“You’re right,” he said with a small smile. “I have to concentrate on tonight. We both do.” He dropped her hand and stepped back to look at her. “You certainly look lovely. That dress isn’t your typical style. Who made it?”
She glanced down at the dress and back at her brother, who was eyeing her with an intensity that made her shiver. “Why do you ask?” The only interest her brother ever displayed in women’s attire was assessing how quickly he could get ladies out of it.
“I’m sure the seamstress will be in great demand after tonight. I am certain people will want to seek her out. I might even want to have a conversation with her myself.”
Her brother’s words set her on edge. “Andreus, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I know you.” Almost as well as she knew herself. “There is something bothering you. If it is Lord Garret, I promise you—”
Trumpets blared. A page appeared in the doorway and bowed. “The Council of Elders has asked me to bid Your Highnesses to join them in the Hall of Virtues.”
“Very well,” her brother said, offering Carys his arm. “Shall we?”
Her stomach tightened at Andreus’s tense smile as she placed her hand on his arm and walked with him at the measured pace their mother long ago taught them was appropriate for ceremonies. They crossed through the corridor and reached the white stone arch and massive gold doors that led to the Palace of Winds’ throne room. The trumpets sounded again, the guards pushed open the doors, and Carys and her brother started forward.
Every face turned toward them and everything went silent as she and Andreus strode into the room. They’d walked this path together at formal events dozens of times in their lives. Always they had entered before their brother Micah and their mother and father—side by side—together. Then they had been the opening gambit. The ones who announced more important, more powerful members of the family were on the way. The court used to pause for them before they continued whatever they were doing. Now everyone was completely still as they once again walked shoulder to shoulder into the spectacularly lit hall.
Orbs of colored lights were everywhere. Hanging from the ceiling. Attached to the pillars. On the wall behind the dais. And the throne was lit in a way that made it appear as though it glowed with the power of the sun. Carys glanced at her brother. His eyes stared at the throne as if mesmerized by its beauty.
She couldn’t remember seeing the throne ever look so beautiful—perhaps because she was used to seeing her father sitting there. Maybe that was what made Andreus watch it with such intensity now. Maybe he too was feeling the pull of memories that clawed at her heart.
Pushing away the mental picture of her father, Carys looked around the Hall as Andreus led her through the crowd to the dais. A group of entertainers stood off to the left. Some held musical instruments. Others were carrying flaming torches they would no doubt juggle and perhaps swallow to the delight of the nobles. But now, all was still. The hundreds in attendance were dressed in the finest silks of every color of the rainbow. Carys was used to seeing judgment in their eyes. Never good enough. Never beautiful enough. Never adhering to tradition in the way they believed she should.
They judged her for her lack of care in their frivolous pageantry. And she judged them right back for their investment in it.
Now, though. Now, she sensed something different.
Each member of the court wore bands of colored fabric, tied around their arms, or wrists, or pinned to their lapels.
Yellow strips of silk, as far as she could see. Yellow for Andreus.
But . . . there were also blue bands. More than those of her brother’s castoffs who had joined her on the viewing stand. More than Lord Errik, who was standing not far from the Council of Elders at the front of the Hall. A strip of light blue set off against the dark blue velvet of his tunic. For every two yellow bands, there was at least one of hers. In this room where she had so often been condemned for her behavior, the show of approval cut through her resentment and warmed her.
When they reached the front of the Hall and turned to face the crowd, she could see the tightening around her brother’s mouth. His eyes met hers for a moment, and even through the haze of the Tears of Midnight she felt the accusation burning through her.
Trumpets began a new fanfare and Elder Cestrum stepped forward to address the crowd. “The Council of Elders and Prince Andreus and Princess Carys welcome you to this ball and the second of the Trials of Virtuous Succession. We thought it was fitting to hold the trial for temperance here, in the place where it is most needed. Strong monarchs must have control over their actions, thoughts, and feelings—especially when seated on the Throne of Light with the fate of our kingdom in their hands. Now the Council will bear witness to the actions of Prince Andreus and Princess Carys during this evening of celebration. The successor who demonstrates the best control over his or her actions will be awarded with a point on the scoring board.”
Elder Cestrum turned to Carys and Andreus and smiled. “Let the festivities begin.”
With that, the musicians began to play and an acrobat bent forward, performed a handstand, and then began walking across the white stone floor on his hands.
“That’s the contest?” Carys asked. “Temperance. How do you judge that?”
Elder Cestrum glanced over to where Garret stood not far from the steps leading to the throne, where he was speaking with Elder Ulrich. When he turned back to Carys, his smile grew even broader. “Any way we wish to, Your Highnesses.”
“I am certain the Council will not be disappointed with me, Elder Cestrum,” Andreus said, giving his sister a look. “Now, if you will excuse me, I see Lady Lillian. She must be heartbroken by Mother’s illness. Perhaps a dance will raise her spirits.”
Andreus crossed the room to the woman in question. Their mother’s friend put her hand to her chest and looked ready to cry when Andreus offered his arm and escorted her onto the floor. Soon they were gliding around the center of the Hall with what seemed to be all of the court nodding in approval.
