“I’m being cautious.”
“So cautious I walked in on you with your legs wrapped around him.”
I pause and turn to face her. “It wasn’t nearly as salacious as you’d like to paint it,” I hiss. “One knee touching a man’s hip is hardly in flagrante delicto.”
“But it is something, and I caught you easily,” she retorts, hands on hips.
I shake my head minutely. Anyone in the world could pass by and see that she’s angry with me. I, however, refuse to play the little girl. I raise my chin, clasp my hands loosely in front of me, and look down on her as if she were a toddler throwing a tantrum rather than the woman who brought me into the world. Giovanni calls it creating a tableau: altering someone’s perspective on any scene simply by changing how you are perceived.
Now anyone passing us will see an older woman making a big deal of nothing and a tall, regal figure indulging her.
“Mother, you’re the only person who’d ever be in the position of walking in on Saber and me in that particular room. I’m hardly indulging in the royal suites in broad daylight—what sort of ninny do you take me for?”
“Dani. Danica.” She reaches out and touches my arm, and it’s all I can do not to recoil. “I know you’re fighting this, but I wish you could see what it really means. I’m not even saying you can’t have your…fling with that commoner. But wait.”
I clamp my teeth together and avert my eyes, though I don’t turn my head. Too obvious.
“Just until you’re married and the King can’t back out. Don’t you understand? You have a lifetime of grandeur and freedom in front of you. As much as you refuse to believe it, this has never been about me. It’s always been a gift for you.”
“A gift?” I say, scoffing openly. “I don’t suppose it comes with a return receipt?” Before she can answer, I spin with a flourish and stride toward the Queen’s Apartments.
My mother is forced to scurry to keep up. More scraps of vengeance—comeuppance hors d’oeuvres, whetting my appetite for the day when I disappear forever and my scheming mother is left with nothing at all for her troubles.
“What’s so important that you came to find me in person, anyway?” I say, adopting a tone of boredom.
“A team of specialized modistes is waiting for you in the Salon des Nobles. You need to be fitted for your wedding gown.”
With that, my mother scratches out any victory, any control I thought I had wrenched away from her. In the end, I’m still her prisoner, still affianced of my nightmare, still dancing on her puppet strings.
And she knows it.
EVEN THE APPRECIATIVE look on Saber’s face when he walks into the Salon des Nobles can’t erase the painful pit in my chest at being decked out for a wedding that may as well be my funeral.
I’m sure I look resplendent. His Sneakiness must have had seamstresses secretly working on the elaborate gown for weeks—months. The voluminous garment of shimmering snow-white satin is covered in silver floss embroidery that twinkles and shines in the light from the chandelier, and I can see at a glance that it’s one hundred percent hand-stitched—not a single thread or button applied with the assistance of fabricators or nanostitchers. The bodice had to be carefully pinned and basted into place, but by the time Saber enters, it hugs my form with lace edging around a décolletage that practically serves up my cleavage for offer on a scallop-edged platter.
Thanks to my corset-tightening, I know my waistline is far too extreme to be fashionable, but the modiste—or, I suppose, simply a designer, since she’s from Paris, not Versailles—makes a hum of approval as she gives the waist another tuck in, and the hips an extra tuck out.
At least someone appreciates it.
Make that two people, I think as Saber takes me in from head to toe, his eyes brimming with approval. Even the fact that it’s a white wedding dress doesn’t seem to turn him off.
When I left my parents’ apartments, I resented that I wasn’t able to fill my pannier pockets with Glitter, but it turns out to have been a blessing, as I was stripped down to nearly nothing the instant I walked into the Salon des Nobles. Besides, the bulging roundness of Saber’s messenger bag tells me he’s brought plenty to get us through the assembly tonight, before we tackle yet another public Wednesday on the morrow.
Though perhaps Saber and I can hide away from the tourists in my nonpublic rooms and make up some excuse, like planning a prewedding soirée, to get some time alone.
“Oh!” I let out a little squeak of pain as a pin pricks at my hip.
