I stand beside the duchess, waiting. My heart flutters in my chest, and I pray to the gods that I won't give myself away. We haven't yet entered the ballroom, but I already fear that I'm out of my depth. The heels that Ethel gave me to wear pinch my toes too much for me to walk comfortablyâand I know that there's no way I'll be able to run in them. The fact that this is the only appropriate footwear for a woman attending a ball maddens me. In my eyes, they are torture devices meant to hinder me.
The dress, too, is ridiculous in its frivolity. The bodice, perfectly altered by Morwen to fit me like a glove, squeezes my ribs and reveals too much of my breasts. The neckline is gracefully curved, the sleeves loosely encircling my upper arms in an off-shoulder cut. Frothy layers of tulle cascade from my waist, puffing out and trailing down like the curve of a bell. But it's the back of the dress that I hate most: an open back that swoops all the way to my hips and leaves much of my skin bare.
I feel horrifically exposed in this attire, naked as a plucked pheasant. The satin bodice is easy to slice through, the feather-soft tulle delicate enough that even a child could rip it apart. Despite the warmth of the summer evening, goosebumps rise over my miles of bare skin. I try to tug the front of the bodice upwards, to cover more of my chest, but it doesn't budge.
My only comfort is the knife strapped to my thigh, hidden under the folds of my gown. At least I'll be able to keep myself safe, even in the face of whatever awaits me in that ballroom.
"We're next," the duchess whispers to me, her face hidden by an ornate golden mask carved to resemble the face of a fox.
I take a deep breath as the poor page who was delegated to this task announces us. "The Duchess of Vaelune and her niece, Lady Nyx!"
The duchess and I step through the doorway. I am greeted by hordes of men and women in clothes so elaborate that they border on gaudy. The room is a blur of silk, taffeta, and crepe and I am immediately lost in the whirlwind of ribbons, ruffles, and pearls. The air is filled with music and the overlapping conversations of those around us. Ethel leaves my side, absorbed into the crowd like water sucked in by a sponge. She belongs here, there is no doubt of that, but I am completely out of my element.
I make my way to the refreshment table to the far left of the room, wobbling slightly in my shoes. Everyone watches me as I go, and I hope they don't notice how much difficulty the simple feat of walking is giving me. I lean against the wall, taking a moment to catch my breath and adjust my mask.
The mask is the only part of my outfit that I enjoy. It covers the top half of my face and is made of raven feathers that are intricately pieced together to make a stunning disguise. If the duchess wouldn't allow me to wear a gown that could cover my body, at least I can conceal my face. I worry for tomorrow's day-long feast, though, since no one will be wearing masks and I'll be forced to leave my own behind as well.
Glancing at the refreshment table, I am suddenly revolted by the overabundance of this ball, which seems like nothing more than an excuse to show off the royal family's wealth. There is a great variety of foodâcakes and pastries, meats and cheesesâin ridiculous quantities. Not to mention the ballroom itself, with its domed ceiling painted to look like a cloud-filled summer sky and its polished stone floors. The windows, which stretch from the floor to the ceiling, reveal the dying daylight, but the great chandelier and multitudinous candlestands combat the impending darkness. Everything about this place is a sick display of excess, a mockery of what the people of Durnwall lack on a daily basis, and I know that tomorrow's feast will only be worse.
I straighten as a man, perhaps thirty years of age, approaches me. He's dressed in pure white, a color I always avoid for how blatant it is. His face is hidden by a plain mask edged with gold.
He bows and smiles at me, a strange twinkle in his eyes. "I didn't know the duchess had a niece. I am Lord Dustin, an old friend of hers."
Curtseying as graciously as I can manage, I say, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine. What is the nature of your connection to Her Grace?"
I'm glad that I asked the duchess about this. "My father was brother to the late Duke of Vaelune. He is something of a black sheep, but Her Grace was kind enough to take me under her wing."
Dustin nods, accepting this explanation. "How old are you?"
I decide to go with my real age. "Seventeen."
"I find it strange that the duchess hasn't mentioned you once in seventeen years."
