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Glad for the practice? We aren’t forbidden from having dalliances, and yet it feels so cold, so calculated, almost as if the guards and substitutes were instructed to seduce us. A bitter taste settles in my mouth, while the rough stone prickles my hands.
Was it what I did, when Commander Rowe was here with the Tirenzy prince? Was I practicing, in case I got picked for a marriage alliance? Was I practicing to warm some foreign king’s bed?
But I don’t even think they’ll choose me for whatever they’re planning. I think they’d pick Sayanne or Tarlia. They’re beautiful and elegant, and won’t blush when they’re not supposed to. We can blush on cue, though, which is useful to show interest without being too direct. Ugh. I hate those classes.
They speak softly now, so I move closer to the window to try to catch their words, but there’s only silence. They haven’t left the study, though, since I didn’t hear steps or a door opening.
Then I hear… Oh, no.
See, I’ve always thought they were involved, and in my mind it was sweet, but it doesn’t mean I want to hear their moans. That’s nightmare inducing. Also, if they are involved, why do they keep it a secret? Why not get married? I climb up slowly, my head busy with new, confusing thoughts and questions.
Otavio is the most accomplished beauty master in the world. He can shape our noses, color our hair, give us creams to improve our skin. He even has drops for our eyes, to make them brilliant and captivating.
He treats the queen and has used his knowledge to shape us since childhood. I thought we were doing this to pretend to be Princess Driziely, even if I always suspected he molded her nose too, and perhaps colors her hair. Now, I’ve always known we could take her place in a dangerous situation, or in a marriage alliance when the goal is not really to have an alliance.
And yet, from their conversation, it seems he has some other plan, that it needs to be one of us. Then again, if the princess marries, we would be rendered useless, and so would Otavio and Andrezza. They might be simply trying to keep their positions in court.
No. Otavio would never be useless or out of work. He’s too good and his skill is worth a lot. In fact, he could be making a fortune serving other queens and kings. I always believed he remained here, in Krastel, because he had a higher goal.
Well, he has a goal, which is his plan. But what is it? And did I mishear it, or is he making the princess sick? Nausea stirs in my stomach.
Three months. At her birthday party. They plan to have one of us in her place. Then what? Invite many kings and hope we seduce one of them? It makes sense, makes a lot of sense if I add up everything they taught us. But my life will completely change, and I have no idea what’s going to happen. The thought makes me dizzy and I hold on tighter to the stones.
I don’t know anything anymore.
Plus, I never got close to the dictionary and have no idea when I’ll figure out what azalee means. Does that even matter, amidst so much?
Well, it was the only question with an easy answer.
No book will tell me why I’ve been dreaming about Marlak or explain what happened in that cave, and it’s not as if I can ask anyone. No book will tell me which of us will replace Driziely at her birthday party, which of us will have to entertain a foreign king in bed. I try to be relieved that it’s probably not going to be me, and yet, what’s going to happen once I’m rendered useless?
5
My bed feels cold and empty. Even before opening my eyes, I know he’s not here. The night is warm, but the satin sheets chill me, chill me in this room with cold marble walls and a huge bed—where I’m indeed alone.
I get up and step onto smooth mahogany planks, then cross a sitting room with white sheets covering chairs, sofas and tables. Large windows lead to a night sky partially covered by treetops.
Marlak’s on the balcony, staring ahead, wearing just linen trousers. Even in the dark of night, I can see the brilliant marks and drawings on the left side of his muscled back, while he hunches over, as if looking for something, looking for a solution.
“Husband,” I say.
He turns and smiles at me, but the corner of his lips and eyes are tight with tension. “I’m coming right back, azalee.” His hair is messy, but still beautiful, and he’s wearing golden earrings with crescents and stars.
“You’re worried.” I reach him and put a hand on his arm.
He nods and closes his eyes, then pulls me closer for a tight hug. I can hear his heart, saying so much in our shared silence, in our shared moment.
After a while, I look up at his face. “Did you get any news?”
This could be good or bad, and I hope it’s not his greatest fear. It can’t be, or he would be devastated, and I don’t sense any of that.
He takes a deep breath and runs a finger through my hair. “I think I know where the tower is.” His dark eyes are tense, his deep voice shaky.
I don’t know if I want to hear it, I don’t know if I’m ready to learn what dangerous land he’ll have to visit, but I try to lighten up his mood and smile. “I suppose it’s not in the Crystal Court, then?”
His lips form a line, anguish clear in his eyes. “It’s beyond the Pit of Death.”
My stomach knots and I fall into a pool of panic. Beyond? Beyond? How can it be? “Can anything survive there?”