“You must stand straight, Your Highness,” the Parisian woman says as I realize I had crumpled into a languid half-slump at the thought of what I could do with—to!—Saber tomorrow. I can’t let him steal my attention and focus, no matter how delightsome a thief he is.
Saber seems to regain control of himself about the same time I do, and he taps his messenger bag and tips his head toward my bedchamber in an unspoken message. He cranes his neck to keep his eyes on me as he traverses the room and stashes the bag just inside the golden double doors, then tucks himself out of the way against the wall where I can see him clearly.
I’m glad he’s here. I was feeling desperately lonely. I’m not sure what Molli is doing today, but her Lens was set to Unavailable and I didn’t want to invite anyone else to the fitting who didn’t understand what a nightmare this prospective marriage is. It’s hard enough to maintain my own composure in front of the seamstresses; if I had to fake euphoria for an audience as well, it would be too much.
My knees are feeling weak and my head a little light when they finally pull the satin away from me, full of pins, stitches, and light blue markings, leaving me in nothing but undergarments that are both low-cut and near-transparent. The Parisians treat Saber as a genderless peon, not worth my modesty—apparently Paris and Versailles remain alike in their treatment of “inferiors.” A week ago I’d have been humiliated, but today I stand with a smile barely concealed as the satin falls away, leaving me in rather stunning déshabillé. His eyes widen, and though I only hear his fast intake of breath because I was listening for it, it’s definitely there.
As soon as all the pieces are removed from my body, I accept a silk robe from one of the Parisian designers and beckon for Saber to follow me into the bedchamber. “We’ve just enough time to pick an ensemble for tonight’s assembly,” I say without looking at him. “But we must hurry.”
The doors close us in and Saber grabs me from behind, pulling me against him and kissing my neck. “Hurry indeed,” he growls in my ear.
“Well,” I say, turning in his arms to face him, to offer him my mouth, “we’ll have to hurry a little.”
I’m drowning in Saber’s kisses and considering whether I can get away with crying off the assembly entirely when a knock sounds at my door. I want to ignore it, but M.A.R.I.E. Lenses me a feed of the person on the other side. Molli’s oddly nervous expression entreats me, and I know I can’t turn her away.
“It’s Molli.” I pull myself from Saber’s arms and hurry through the gilded gate to perch at my dressing table. “Give me twenty seconds, then open the door. Hair, M.A.R.I.E.,” I whisper. Saber waits just long enough for the bot to reach me before pulling open the double doors and bowing low.
I meet Molli’s eyes in my mirror and then turn and smile. “Molli!”
She hesitates in the doorway. “I missed your com. I was worried.”
“Don’t be,” I say, rising to take her by both hands and pulling her over the threshold. “I had a long and tiresome fitting and just wanted some company.”
“You’re not dressed yet,” she says hesitantly. “I should—”
“The bots are fast,” I say, cutting her off. This awkward, nervous Molli makes me uncomfortable, and I’ve seen a lot more of her in the last couple of months than ever before. “And certainly no one actually expects me to be punctual.” I nod at Saber to close the doors, and after a moment of hesitation he does, shutting himself onto the opposite side.
Molli stares at the closed doors for several seconds before commenting, “He is so beautiful. I don’t think I’d be able to resist.”
I snort, which only makes me choke, and then we both start to laugh. It feels good to laugh with her. But all too soon Molli’s laughter dies away and she avoids my eyes. I step forward and take both of her hands in mine again, pulling her to a settee and sitting her down beside me. “What’s wrong, petite?”
She’s silent for a long time, and I’m about to lean forward to make her look at me when she says in a small, choked voice, “I know I’m a nobody, Danica, but you were a nobody when I met you too.”
“You’re not a nobody. Not in my eyes.”
“I am,” she says simply. “In the eyes of the court that’s precisely what I am. Untitled, unremarkable. And we both know it. We used to jest about it.”