My palms are clammy with sweat. "I wouldn't expect her to. My parents are...well, I'm sure you understand why she wouldn't care to mention the daughter of a milkmaid."
The man chuckles. "Of course. It's a regrettably close affiliation for you, but perhaps the duchess can help you overcome the association."
"That is my hope," I say, though my stomach turns as I speak. Victor certainly has a lot of faith in my ability to blend in; I'm already finding it exceedingly difficult to interact with these people. Maybe this is another reason why he couldn't complete this mission himself. I'm sure that, considering what he's devoted his life to doing, he isn't keen to charm his way into the hearts of any of these people. It certainly isn't something that I wish to do, but fitting in at court is an unfortunate necessity of learning all that I can about the prince.
Hopefully, I'll be able to figure him out quickly. The sooner I uncover his greatest fear, the sooner I can cast off this pretense. My patience is already wearing thin, and my aching feet aren't helping the matter.
"At seventeen, you must be thinking of marriage," Dustin says, a smile curling his thin lips. "The men must be enamored with you, beautiful as you are."
I've never thought of myself as beautiful. There's no mirror in my room on Lockard Alley, so I don't have much opportunityâor timeâto consider my appearance. It doesn't matter what I look like, anyway. Stealing shadows is what I was born to do, and I always keep my face hidden when I work so no one will find out that Nyx Madden is the Shadow Thief. There are a lot of people after me, especially since I haven't exclusively stolen from people like Eamon Turner. Some of my targets were traveling nobles much like Lord Dustin or the duchess. There are wanted posters with rough sketches of inaccurate depictions of my face posted all over Durnwall.
Wanted, Dead or Alive: The Shadow Thief. Reward: 500 Gold Ducats. I wonder if this man would still find me beautiful if he knew my true identity. It's possible that he's lying about my looks, though. Flattery is the language of royalty.
It's a good thing that I don't care either way.
"How kind of you to say," I tell him, knowing that I must go along with this flattery. They'll realize that I'm not one of them if I don't.
To my utter horror, he extends a hand. "Will you dance?"
"Of course," I reply, though every instinct I have is screaming at me to run. I take Dustin's soft hand, hoping that he doesn't notice the clamminess of my own, and allow him to lead me onto the dance floor.
Before the dance even begins, a low voice from behind me says, "May I cut in, Lord Dustin?"
"As you wish, Your Highness," Dustin says through gritted teeth. He releases me and I turn around to find myself face-to-face with the Silver Prince.
His shockingly white hair is combed back from his face, and I find myself staring at it for a moment before my eyes meet his. I've never known what color his eyes wereâI've never gotten a good look at him, and no one I eavesdrop on in town ever discusses the prince's eye colorâand I'm surprised to see that they're a silvery gray.
He looks me up and down, prompting a strange fluttering in my stomach and a weakness in my knees. I force these sensations away, telling myself that I can't allow nervousness to overcome me. The environment is conspiring against meâsurrounded by these powerful strangers and dressed in an overly revealing gown, I don't feel like myself. I try to focus on the knife strapped to my leg and take some comfort in knowing that, if something were to go awry, I will be able to defend myself. Even here, I am not helpless.
A smirk curls the prince's lips. "I don't believe we've met."
I force myself to curtsey, though my body instinctively resists submitting to him. "I am the Duchess of Vaelune's niece."
"I know, Lady Nyx. I watched you enter."
He was watching me? Am I so obviously out of place that I instantly caught his attention?
"Shall we?" He holds out a long-fingered hand.
I couldn't refuse Dustin, and I certainly can't refuse the prince. Feigning confidence, I place my hand in his and allow him to pull me to the center of the dance floor. Heads turn towards us as we pass other couples, who are already caught up in the dance. I notice jealous scowls from some of the other girls, and realize that I am dancing with the most eligible man in the kingdom.
Seduce him, I remind myself. Victor said to seduce him.
He places a hand on the small of my back, his bare palm pressing against my bare skin. His hand is warm, and the spot where he touches me seems to tingle. As the music changes to a new song, he guides me through the dance. I follow along as best as I can, painfully aware that I have never danced before and am not very good at it.