When the dance was finished, Andreus gave the woman a charming smile and then asked another, older member of the court, instead of the younger girls he typically favored, to dance. Tempering his behavior, Carys thought. Well, that gave her an idea.
Carys strolled into the crowd that she would normally avoid and spotted three of the girls who had been on her viewing platform earlier today. All of them had bands of blue on their arms and several had their hair, two of brunette and one of bright red, tied back at the neck in the simple style Carys had worn during the tournament instead of the elaborate twists and turns those in the court normally wore.
“Princess Carys,” the redhead stammered as she and the others performed hasty curtsies. “Is there something we can do for you?”
The nervous glances the girls exchanged made Carys aware once again of how out of place she was in court. All three of these girls had grown up here at the castle. Carys had known them all of their lives and still they viewed her as a stranger. Well, that was going to change now. Smiling, Carys said, “I was hoping you might be willing to show me how to have fun at one of these things. I fear I’m out of practice.”
The redhead looked too stunned to speak, but the taller of the brunettes—Carys thought her name was Lady Shelby—smiled and said, “We’d be honored, Your Highness. How about we start with the entertainers? I’m not sure if they throw knives as well as you do, but we can ask them to try.”
Carys laughed and suddenly the other girls lost their worried expressions and included her in their chatter as they wove through the room to where half-dressed acrobats were walking on their hands and doing flips on the hard, stone floor.
When Carys admired one performer’s skill aloud, the other girls rushed to praise him as well.
“Anyone can do that. It’s not that special,” a man called.
Carys glanced around for the source of the words and smiled when she spotted a young man hold
ing a goblet of wine, standing with a bunch of his friends.
“I could easily walk on my hands,” he said to his laughing companions.
Carys turned to the girls. “I’ll be right back.”
She made her way over to the young man.
“Excuse me,” Carys said, “What is your name?”
“I’m Lord Trevlayn, Your Highness,” he said with a grin that told her the drink in his hand wasn’t the first he’d had. “At your service.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear you say that you can walk on your hands. Is that true?”
“Well, I think so, Your Highness. I mean—”
“Excellent! We would all like to see you show your skill. And any who succeed will be rewarded with a dance with one of my ladies.”
The blond lord’s friends slapped him on the back. One took his drink and the acrobats that had been performing stepped to the side to allow the braggart a chance to display his abilities. Left with no other option, the lord put his hands on the floor, hesitantly kicked his feet up, and fell back to the ground with a thud. His friends burst into howls of laughter. The young lord pushed himself up off the floor, scowling, and started to stalk off the floor. But one of the girls with Carys, a petite, curvy brunette, stepped forward and said, “I believe you can do it, Lord Trevlayn.”
Carys smiled at the earnestness in the girl’s face. Clearly, she had interest in Lord Trevlayn beyond this moment. Which made Carys like the drunken fool a bit more. “Yes, Lord Trevlayn. You didn’t give it your best effort,” Carys agreed. “Try in earnest and I believe I can get Lady Michaela to award you with a dance.”
Lord Trevlayn puffed out his chest, wiped his hands on his legs, and gave it another try. Everyone gathered around the entertainers cheered as his feet reached toward the ceiling, hung there for a moment, and then suddenly toppled over. Others in the ballroom began to wander over as Lord Trevlayn’s friends decided to try the feat. Bets broke out on the sidelines among some of the younger lords and ladies as the boys kicked up their feet and sprawled on the floor, spilling drinks and eliciting shrieks and laughter from the gathered ladies. The older members of the court looked outraged. Finally, the shortest of Lord Trevlayn’s friends managed several steps on his hands—feet flailing in the air—to great cheers. When he stood upright again, the young ladies batted their eyes at him while his friends snatched goblets off a passing tray to lift in his honor. When they were done toasting him, they all turned to Carys and lifted their glasses again.
“To Princess Carys and the Throne of Light.”
They offered her a glass, from which she took a polite sip, as they all turned toward the throne and held their glasses aloft. Her head was spinning from the audacity of her actions—disrupting the formal ball, encouraging the young members of court to break free from their rigid roles. It was the very opposite of temperance. Her sense of triumph at the stern expression she saw on the faces of the older members of the court was fantastic. She spotted Andreus standing with Elder Cestrum and two of Eden’s High Lords. When he glanced her way, she waited for him to nod—to acknowledge her efforts to help him—as he always did when she stepped in front of him and took the worst of what this castle had to give.
But the look he gave her was dismissive, and panic flared.
Something had changed between them. Suddenly and dramatically, things had been altered.
But how? And why?
No. Andreus was just acting as if he were upset with her. That was their plan all along. He would win the Trials and together they would do what they had to in order to keep him safe and Eden secure.
The young lords and ladies moved through the crowd toward the dancing area. When one of the ladies offered to stay with Carys instead of dancing with the boy she clearly favored, Carys said she would join them on the dance floor soon and headed off to find the perfect partner. Someone who might be willing to continue her show.
