I fall asleep instantly, exhausted from the ball. Usually, I keep to myself, so having to meet all of the duchess's friends left me worn out. I'm still tired when Morwen wakes me at ten; all I want to do is roll over and go back to sleep.
"You have to get up, Nyx," she says, gently shaking me. "The feast begins in an hour."
Suddenly, I'm bolt upright, my mind clear and my sleepiness banished. I had forgotten that this celebration is far more lavish than it has any right to be. "I don't have anything to wear."
"I altered a few more of Her Grace's dresses for you."
I frown. "She doesn't mind?"
"No; these are her old dresses. If she wears one in public, she never puts it on again."
How abominably wasteful. I despise her compulsion towards excess. "What does she do with the old ones?"
"She keeps them. Her closets are full to the brim."
"By the gods," I mutter. If she's in such dire straits, she could at least sell them. That would probably fetch her a great enough sum to live off of. I had generously assumed that the woman was at least moderately clever, to be dealing with the Lord of the Underworld, but apparently, I was mistaken. The woman doesn't have a competent bone in her body.
Morwen opens my wardrobe, revealing the five dresses hanging neatly inside. The red one, which I had thoughtlessly draped over the tufted armchair by the window after tearing it off, is at the very front. Despite still being under the blankets and wearing my long-sleeved nightdress, I go cold, and goosebumps rise on my arms and my back as though my skin is remembering how bare it was last night.
And one memory has forced itself to the forefront of my brain, a memory that I can't seem to suppress no matter how hard I try: the feeling of the Silver Prince's hand on my bare back. His skin was surprisingly soft, his touch firm but gentle. From the salacious tales I've heard of him seducing women and continually drinking more than his share, I expected him to be rougher, more vulgar.
I remind myself that it was probably an act. After all, we were surrounded by nobles, each one watching his every move as we danced. Despite how foolish he is, even a man like him would know better than to be indelicate before such a crowd. I wonder what he's like in his brothels. He's probably more himself there, where he's automatically above everyone else and doesn't have to put on a show of competence for the court's benefit. And, of course, his father was watching him last night.
"Here," Morwen says, pulling a champagne-colored dress out of the wardrobe. "I think this one will be suitable for today."
Once I drag myself out of bed, I take the dress from her and examine it. I like it much better than the one I wore last night. This one is also tulle, but has a slimmer silhouette. The long skirt falls to the ground in layered ruffles, and the simple bodice is held up by thin straps over the shoulders as well as decorative, flouncy sleeves that hang off the upper arms. When I try it on, I find that the bodice thankfully covers most of my chest, and the lace-up back, while still lower than I'd prefer, is decently modest.
"Thank you," I tell Morwen. The dress fits perfectly, just like the red one.
She beams. "Of course. Please tell me if there's anything else you need."
The duchess shouts for her, and she scurries to the next room. I quickly run a brush through my hair and peer into the large mirror hanging on the wall. Morwen put my hair up last night, but I think that today, if I must leave my face exposed, I'd prefer a simpler hairstyle so as not to attract too much attention to myself. I'm thankful that this dress is a more muted color than the bloodlike red of my ball gown.
I settle for winding my hair into a loose braid that falls to the middle of my back. Then I enter the duchess's room.
She's wearing a lavender dress as lavish as last night's, her hair piled up in its signature style. When she notices me, she frowns. "Don't forget to fix your hair."
I run my hand over my long braid. "I prefer to leave it like this."
Ethel sniffs in disapproval. "You look like a commoner. You'll be the laughingstock of the feast."
"I am a commoner," I remind her. It's irritating how all these people think that it's something I should be ashamed of. I can't control who my parents are any more than they can, but somehow they believe that it makes them superior. Soon, though, they'll understand how powerful I truly am.
"A pitiable affliction." She steps into her six-inch heels and turns towards the door, which Morwen hurries to open for her.