"The rumor is that your mother was a milkmaid and your father a cow," the prince remarks. "From the way you dance, I believe this to be true."
"Are you always this charming?" The words escape me before I can check them, and my heart skips a beat.
Luckily, though, he laughs. "Don't you know how to speak to a prince?"
"My apologies," I mumble. My face heats, and I'm glad that my cheeks are hidden under the mask. I don't want him to see how flustered I am, and I don't want him to realize that I stick out like a nettle among roses.
"I'm glad you're here," the prince says. "I enjoy meeting my subjects."
I hate that I'm one of his subjects. No matter what I disguise myself as or how far I travel, as long as I am in Itoria, I am under his and his father's rule. They are the reason that my parents are deadâtwo of their subjects. How can the prince tell me that he enjoys meeting us, when he lives as carelessly as he does? He has never extended any generosity towards his people, but I suppose that, since he has the adoration of his court, none of that matters. Those in power stay in power.
At least, they'll stay in power until I steal his shadow. Then everything will change.
"And I am honored to meet you," I say. "I've heard tell of your beauty and your prowess with a sword." Though I can't exactly see his face right now, I know that complimenting him will go a long way. I can already tell that he's the sort of man who likes to have his ego stroked.
Just as I expected, his smirk grows. "Oh? I'm glad to hear that I am so fondly spoken of in as far a region as Vaelune."
"Yesâthe valorous prince, the bravest of men. They say you have no fears."
He spins me, and my red skirt flares around my waist. When I stop, slightly dizzied, the layers of tulle flutter back into place. The prince replaces his hand on my back and pulls me closer than before. There's something almost possessive about the way he's holding me, and I wonder if he sees his subjects as his propertyâespecially the women. It's not just the brothels that he frequents; I've heard stories of him bedding noblewomen like the one I am masquerading as. Will he try to lure me to his chambers? Will I have to go along with it if he does? If it's the only way to discover his greatest fear, I'll do what I have to. But, if at all possible, I would prefer to avoid sleeping with a man like him.
He's holding me close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath. I'm not surprised that, though the ball has only just begun, he's already been drinking. He has quite a reputation among the people of Durnwall. I've heard stories both good and bad: tales of his generosity in buying rounds for his drinking companions alongside stories of his occasional dark moods that could bring a party to a standstill. Maybe it's lucky that tonight I find him mirthful.
As we continue to dance, the music picks up and we move faster, the people around us dimming to a blur in the background. I hope this song ends soon, so that I can catch my breath. Victor has given me an assignment that I believe is more difficult than he intended it to be. He thought that seducing the prince would be a simple feat, but what he failed to consider was my complete lack of experience with men.
For the past five years, I've been fending for myself. I've had to focus solely on survival and, as a result, I've learned not to pay much mind to the men around me. It's not as though no one has ever shown an interest in me. I go around town in the daylight, face uncovered, when I need to buy food or replace my weapons or clothes. On those occasions, a man or two will often try to talk to me as I walk down the street, not realizing that I could kill them with a single well-placed thrust from one of my knives. But when my parents died, I had to quickly learn not to trust anyone, so I never engage with any of these men. None of the ones I've encountered are worth my time, anyway.
I'm at a disadvantage now, though. I don't know how to spark the Silver Prince's interest. I know that I should act like the vapid noblewomen around us and pretend that I am enamored with him, but I'm not sure how to go about it.
"Is there any truth to the rumors?" I ask. "I have always wondered."
"Everyone's afraid of something," the prince says, amused. "Though the only thing I fear at this moment is you treading on my toes."
His rudeness fills me with indignance, and I don't respond. The moment the dance ends, I drop into a quick curtsey and turn away, striding to the edge of the ballroom. That's as much impudence as I can handle tonight. My pinched feet ache, and it's hard to breathe in this dress. I already wish for this night to be over.
The Silver Prince follows me. "You're not supposed to turn your back on your betters."
He is grating against my nerves like no one I've ever met. I think I prefer the duchess's company to his. Spinning back around, I face him once more. "Forgive me. I was unaware."
"I see no one taught you the customs of the court."
"No."
Laughing, he says, "At least you know how to curtsey."
