She nods, face tight. “There are . . . options. I’ve heard of warlocks who could help me have a child. And a few noble families have daughters they thought were boys at birth, so they might . . . But I’ve never met them, and Mama never would have paid for me to travel across the empire just for that.”
Neither of us says the rotten truth aloud: Dame von Falbirg emptied coffers for the pearls readily enough.
“Knowing your mother, she’d say you did it on purpose just to make her life harder,” I say instead. “Likethat’show it works.” I still avoid looking at her, focusing instead on bundling heavy woolen leggings over my stockings. It’s hardly an elegant way to hide the rubies, but nobody expects elegance from a chambermaid anyway. Especially not in this cold. “When did you know?”
Gisele’s shoulders hunch, so much so I see it from the corner of my eye. “When Irmgard visited. I just remember seeing her for the first time, and thinking that that was how the prince felt in fairy tales, right? When he sees the princess for the first time. She was so pretty, and funny, and Mama liked her so much . . . And then she turned out to be a nightmare.”
No wonder Gisele fell for Ragne. It’s the same reason Ragne was the first new person I’d call a friend: Ragne loves who she loves without question, without games. “You chose better this time,” I say stiffly. “Granted, if you hurt Ragne, you know I will make this last year seem like a romp in the countryside.”
Gisele lets out a startled laugh. It’s not angry disbelief, more surprise. Then she smiles and says, with more steel in her voice than I’ve ever heard, “Likewise.”
A knock rattles the door. I tap my cheek and whisper, “Ruby!” Then I go to answer.
Trudl is there, flanked by another maid. “The Prince and Dame von Falbirg wish to tell Her Ladyship that they have concluded their luncheon and will be proceeding to her parlor shortly. A tea service is on its way.”
“Please be sure to includepfeffernüszenfor my mother,” Gisele calls over my shoulder, one hand pressing the ruby to her face as the glue sets. “Thank you!”
Trudl looks a little baffled at the thanks, but bobs a curtsy and hurries off. I close the door. “By the way, they all think my name is Marthe. It’s a long story. Come on, I’ll take you to the parlor.”
This proves to be another mistake. The moment I open the door ahead of Gisele, the prince and dame light up.
“Oh, my littleRohtpfenni! How good it is to see you well!” Dame von Falbirg presses a hand to her heart. “Why don’t you stay and serve the tea? It will be just like old times.”
“She has work to do, Mama,” Gisele says quickly.
“Nonsense, what could be more important than family? I’ll hear no argument.” The dame flicks her hand to dismiss the attendant posted by the door.
The attendant hesitates, looking to Gisele.
Gisele doesn’t know how to parse it at first, and I realize she has never once been the mistress of a castle. Not here, not Castle Falbirg.
“It’s no trouble, Princess Gisele,” I grit between my teeth.
The dame gives another thin smile. “Of course it isn’t.”
Gisele swallows. Then she nods to the attendant, who bows and leaves, shutting the parlor door behind them.
“Thetea, Vanja,” barks the dame, and miserable instinct takes over. It’s so much easier to be quiet, to just do as they ask, no matter how it chafes.
The tea is poured: cream and honey for the prince, a splash of cream for the dame—
Dame von Falbirg wrinkles her nose. “Too much, Vanja. Do it again.”
“I’ll take it.” Gisele plucks the teacup away before her mother can refuse. “That’s how I like it these days.”
I get it right the second time. Then I retreat to the corner of the room to wait.
Unbidden, I hear Emeric’s words from last night:It wouldn’t excuse how I treated you. Or how the von Falbirgs did.
I wish I could stop thinking about him. I wish I didn’tlikethinking about him.
I can’t understand it. By the cold numbers, I should be almost as afraid of Emeric as I am of Adalbrecht. They’ve both threatened me, hurt me; what does it matter if one did it in the name of duty, and one did it out of hunger?
But the difference, I suppose, is the amnesty nestled in my own pocket. Emeric’s had chances to hurt me again, especially with every scar I bared last night. Instead he showed me his own, armed me with ways to hurt him, too, so we would be even. He gave up power over me so I would feel safer.
If Adalbrecht knew even one of the wounds I hide, he would use it to hunt me down. Emeric knows so many of mine, and he chooses to help.
Whatever this game is between us, it doesn’t play by the rules of the trinity of want. It isn’t about servitude, it isn’t a hunt. It’s a dance. We’re on even ground; I’m not afraid to lose. And that makes all the difference.