She spotted him lounging against a column near the front of the Hall and headed toward him, ignoring several members of the court who tried to catch her attention along the way. Errik straightened and gave a deep bow as she approached.
“Lord Errik,” she said with a smile. “Do you by chance like to dance?”
He cocked his head to the side and studied her—his deep blue eyes gleaming in the bright hall. After a moment, he gave her a small smile. “All Trade Masters like to dance. We have to since the Kings and Queens we visit feel obligated to throw balls for us. How about you, Princess Carys. Do you like to dance?”
“I despise dancing,” she said with complete honesty. “Perhaps that’s why I’m so bad at it.”
“Honesty makes an already lovely woman far more beautiful,” he said, taking a step toward her. “But I find it hard to believe the Princess of Eden is a terrible dancer.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Lord Errik?” she asked.
“No.” Lord Errik’s dark eyes met hers. “I’m asking you to prove it.”
The musicians started a new song and Carys held out her hand in a way a lady would never do to a man. “When you can no longer walk, my lord, I ask you to remember that you have only yourself to blame.”
“I consider myself warned, Your Highness,” he said as he took her hand and strolled with her through the crowd of nobility and tournament champions, all of whom seemed to be watching her.
Growing up, Carys’s free time had been spent running guard maneuvers with Andreus so he could execute them flawlessly the first time during drills. If he only had to do them once, the chance of an attack was less likely. As a result, Carys never danced. She barely knew how. And today, she didn’t care.
She laughed as Errik took her in his arms. He was handsome and told her she was beautiful, and if she knocked him over during the dance it would get her and Andreus one step closer to their goal. She would make a fool of herself; she was determined to do so.
The music was fast. Errik’s hands were warm and his expression amused as they moved between the other couples on the floor. Several of Carys’s new friends smiled at her and Errik as they twirled by. Carys tripped as Errik spun her around and then laughed as he pulled her against his chest to keep her from stumbling into the couple dancing next to them.
“I fear, Highness,” he said, “you weren’t lying and neither was I. You are lovely.”
Her arms felt loose, and the harder she tried to think, the more her thoughts scattered. No doubt the Tears of Midnight were having their effect, flowing through her blood. Or maybe it was the warmth she felt with her hands pressed against Errik’s chest, knowing that she should move away and yet having no interest in doing so. Still his words made her frown.
“Do you doubt your appearance, Highness?” Lord Errik’s smile vanished. “There are hundreds of people here today who would tell you how lovely you are.”
“Nobility never tells the truth to those with more power than they have. It’s the unspoken oath they take.”
“Then I guess I will be the one person you can count on to tell you the truth about yourself,” Errik said, moving into a dance hold again and spinning her gently around the floor.
“Well, you’ve already said that I am a terrible dancer. Since we’ve only known each other a matter of hours, I fear there is very little truth you can tell me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He smiled and whirled her around. This time she didn’t stumble over her feet as the music grew faster and Errik held her tighter. “After all, I saw the real you at the tournament today. Many of us did, but I might be the only one who will tell you what those of us truly paying attention saw.”
Errik slowed their dance and she fought to clear the haze from her mind and focus. “The real me? I fear your truth telling has come to an end.”
“If you say so, Your Highness.” He spun her as the music came to a stop and executed a bow. When he came up, he met her eyes with his. “But anyone who draws and throws two stilettos accurately enough to kill a man from over fifty paces would hav
e more than enough skill to hit the center of a target with an arrow at half that distance.”
“Sheer luck,” she said with a shrug as though his words didn’t make her heart pound and her hands sweat.
“Perhaps.” Lord Errik gently put his hand on her back and guided her off the dance area toward the men juggling torches. The crowd cheered as they tossed their torches to one another and then back again.
Leaning over her shoulder, Lord Errik pointed to the entertainers as if showing something to Carys, but in her ear said, “Once you left the tournament, I walked over to the archery area. A shooter would have to be quite skilled to hit the notches at the edges of the target with precision.”
“You give me too much credit, Lord Errik.” She forced a laugh as the crowd gasped at the jugglers, who had added more torches to their act and were throwing them back and forth. “You seem to forget that with the final shot I missed the mark altogether.”
“Much to the dismay of the flower you skewered. While most people had eyes on the targets, I was watching you. You, Highness, missed so that Prince Andreus would win.”
Her stomach jumped and Carys looked around to make sure no one else heard Errik’s damning words.
Easing away from the crowd watching the fire throwers, she said, “Truly, Lord Errik, you give me far too much credit.”
“I am giving you more credit than you would like,” he said, taking her arm and steering her away from the edge of the dancing area. “Those are two different things.” Andreus was speaking with Elder Cestrum, Elder Ulrich, and several High Lords. Elder Ulrich looked her way. He followed her movements with his good eye while in the bright lights of the Hall the white filmy scar across his other eye appeared to glow.
“Unfortunately, I am not the only one who saw what you wished to hide. Others now realize you have secrets, Highness. Some may want to use them—use you—to their advantage. Others might want to bury those secrets altogether. I’m sure you realize this is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“I’m not playing,” she insisted. “And I don’t need a man to explain my position to me, Lord Errik.”