Of course my deference would please him. "Yes, Your Highness. That is one consolation."
"I must admit, I am curious to see the rest of your face," the Silver Prince tells me. "Would you allow me the pleasure?"
I have the advantage here: since he isn't wearing a mask, his face is bare, completely exposed to me. Yet he cannot see most of mine. Even if he were wearing a mask, I am familiar with his appearance. His likeness is on every silver ducat in Itoria, a perfect profile meticulously stamped into one side of each coin, the other side depicting the symbol of the gods: a great, fiery sun cradled in the palm of two hands. If I can help it, I want to put off revealing my face to the Silver Prince. And I am not entirely sure why, given that it is an inevitability.
"You will have to wait," I tell him.
His surprise pleases me. His brows lower and his lips curl in genuine confusion. Of course, he isn't used to being denied anything after having everything he wants handed to him on a silver platter since the day he was born.
"You're very secretive," he says. His confusion relaxes after only a moment, and he recovers by putting on a smile so practiced that it might have fooled another into thinking it genuine. I can see the tightness in his expression, however. He isn't quite sure what to make of me.
"Not especially. I am simply unwilling to spoil the masquerade element of this ball. A theme you chose yourself, if I'm not mistaken?"
The prince laughs, in what I might consider a self-deprecating tone if I knew any better. "I had little say in my birthday festivities."
"How unfortunate." When my parents were still alive, I was lucky to have new shoes to contain my ever-growing feet on my special day. Now, it's just another day that passes along the wind every year.
"No, not in the slightest." He doesn't sound bothered at all, which is just as wellâwith such an extravagant celebration, he has no right to be. "It was planned with the guests' preferences in mind. If you are enjoying yourself, Lady Nyx, I will consider it a success."
I am not enjoying myself whatsoever. His company is grating and I can feel the blisters sprouting on my feet. "It's a marvelous ball."
"I am glad to hear it. And as you now see, you won't offend me by removing your mask; I am not terribly attached to this celebration."
The fact that he is so curious about my face only makes me want to deny him more. "As I told you, Your Highness, you will have to wait."
We are interrupted, blessedly, by the duchess approaching us. She curtseys to the prince, elegant as a swan.
"Your Highness. I hope this day is as joyous for you as it is for your subjects."
The prince nods, his manners stiffening ever so slightly in her presence. "Thank you, Your Grace. I'm grateful that you traveled this far just to attend the celebrations."
There's a subtle edge to his tone that most people wouldn't pick up on. But I am not most people. It's part of my job to notice these things, to understand the deepest thoughts and feelings of those around me, and I can see quite clearly that the Silver Prince is not particularly fond of Ethel. I don't know why, but I'd like to find out.
It's obvious that something is off between the duchess and the royal family. She wouldn't be helping Victor if that wasn't the case. Now, curiosity is burning inside of me. I wonder how much Ethel knows about the prince, and I wonder if, perhaps, she wants to control him as well.
"Oh, you know that I would do anything for you and your father," Ethel says, waving her white-feathered fan to cool herself. "It's unfortunate that his condition precludes him from joining the festivities. I hope he'll be up to feasting tomorrow."
That's rightâI haven't seen the king at all yet. "Where is His Majesty?" I ask.
The duchess gestures towards a small balcony high above us. A dark-haired man with a large golden crown resting on his head is sitting on a chair, watching the dancing below. He's flanked by four guards, each holding a long spear and wearing thick metal armor.
The Silver Prince's mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes up at his father. When he looks back down at the duchess, he says, "Don't excite yourself, Ethel. He's mending."
I heard that the king fell ill six months ago, but it was proclaimed to be nothing serious, and everyone believed that he had made a swift recovery. In retrospect, it was foolish to believe the lies the palace fed Durnwall, but I didn't care enough for the king to question it. In my eyes, it makes no difference whether the prince or his father is sitting on the throne; they both have the same disregard for their people, and the same gross apathy towards anyone's struggles beyond the castle walls.
Ethel smiles tersely. "I'm glad to hear that. I wish him a swift recovery. Nyx, come with me; I would like to introduce you to my friends."