I follow her downstairs, wondering how she can possibly walk so quickly in those shoes. Mine are half the height, but I still struggle to keep up with her. Had I ever expected to be in a situation like this one, I would have practiced walking in shoes as ludicrous as these, but never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined attending a feast at Durnwall Castle.
We walk down the winding marble staircase, my footsteps shockingly loud in comparison to the silence of my boots, and head down an arched passage that brings us to a great set of double doors. Though guarded by two palace soldiers, the heavy wooden doors are wide open, welcoming us into the Great Hall. Five impossibly long tables laden with food have been set up, with thick-cushioned chairs to seat the guests. Most of these chairs are already occupied, and I notice many eyes turning towards the duchess and me as we enter. Safe in the assumption that they are admiring Ethel and her fashionable ensemble, I turn my attention towards the food.
There's a full, roast pig on each table, along with turkey, pheasant, and some other meats that I can't identify. Each dish is surrounded by a bed of vegetables: potatoes, carrots, turnips, and more. But it's the dessert table, alone at the back of the room, that catches my eye. Cakes in every color, sweetmeats of all sorts, and various pies cover its surface. Sugar is so expensive that I can't remember the last time I've eaten something in which it's a principal ingredient. I regret not having one of the miniature cakes at last night's ball, but my stomach was too sick with nerves to want food of any sort. Today, though, I plan to make up for it.
The duchess brings me to the far end of the center table, and I notice that place cards have been written to dictate where we're meant to sit. I'm seated to the duchess's left, near the head of the table. I stifle a groan when I see that the chair on my other side is occupied by Lord Dustin.
He grins at me, a leering expression. "It's lovely to see you again, Lady Nyx."
"Likewise," I mutter through my teeth.
We've only just settled in when the duchess rises again. I follow suit, as does everyone else in the room.
King Thurstan and his son stride in, followed by eight armored guards. The king walks slowly, nodding benevolently at his subjects. I can see the pain in every step, though he's good at hiding it. He must have practiced this walk, a façade that can fool the shallow eyes of the court. It can't fool me, though. This man has a more serious illness than I've been led to believe. Is the Silver Prince's reign close at hand?
I remember him telling the duchess that the king was mending. Was he lying, or simply in denial?
The king stands at the head of my table. It's strange to have him so closeâI can see the lines in his face and the flecks of gray in his beard. The prince didn't inherit his father's dark hair, but they do have the same eyes, a color that reminds me of molten silver.
The prince waits beside the chair at the king's immediate right, across from the duchess. If it weren't for his shock of white hair, I don't think I would have recognized him. He is much handsomer than the likeness stamped into Itoria's silver ducats suggests, with his straight nose, shapely mouth, and prominent cheekbones. Just like his father, he's wearing formal clothes: a dark blue jacket with gold epaulettes and matching buttons, the collar embroidered with elaborate leaf designs. The color suits him.
He notices me staring, and winks. Flustered, I turn my attention back to the king.
"Thank you all for coming," King Thurstan says. Despite his malady, his voice is rich and carries evenly across the large room. "For these next twelve hours, we will feast to continue the celebration of my dear son's nineteenth year. May he live to see many more, and serve you all well until his final breath." He casts his son a meaningful look before continuing. "My hope is that the prince will learn courage, discipline, and self-control in the following months."
My eyes drift back to the Silver Prince, whose jaw is set, his gaze fixed on the table. I want to laughâit's amusing to see that his father's words affected him so. But the king is right: the prince certainly could do with a little more discipline.
King Thurstan picks up the champagne flute on the table in front of him. There's one at every place setting and, mimicking those around me, I pick up my own.
Raising his glass, the king says, "We drink to Prince Adrian's health, and ask the gods to guide him well through this next year."
The crowd murmurs its agreement, and everyone takes a sip of their drinks. This is my first taste of champagne, and I'm surprised by how much I like the delicate fizzing of the drink on my tongue. The flavor is rather dull, however, and I think I would prefer a glass of wine.
Once the king is seated, everyone else can sit as well. I settle into my soft chair, my stomach growling as I wait for the servants to fill everyone's dishes. The delicious scent of whatever spices they used to flavor the meat makes my mouth water. I have never eaten so lavishly, and I have never seen this much food in one place.
