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He dips his head in a bow and turns to leave.
The maids have covered her in a thin crimson robe to match the one I’m wearing. She looks even less rested than before and more…fragile, with the dark purple circles under her eyes and the residual tremors she’s trying to hide.
Her fingers spasm around the handle of her teacup, clattering the porcelain against the plate with a soft scrape.
It strikes me that this likely isn’t the first time I have sat across from her after she has been tortured. I wonder if it will be the last. Was one night of punishment sufficient, or is this our lives now?
A series of late nights where she returns half-dead just in time to sleep off her recent bout of torture.
I would ask her, but I think she might be even less up to another argument than I am.
She still hasn’t said a word. I’ve seen her quiet before, but this level of silence is almost unnerving. It’s like she’s retreated entirely into herself.
One of the maids places a napkin in her lap and pours her a cup of bergamot tea. The crisp scent is supposed to be calming, but it doesn’t appear to be working on either of us.
Aika sniffs the cup and watches the light dance along the top of her glass before delicately taking a sip.Checking for poison again.
“You didn’t used to do that,” I comment quietly, breaking the tense silence between us.
She looks up at me, eyes wide. “There didn’t used to be a need.”
Because she’s a princess now? Or because she’s on Madame’s bad side?
I don’t ask, because she sounded like she had to fight to pull each syllable forth, like she’s exhausted just thinking about talking.
We don’t speak for the rest of the small meal, but her expression gradually morphs back into something close to her usual mask.
Still, she eyes the staff warily as they move throughout the room, changing our sheets, cleaning up yesterday’s meal tray, and refilling the whiskey decanter before beginning the task of packing up our things.
In light of Aika’s midnight escapades and our trek into the city, I had completely forgotten about the plans to move us to our new apartments today.
“Is the honeymoon over already?” Her voice sounds closer to normal now, and I’m unreasonably relieved by it.
“Of course not, my love,” I say for the sake of the staff, too tired to come up with a more ridiculous nickname. “We’re only moving it to our permanent residence tonight.”
She tilts her head in question, wrapping her lips around the bite of danish on her fork. It dawns on me how little she knows about the day-to-day aspects of our lives here.
It has not been explained to her.
Ihave not explained it to her.
Not that we’ve had time, really.
“With the concerns over our lives on our wedding night, we were kept in the most secure room of the palace until my family was sure the threat had passed,” I tell her, taking a sip of tea.
I don’t miss the sardonic lilt of her brow, and I roll my eyes.
In spite of how easily we had both escaped this room last night, and the way her sister had broken in the first night, it issupposedto be the most defensible room in the palace. Though, I am currently having plenty of doubts about our security measures in general.
Etienne was built with beauty in mind, not defensibility.
When the servants are finished packing, and all that’s left on our plates are mere crumbs, we follow them down the private halls—neither of us bothering to change from our robes—to our new apartments.
I suppose the sleeping late and disheveled appearance fits the facade of being on our honeymoon, judging by the way the maids snicker and blush as we pass. I’m happy to let them have their gossip.
It’s sure as hell better than the truth.
CHAPTERTWENTY