We both curtsey to the prince, then Ethel leads me away. The rest of the evening passes slowly. I'm grateful that no one else asks me to dance, but unfortunately, Ethel insists on introducing me to almost everyone in the room. I know that she's only doing this to keep up pretensesâif she bothered to bring me here, she must want to show me to her friendsâbut despite the necessity of it, my impatience grows and by the stroke of midnight, I'm itching to leave. The ball will continue for much longer, but Ethel allows me to leave with her. When we were getting ready, she told me that she always limits her social appearances, in order to keep the company wanting more.
When we reach her room, Morwen is waiting to help Ethel undress. I hesitate by the window, though I desperately want to peel off my gown and put on something that doesn't make me feel so exposed. But I have to speak to the duchess in private, so I kick off my shoes and wait as Morwen helps her prepare for bed. It takes much longer than I expectedâthe duchess has to wash her face, change into her nightgown, and drink her tea before finally climbing between the covers and dismissing Morwen.
Before the servant girl leaves, she asks me, "Do you need my assistance, Nyx?"
"No," I tell her, "but thank you all the same."
Morwen slips out of the room, and I approach the duchess.
She raises one slender hand and says, "There's no need to thank me. I see this as charity."
"I wasn't going to thank you," I say flatly. "I wanted to ask about the prince."
Ethel sighs at the very mention of him. "Adrian is a spoiled brat, and I don't intend to discuss his shortcomings. I already know that he would make a rotten king."
I'm surprised that she's being so upfront about it. "Why are you helping Victor?"
She squints at me, as though trying to discern whether I'm being serious or not. "Do you really not know?"
"I don't."
"Had that boy never been born, I would be next in line for the throne."
I suppose my disinterest in the monarchy has finally caught up to me. I had no notion of the lineage of Itoria, beyond the Silver Prince succeeding his father.
"I didn't mind so much, nineteen years ago," Ethel sighs. "But my estate has dwindled ever since my husband's death, and now I wish that that boy had never been born."
"So you're in need of money," I say. Bitterness creeps into my voice; I don't understand how a woman who lives like her would be in want of anything. She had twenty masks to choose from, just for tonight, and I don't think she'll ever wear the other nineteen. It's fortunate that I was able to put at least one to use, otherwise it would never have been worn at all. That must be a testament as to why she's losing all of her money, thoughâif she spends like that regularly, I'm sure that, even with her vast amounts of wealth, she would find herself destitute at some point. However, I'm absolutely certain that she and I have very different definitions of destitute.
Nodding, Ethel says, "Unfortunately, I find myself in desperate need of money. And that's where Victor comes in."
I wonder if Victor is as wealthy as Ethel. Considering how much gold he was willing to give me as an advance, I think it's very likely. "You want him to kill the prince?" I ask. He could kill the Silver Prince by tearing apart the shadow that I will deliver to him. That doesn't make sense, though. If he wanted the prince dead, wouldn't he just have me poison him? Or stab him? Stealing a shadow takes far more time than slitting a throat. There's preparation involved.
"Victor said that he would make Adrian his puppet," says Ethel. "And, if I help you, he promised to have the prince marry me. Maybe Victor will kill him in a few years. I don't know, and to be quite honest, I don't really care."
It's only the money that she wants. For a brief moment, I pity the prince. It would be a nightmare to be married to Ethel, and not just because she's at least twenty years his senior. She resents him, and would probably wile away whatever money Victor would allow him to keepâif any. But my sympathy fades quickly when I remember how the Silver Prince spoke to me, and how he forced me to dance with him.
He looks down on those who are low born. I might not truly be the daughter of a milkmaid, but I am the daughter of a carpenter and a seamstress, which is probably just as bad in his eyes. He has no right to judge me, though; at least I'm not a spoiled brat like him, fed with a silver spoon from birth. I've earned my place in Durnwall, and the same can't be said for him. He was merely given it.
"I do appreciate your help," I tell the duchess.
"You had better succeed," she responds. "I think this is my last hope, unless another wealthy bachelor suddenly becomes available."
"I will," I promise. I've never failed before, and I don't plan to start now.