“Technically,” I say sardonically, “I’m still a nobody; my title is a courtesy at best.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “No one in court gives a damn about that, and you know it. But when I met you, you were skinny and too tall, and you still had a crooked nose.”
“I think His Majesty has classified that as a state secret,” I say, pointing a commanding finger at her with a grin. But the humor is forced, and after a few seconds of taut silence, I wish I hadn’t said it at all.
“The point is,” Molli says, graciously pushing past the awkward moment, “I accepted you long before either of us had any clue you’d end up in this bedroom. And now that you have, you’ve left me behind.”
I try to interrupt, but she continues spewing out words as though it’s taken her weeks to build up the courage to say them and now that she’s started, she can’t stop.
“At first I thought for sure you’d offer me a position on your staff for the lever, especially since it was me you came to, to lament the day that it went so very badly. But two weeks later I had to find out from Lady Nuala that you’d already filled the positions. Lady Nuala, who poured wine down your dress! Then you started selling your Glitter makeup, and when you started giving me a pot every week, at least I thought maybe you were taking pity on me because I have so little pin money, but no. It’s become quite obvious that there’s something special about the makeup you sell to the titled ladies, and you give me something different. A cheap imitation, I assume, but I don’t…Danica, I thought we were friends.”
I’m utterly horrified as she lays out my sins before me. But how do you tell someone that they’re so good, so untouched, that you can’t bear to let them be a part of your seedy underworld? “But…but you’re a tour guide on Wednesdays,” I say lamely.
“Please. Tour Guide is Level G employment. Lever staff? Level B. Who in their right mind would decline such a promotion? Triple the salary, and worlds more prestige. I thought for certain…” Her voice trails off, and she’s silent for a few seconds. “Friends, real friends, bring each other along when they ascend. And it—it makes me question if we ever were. You’re found more frequently in Lady Mei’s company these days than mine.”
I can’t deny that’s true; Lady Mei has proved a most enthusiastic Glitter consumer. “I’m sorry,” I say to Molli, and I am. “I should have spoken to you about all of this at the very least. I made…assumptions that perhaps I had no right to make. But it was never malicious. I hope you know that.”
She’s sitting ramrod straight, but her eyes are closed like she regrets having said anything at all. She nods, and one tear escapes from beneath her eyelid.
I lay my head against hers, not only to comfort her, but also so I don’t have to look her in the face while I lie. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be interested. Being part of the lever staff? To be honest, it’s rather degrading. They wash my cleavage, Molls.”
She lets out a giggle that still sounds choked, but at least there’s a ghost of a smile.
“It’s incredibly intrusive, and I can only imagine it’s uncomfortable for them as well. But,” I say, taking a deep breath, “you’re right. I should have asked you.”
In truth, I selected everyone on my lever staff so they could help me run my business, and I reward them with a drug addiction. To involve Molli in the lever would entangle her in everything I’ve worked so hard to protect her from.
But, I realize, I only have to procrastinate a few weeks.
“Do you still want it?” I ask softly.
“Want what?”
“A position on my staff?”
She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t come here to beg for a job.” She rises from the settee and begins rearranging her skirts.
“I know,” I say with a hand on her arm to stop her. “But whatever your purpose, you’ve given me an opportunity to right a wrong, and I’m not too proud to accept a second chance.” The illusion of a second chance. “I mean, you can’t start tomorrow or anything; you need to take M.A.R.I.E.’s special training course. And I’ll have to take it up with the Human Resources bureaucrats, but…” I fake a quick laugh and shake my head. “His Royal Highness owes me a favor, and I can’t imagine he would deny me seven ladies instead of six.”
Her eyes brighten with tears, but I have my suspicions they’re not sad tears this time. “I really didn’t come here for this.”
I link my arm through hers and smile. “I know.”
“Are you certain?”
I place my hands on both her shoulders and wait until she looks up and meets my eyes. “Positive. You’re absolutely right, and I’m glad you came here tonight. I think sometimes I become so focused on my troubles, I forget that everyone around me has their own.” I take a deep breath and force a smile. “The next little while is going to be a veritable roller coaster, Molli, but there’s no one I’d rather have on it with me than you.”