It disgusts me a little, to witness this sumptuous display of overindulgence. Though there are nearly two hundred people in this room, I know that we cannot possibly eat all of this food. I wonder what will happen to the leftoversâwill the servants be allowed some? Or will it all go to waste?
As everyone's plates are filled, the musicians in the corner begin playing a cheerful tune. Conversation picks up, and soon the room is as noisy as the ballroom was last night. I take a bite of turkey, surprised by how flavorful it is. Habitually frugal, I have never squandered money on spices for my food. Now, I see how much the nobles truly keep from us. Everything from their clothes to their food is ornamented beyond what most of Itoria's people can afford.
"Ethel," the king says, "I have not had the pleasure of meeting your niece."
Ethel smiles winningly. "How rude of me! Your Majesty, please allow me to present my niece, Lady Nyx."
The king looks at me curiously, a slight frown on his pale lips. "You look nothing like your aunt."
"She is the daughter of my late husband's brother," Ethel explains. "We are not related by blood."
The king's frown deepens. "The Lord Grant? The man who lost his inheritance for marrying a commoner?"
Ethel's cheeks turn pink. "The very same. I am doing my best to civilize the girl, in hopes that she will find a suitable husband."
"Ah," says the prince, a strange lilt to his voice. "So you have come here to catalogue your options."
It's the first thing he's said to me today, and I am already tired of him.
"No," I tell him, with an obstinate stare. "I am here to celebrate your birthday."
He laughs. "A clever disguise for your true machinations."
"Truly, she has much to learn before she is ready for marriage," says Ethel. "You need only look at her to see that."
"She is beautiful," Dustin says, leaning uncomfortably close to me. "Any man would be lucky to have her, should he be able to overlook her parentage."
I hate the way they speak of me, and wish that the conversation would shift to other matters. Never before have I been more aware of my place in this world. It's strange; I never felt controlled as an individual when living on the streets of Durnwall or in my room on Lockard AlleyâI felt lost in the crowd, a faceless citizen of Itoria who could expect no recognition from her rulers. Here, though, I am acutely aware of just how much power these people possess. Were I truly Ethel's niece, she would be able to dictate which man I would marry. Even the king could have a say in the matter, if he wanted.
There is some freedom in peasantry. They care so little for us that they will not dictate our lives as individuals. But the cost of that freedom is struggling to live. I wish that the price was not so high.
"And you are in charge of the girl?" the king asks Ethel.
She nods. "The girl is under my care for the foreseeable future."
"I'm sure you must be pleased to have a protégé, since you produced no children of your own. It will be a generous benefit to Nyx to inherit your fortune."
Ethel's pleasant expression can't hide her tension from me. I notice everythingâthe way her fingers tighten around her fork, the barely perceptible flare of her delicate nostrils, the rapid double-blink of her heavy-lashed eyes. I'm not sure if she's upset because she has no children, or because her fortune has dwindled enough that she's had to resort to collaborating with the Lord of the Underworld. Either way, the king has insulted her enough that her hatred is simmering beneath her cool exterior.
This is good. It only solidifies her desire to help me.
"Yes," she agrees. "And Nyx is not the only one to benefit from our arrangement."
I'm grateful when the subject changes. King Thurstan and the duchess begin to discuss some shallow court gossip, which is easy to tune out. The Silver Prince speaks to the young woman seated to his rightâa pretty girl in a pale pink dress that matches her rosy cheeks. She is obviously infatuated with him, and it seems like he has a special interest in her. I wonder who she is. Probably a high-ranking lady of some sort; otherwise, she wouldn't be sitting next to him.
Knowing what I do of the duchess's plans, it's amusing to see the prince so blatantly flirting with this girl. Perhaps he has hopes of wedding her; I'm sure he believes that he could have his pick of the women here. But once I take his shadow, he will be under Victor's control. And Victor will give his hand to Ethel.
