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CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
AIKA
Several hours pass before Remy speaks to me again.
“Only you would carry a monkey in a purse to a royal event.” His voice is quiet enough that only I can hear as we make our way down the hall.
My arm is linked in his, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the high ceilings and marble floors. Several onlookers are smiling at us, pleased by our display, still completely oblivious to the reality that haunts us.
I risk a glance up at Remy, but his features are carved into neutrality.
“Yes, you’ve made it abundantly clear how very unequipped I am for this role,” I murmur through my fake smile.
He stiffens, and I let out a slow sigh, wondering if I misread his intent.
In an effort to quell some of the strain between us, I try again.
“I couldn’t very well leave him in the room to be discovered,” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as I can. “Besides, I have it on good authority that non-menagerie purse-monkeys are all the rage these days.”
The humor is forced, but he relaxes slightly.
“They will be, if word ever gets out the princess is carrying one,” he remarks drily.
Quiet descends once more, just as suffocating as it was the first time around.
It’s been like this since our fight.
Terse silences only emphasized by the sound of the palace staff milling about our apartments, excitedly dressing us for our first royal engagement as a couple.
I don’t blame them. The gown is impressive, even by Madame’s standards.
Full skirts and a strapless, corseted bodice, all crimson and embroidered with diamonds to match the tiara resting in my hair. Black silk gloves stretch from my fingers to just past my elbows, and my wrists and neck are laden with onyx and rubies.
The flickering light of the sconces catches on the array of gemstones covering my person, refracting along the walls and Remy’s perfectly tailored obsidian suit.
I try to focus on these little details instead of the inscrutable looks he has been sending my way since I came out of my dressing room in this gown. It’s impossible to tell if he approves, or if he’s thinking about how preposterous it is to see me playing dress up as his precious royal bride.
“I just hope you have a good cover story for when he escapes and wreaks dangerous, terrifying havoc on the ceremony.” Remy’s deep voice sounds again, pulling me back from my thoughts.
“Of course, because a tiny, sleeping monkey is quite the threat we should be concerned about.” I roll my eyes, and a small huff of laughter escapes him in response, startling me.
“It’s always the tiny ones who surprise you.”
The words catch me off guard, almost playful, and I try not to read into their meaning.
Before we can say anything else, a few of the soldiers move a little closer to us, making room for the ones standing guard along the long hallway. Whatever semblance of privacy we had before effectively vanishes.
Security only increases as we get closer to the balcony. Even Lawrence is waiting for us, his captain’s uniform pristine crimson and black, his sword gleaming at his side, freshly sharpened and polished. He dips his head toward me in an acknowledgment that is no less wary for its sincerity.
A few of Katriane’s ladies-in-waiting stand by, taking the time to adjust the tiaras of the princesses—including mine—as well as adorn King Jean and Remy with their ceremonial crowns. Every member of the royal family is wearing various shades of crimson and black, the very portrait of Corentin.
When Jean finally walks out to the balcony, the crowd erupts in a thunderous roar. It takes several moments for the applause to die down so his voice can be heard over the celebratory cries of his people.
My stomach is in knots, twisting tighter and tighter together, in a way that has nothing to do with the sleeping monkey in my purse and everything to do with the crowd calling to us from two stories down.
Katriane gives Remy a worried look before squeezing his hand and joining his father on the balcony. The people clamor some more. Then it’s my and Remy’s turn. His youngest sister Gisele gives me a reassuring smile, while Margot and Chloé only assess me distantly.
I force my lips to return the smile and ignore the scrutinizing gazes of the older sisters as we move to stand next to his parents. The knots in my stomach are almost painful now as I listen to the deafening roar of the people.
