I crouched and ran my fingers over the floor. There were gouges in the wooden boards where the chairs or table had been dragged around, and the edges of the table were worn to bare wood. The room had definitely been used. But what for? And why had it been abandoned?
The space was too small to hold much treasure. So why would a prince need a secret room in his own palace? He could use any other space and simply keep the key to himself. Either he hadn’t wanted anyone to know what was happening in here, or someone else was using it and wanted to keep the prince unaware.
I checked the table’s legs and underside for notes or nooks but found none. Then I climbed the ladder and checked the shelves and wall behind for another secret panel. No panel, but I found a single dusty volume, apparently missed when the room was cleared out.
I climbed down, placed the book on the table, and flicked a dead silverfish off the cover. Disappointment flared again when I opened it. There was writing, but it wasn’t in a language I recognized. I flipped carefully through in case the writer had addedsketches that explained the text. But there were none. Just dense, cramped writing and occasional tea stains and singed edges.
The most disappointing of secret rooms was the room that held no secrets. Sometimes the hunt was more fun than the catch.
While I wasn’t giving up on the possibility that a secret was lurking somewhere, it was at least aprivateroom. A place where I could escape to, away from palace eyes. I trusted the prince—at least a little—but I was inside a palace, which was inside a wall patrolled by guards. His servants—kind as they were—prepared my baths, my food, my clothing, adjusted things in my room. This was his domain, and he was in control.
Here, at least, I could have the freedom of privacy. That wasn’t nothing.
I put the book back where I’d found it—safe from a casual search should anyone else get here first—and gave the room one last look. Then I blew out the candles, leaving the candelabra behind for my next visit, and slipped out again.
When I returned to my room some hours later, I found Talia pacing outside. “Finally,” she said, her shoulders slumping in relief. “You have to hurry. We’re late as it is.”
“Late for what?”
“The prince’s arrival celebration.”
I’d forgotten about the damned party. I shifted my gaze to the window. “The sun’s not even down yet. We have plenty of time.”
She stared at me. “Have you never been to a party?”
I guessed getting drunk on cheap sweetwine in an alley behind the market didn’t count. “No.”
“Right. Well, there’s a process.” She looked me over. “We have a lot to do.”
“Ouch,” I muttered as she marched to my door like a general preparing to lead troops and went inside. I glanced at Pax, who was back on duty outside. He just shrugged.
Inside, Talia stood in front of the bed, where an array of clothes had been laid out. “Chemise,” she said, naming them all in turn like weapons prepared for battle. “Drawers. Stockings. Petticoat.”
There was more clothing than there was of me. “I’m supposed to wear all of that?”
“In the order I named. Then the dress. All your necessaries will be covered.”
I glanced at her, brows lifted. “Who are you trying to keep out of my necessaries?”
She choked down a laugh and was saved from answering by a knock at the door. It opened, and Orda, who’d helped in the bathing room my first night in the palace, trudged in carrying a looking glass that she placed on the table. Another servant followed, carrying a mass of fabric in a soft green not far from the color of my eyes. The bodice was square, the sleeves long and fitted, and the skirt voluminous. The fabric had a wavy weave that shifted and shone as the servant carried it and placed it carefully onto the bed.
“Thank you, Maeve,” Orda said, then looked me over. “We’ve a lot to do.”
These clothes belonged on someone else, not me. Not constricting my movements and hampering my ability to run. I bore down hard against the rising panic. “Is there really a point to all this?”
“The public hasn’t yet seen the prince,” Talia said. “He needs to make an appearance, put the rumors to rest. He’s alive. He’s healthy. He’s in charge now. Rumors can be as dangerous to a royal as a sharp dagger. Weakness begets trouble.”
“But it’s not even my party. I’m a servant and a palace visitor, and no one is going to care what I look like.”
“The prince will care,” Orda said.
That had heat flashing across my cheeks. “Why would he care?”
“He can’t have palace guests looking drab, can he? They’re, what do you call them?”
“Representatives,” Talia said, pulling a wooden chair in front of the looking glass and pointing at it.
“Representatives,” Orda said with a nod. “You’re going to be representing all of us. So you’d best look good.”
