing as I processed his greeting. It never occurred to me he would think I might be Belle. But that should be easy enough to disprove. It was the simple truth. I just couldn’t let him know there was a Belle here in the palace.
“Belle?” I asked, feigning confusion as I set the milk and cookies on the table near the door, next to the gift basket and its scattered contents. “I’m afraid you must have confused me with somebody else, Prince Gilbert. My name is Ivetta, remember?”
The door closed behind me, and a heavy weight settled in my stomach.
“You’ve had a long day,” he said pleasantly as I turned to face him. “Why don’t you sit down and relax?”
He walked past me to the sofa, taking a seat and patting the cushion to his right with a smug, self-assured look that told me he knew I couldn’t refuse him. I bit my lip and picked up the milk and cookies again, carrying them toward him and the sofa. He made no move to take them from me. I sat down beside him, a little further away from him and closer to the edge than he indicated, but his pervading chill still made me shiver. He chuckled.
“You’re a clever girl, so I won’t waste any time explaining why you’re here,” he said casually, reaching over to pick up a cookie from the plate on my lap. “And I suppose it’s only fair for me to warn you, I hate being lied to. So, why don’t we start with something easy?” He held the cookie up in front of my face. “I only asked for milk.”
I swallowed hard. He just subtly told me I was here for questioning. All I had to do was stay calm, reason out what he was asking, and tell him what he wanted. It was a bit like my first few days at the palace with Prince Chevalier. This was doable.
“Yes, but when I saw the cook taking the cookies out of the oven, I thought you might like some, your highness. Milk and cookies go together, don’t they?”
“Have you tried one?”
A beat of silence passed as I realized his implication.
“They’re not poisoned, Prince Gilbert. At least, not to my knowledge.”
His blood-red eye watched me with amusement. “You first.”
I sighed and took the cookie from him, biting off a piece and trying not to think about how icy his fingers were when they brushed against mine. He was probably suspicious about the milk, too, so I took a sip of that before I handed it and the plate to him.
“Whatever you may think of me, Prince Gilbert, I don’t want to see anybody harmed, and I really did just bring these because I thought you might like them.”
He chuckled again and handed back the partially eaten cookie. “Honest and considerate. It’s a shame you caught my eye, little dove.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, and I didn’t want to finish the cookie. I felt nauseous. He dipped a cookie in the milk and took a bite, looking for all the world like an innocent, charming young man, all the while exuding a cold terror that ran up and down my spine, freezing my insides solid.
“Has the king finally died, then?”
A direct question this time, delivered in a light tone. I took another bite of the cookie to buy myself time. It was easy enough to answer this question, but I had a feeling the questions were going to get harder, and he was going to get less pleasant.
“I’m happy to say the king is alive, your highness,” I replied, leaving out the ‘and well’ that usually followed that phrase. To the best of my knowledge, the king was away receiving intensive medical treatment for a prolonged illness.
“Hm. You expect me to believe that, and that you aren’t Belle, is that right?”
“Whether you believe it is up to you, your highness, but it’s the truth. I’m just a maid.”
He drained the last of the milk and set the empty cup and plate on the end table to his left. “Are you, though?” he asked, draping his arm around the back of the sofa behind me. “You seem to attract a lot of attention from the Rhodolitian princes for a mere maid.”
“I’m not sure why, your highness,” I said, clenching my hands in my skirt to stop them from trembling.
“Chevalier, in particular, seemed quite concerned about you,” Prince Gilbert continued. “You’re rather tense. Maybe if you sat back.”
He grabbed my ponytail and yanked it hard, snapping my head back and jerking me against the sofa.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, pulling my hair free from his hand. “That hurt!”
He laughed. “Don’t tell me Chevalier’s cherished rose is a fainting daisy?”
“I’m not Prince Chevaliers’ mistress, your highness,” I said firmly, wishing I didn’t blush so easily.
“No? Then perhaps you’d care to explain what happened on the balcony?” he asked, tracing circles on my shoulder with his fingers, his grin widening as I flinched away.
“If I had to hazard a guess, I would say certain of the princes overindulged themselves this evening,” I said. Prince Clavis didn’t even drink, and Prince Jin and Prince Nokto certainly weren’t drunk, but it was the best I could come up with when fear threatened to choke out all rational thought.
It was the wrong thing to say.
I had a split second to register his blood-red eye narrowing and hardening before his hand slammed onto my shoulder. Anger radiated out of him in waves, stopping my heart in my chest, making the terror I felt earlier seem like a slight anxiety compared to this. I shrank back from him, but his fingers dug in painfully, icicles digging into my skin.
“You’re lying,” he snapped, grabbing my chin with his other hand so I couldn’t look away from his venomous glare. “I warned you not to lie.”