Finally she appears convinced and leans forward to hug me. When she pulls back, she reaches out with a finger and touches my eyelid, where I’m wearing my glitter today. “What’s so special about your cosmetics, Danica?”
I try to laugh away her question. “What drives any fad? If I knew that, I’d certainly take further advantage. My supplier is obsessed with the avant-garde—”
But she’s already shaking her head. “No. It’s more than that. Everyone who wears them—and continues to buy them in spite of the exorbitant cost, I might add—traipses around with an aura of smugness. Like they’re all part of an exclusive club with an exciting secret. And, of course, they think I’m part of the club too. But I’m not. Everyone swears that your cosmetics are better than what the apothecary sells at a hundredth of the price, but I don’t feel any difference at all. That’s how I realized that whatever you’ve been giving me, it isn’t real. Why isn’t mine real?”
She’s staring straight at me, and dread settles into my heart. “You’re not wrong,” I finally confess, and an expression of relief flitters across Molli’s face. “Yours is different. Lord Aaron’s as well,” I add so she doesn’t feel alone.
“I wondered, after your party.”
“The cosmetics I sell…they make you feel good. Happy.” That’s as simple and close to the truth as I can get with M.A.R.I.E. listening.
“And you didn’t want that for me?”
“I didn’t want you to need it.”
“Like an alcoholic? Like your father? Is this because I always used to get drunk on Saturday nights? Do you think I’m like him?”
“No, no, of course not.” She’s so protected by her parents, so sheltered in our society, that even when I’ve told her the truth, she doesn’t quite understand. It breaks my heart all over. But I have to tell her something. “It’s somewhat like that. But more…more, perhaps, like homeopathics.” If I weren’t already condemned to the deepest pits of hell, where all betrayers go, the circle reserved for liars would have quite a claim. “But stronger,” I add at the acute stab of guilt. “I thought it would help the general atmosphere at court.” My lie is nearly taking on a life of its own.
“But not me.”
“Again,” I say,
desperate to leave this conversation aside, “I should have consulted with you. We should have talked. I was wrong.”
“Can I have it now?”
Her words freeze my heart into ice. After all these months, can I give it to her? It’s not as though I could stop her at this point. It’s precisely as she said: everyone thinks she’s in on it. No one would think twice of letting her “borrow” their makeup. “I’m out,” I say desperately. Then, at her flash of skepticism, I blurt, “But I’ll make sure you get some tomorrow. I dispense a lot of it on Wednesdays because security is so lax.” That was probably one sentence too many, I realize as Molli gives me a puzzled look. “Do you want to sleep over tonight?” I ask, more to cover up my faux pas than because I’ve thought it through.
“Tomorrow’s Wednesday.”
I groan. “Can you imagine?”
“Forget the minor scandal your half-moon caused—can you imagine the heyday the gossip feeds would have if you woke for your lever with another girl in your bed?”
“I can see it now,” I say dramatically as I walk her to the double doors. “Danica Grayson, having an illicit lesbian affair right under her affianced sovereign’s nose!”
“His overlarge, pigheaded nose,” she says. But she whispers it, because M.A.R.I.E. is listening. “Even you would have difficulty dispersing a scandal such as that.”
I smile and open the door, and we exchange parting pleasantries before she walks away. When she’s out of earshot, I lean heavily against the doorframe and whisper, “You have no idea.”
“ARE YOU HIDING from my mother?”
Saber’s head pops out from behind a tall potted plant beside the door to my parents’ apartments. “Is she still trying to get me fired?”
“You have a point.”
“What’s that?” Saber asks, pointing at a small but elaborately wrapped little box complete with a red bow as I let us into the apartments.
“Payment. An overstuffed envelope of cash is evidently too gauche.”
He lifts the top corner of the little box and peers in, eyes widening at the brick of bills. “Some party.”