The Silver Prince can have his fun for now. Soon, it will be his freedom that is gone.
"Lady Nyx," says Dustin in a low voice, "how long do you and the duchess intend to stay?"
"A month, I believe." Ethel mentioned this a couple days ago, while lamenting that she needed to have three more gowns made to last the full extent of our visit.
"How wonderful. If you would like me to show you around Durnwall, I would be more than willing to do so."
The notion of exploring Durnwall with this man revolts me. "Perhaps." I pretend to adjust my skirt, just so I can feel the comforting shape of the knife strapped to my leg.
The rest of the day passes slowly. Now, I see the truth of how the nobles pass their days. They feast, gossip, dance, and lounge in their chairs. Some of them doze off at intervals. Apparently, feasting is so strenuous that they can't stay awake throughout the whole event. In a way, I can't blame themâit's remarkably boring, and even I am tempted to sleep a couple times.
King Thurstan leaves early, at three in the afternoon. He steals away, unnoticed by most of his subjects. But the fatigue in his eyes was unmistakable, and I know without a doubt that his sickness is getting the best of him. He'll probably sleep through the rest of the feast and into tomorrow morning.
The duchess takes her leave at seven. By half-past ten in the evening, most of the courtiers are gone. I have spent much of my day avoiding Dustin and watching the Silver Prince flirt with five different girls. Apparently, the girl in pink doesn't interest him as much as I initially thought. It must have been flirtation of convenience, since they were sitting next to each other.
I return to the dessert table. I've already eaten more than my fill, but I want to have one more cake before I go to bed. I choose a green-frosted one and sink my teeth into it. It's spongy, yet rich, and the sugary topping melts on my tongue. No wonder the nobles are so fond of this stuffâI think I could eat it all day.
When I finish the cake and start for the door, I almost crash right into the Silver Prince.
"I never thanked you for yesterday's dance," he says. His smirk is back.
"There's no need," I tell him impatiently. "It was...enjoyable." I wish he would just let me leave; after watching him all day, I'm frustrated to have learned nothing of his fears. All he does is fritter away his time trying to lure women between his sheets. Maybe his greatest fear is marriage.
"Your reluctance indicated otherwise."
Smiling as sweetly as I can, I say, "It's an honor to dance with my prince. I should be the one thanking you."
"In that case, I request your company tomorrow. I'm going for a ride."
I balk at the invitation. "Who else will make up the company?"
"No one."
He's making this far too easy. I toss my braid over my shoulder and flutter my eyelashes, just like I saw the girl in pink do. "Good."
The Silver Prince nods curtly. "Meet me at the stables at nine."
"I'll be there."
I attempt to brush past him, but he catches my elbow, holding onto me with the same, firm yet gentle touch as last night. It stops me cold, frozen in my tracksânot because of the strength of his grip, which is light enough that it would be easy enough to break away fromâbut for reasons that I cannot quite identify.
Glancing over at him, I ask, "Is there something else?"
"I don't see why you were so adamant about hiding your face last night." His smile is only half-smirk, the rest of it confoundingly genuine.
"There is no reason," I say, because I cannot think of a good one. Even with my face exposed, though, I take comfort in the knowledge that the Silver Prince still does not know who I truly am. In that respect, at least, I have the upper hand.
He releases me. "I look forward to tomorrow, then, so long as you come as you are now."
My skin feels warm where his hand lingered. "You won't be disappointed."
Finally, I am able to walk past him. The moment I step into the hallway, I let out a long sigh. As I make my way back to the duchess's room, my heeled shoes tap loudly against the stone floor and bounce against the arched ceiling, which yawns widely like a great gray mouth. I focus on the rhythm of my steps as I try to clear my head.
I don't know how to ride. My earnings are too inconsistent for me to keep a horse, and there's no point in doing so when I rarely stray far from Durnwall. As a "lady," though, I'm expected to be able to ride.
I'm not overly concerned about the horse, though; I'm sure I'll be able to figure it out. It's the prince that gives me pause.