“They weren’t drunk,” I corrected myself breathlessly, my heart hammering in my chest. “But I’m not Prince Chevalier’s mistress.”
“Then why would he draw his sword on his own brothers?” Prince Gilbert demanded.
“I don’t know,” I pleaded, wincing as his fingers dug in deeper. “But he’s very protective of me.”
Suddenly, Prince Gilbert released me, his shoulders shaking with laughter. I stared at him in confusion, too afraid to move, unwilling to trigger his wrath again.
“He really did it,” he said, smirking as he leaned back against the sofa again. “I thought it was too far-fetched, but he really killed a man because of you, didn’t he?”
“How do you know about that?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“I hear things,” Prince Gilbert said, shrugging casually. “But it’s unusual, don’t you think?” he asked, back to smiling that deceptively innocent smile as he picked up my ponytail again, tugging lightly on it this time. I knew what he wanted, and I sat back reluctantly, flinching again as his hand returned to trace circles on my shoulder.
“Prince Chevalier has a tendency toward violence,” I said hesitantly.
Prince Gilbert laughed again and pulled me closer to him. “So do I, little dove,” he whispered in my ear. “But you already know that, don't you?”
“Prince Gilbert,” I pleaded, trembling as his cold fingers brushed the hair away from my neck.
“Why isn’t he here, little dove?” he breathed, tugging at the ribbon tying my hair back and pulling it loose.
“I-I didn’t tell him,” I whispered, flinching as his lips brushed against my ear.
He chuckled. “Willing to sacrifice yourself for your country, is that it? How noble. But you’re also deliciously afraid, and I have to wonder how much more of this you can take before you’re willing to tell me everything I want to hear.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as his lips pressed against my neck. I could barely breathe, but maybe, if I could just get the words out, he would stop this.
“Th-there’s nothing I can tell you,” I whimpered, turning my face away from his as his kisses traveled up my jaw. “H-he doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Nothing?” he asked, his cold fingers pressing into my cheek to turn me back toward him. “Open your eyes, little dove.”
I did so, reluctantly. His blood-red eye was inches from mine, his breath hot on my face. An icy finger traced the outline of my lips.
“Now say that again,” he instructed softly.
I swallowed hard. “Prince Chevalier doesn’t tell me anything,” I repeated, my voice a little stronger this time. “H-he keeps his office locked, a-and I’m not allowed in there unless he sends for me. Th-there’s nothing in his room or his library, either.”
“Hm. You’re telling the truth,” he said, a note of disappointment in his voice. He sat back, but I still couldn’t breathe. His hand remained on my shoulder, and his other hand fell to my lap, taking one of my white-knuckled hands in his and flipping it over, his blood-red eye studying it thoughtfully.
“And I suppose you want me to let you go now. Is that right?”
His eye flicked back to my face, his thumb tracing the lines on my palm as he watched me with amusement. I stared at him, trying to calm my racing heart, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
“P-please.”
He chuckled and leaned forward, and the air drained out of my lungs again. “Begging doesn’t work with me, little dove. If I’m to let you go, I want something from you.” He released my hand and combed his fingers through my hair, rubbing the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “Something to make it worth my while to let you go.”
I swallowed, forcing saliva into my dry mouth. He wanted to negotiate for my freedom? With what? He knew he held all the cards.
“Wh-what do you want?” I whispered.
His smile widened, and he tapped his lips. I looked from them to his eye and shook my head, trying to pull back, unable to because of the tight grip of his arm around my shoulders. Then there was a knock at the door, and his eyes narrowed as his smile vanished, just for a moment, an irritated sigh leaving his lips. He sat back against the sofa, his face composed once again into a charming, pleasant expression, and removed his hand from my shoulder, running his fingers slowly through my hair.
“It seems the distraction I arranged for your assigned guardian didn’t keep him busy as long as I’d hoped. We’ll have to resume this later, little dove.”
When his fingers reached my upper back, he shoved me forward, off the edge of the sofa. I caught myself before I hit the floor and righted myself quickly, spinning back to watch him warily as I took several steps away from him.
“Better answer the door, little dove. Wouldn’t want the wolf to break it down. And tell Chevalier I look forward to seeing him at breakfast tomorrow. I believe it starts at eight o’clock.”
He was letting me go?
There was another knock at the door. I turned toward it, painfully aware of Prince Gilbert’s amused eye watching me, and took a deep breath before I opened the door.
“Prince Licht?” I asked, startled to see him standing there. His dark crimson eyes studied me, and then flicked past me to Prince Gilbert, who was chuckling from the sofa.
“As you can see, she’s all in one piece,” he said. “But she seems rather stressed. Maybe she’s tired?”
Prince Licht’s eyes were back on me, and for the first time since I’d met him, they weren’t cold and empty. There was a flicker of anger in their depths. He took my hand without a word and led me away.
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