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“Once a fucking year?” The King’s bellow startles me, and the monocled Benoit nearly jumps out of his skin. “Perhaps what you lack is not energy, girl, but the proper motivation.”
“I assure you, Sire—”
“Silence! Benoit, have this treasure thoroughly inspected and stowed in the treasury. You, guards—take the concubine back to her room. I’ve already chosen my entertainment for this evening, but tell Lady Reese to send her to my chambers tomorrow night. Once I see how she rides, I’ll think about how we can motivate her to greater productivity for her King.”
He sweeps out of the room without glancing at me.
As the guards come forward to escort me, I glance at Lady Kessalif—a wordless appeal, woman to woman. In Rupert’s absence, she might be the only one who can help me.
But she only averts her eyes and glides out of the room.
I cannot fathom how she can watch while the King treats other women this way—not when she has the ability to wield magic. She could stop him if she wanted to. So why doesn’t she?
Whatever her motives may be, it’s clear she won’t interfere with the King’s command. So I’m on my own again.
I watch for Rupert as I’m returned to the House of Bounty and hustled through its hallways, but I don’t see him. Where could he be? Is he alright? Maybe someone figured out his true identity and they’re torturing him… goddess, that’s an awful thought.
“There will be a communal breakfast for the concubines this morning,” says one of the guards as they usher me into my bedroom. “Your maid will prepare you for it.”
As the door closes, I glance at the peacock clock. It’s very early in the morning—a couple hours after dawn. The King must have been very eager to see the result of my labor, to bestir himself so early.
My bedroom door opens again, and my stomach flips over, my insides thrilling—but it isn’t Rupert. I didn’t really think it would be him, but my stupid body reacted anyway. Silly of me.
Instead, it’s my maid, the one who prepared me for the audience with the King.
“I’m back!” I assume the best smile I can manage, given my weariness. “Not dead yet.”
Her mouth twitches like she’s about to smile.
“Apparently I have to attend breakfast with the other concubines,” I say. “While you help me prepare, we can go over some of the letters in Elvensign.”
She nods, and I teach her the first ten letters while she helps me wash up, braids my hair, and presents me with the outfit I’ve been assigned for the day. It’s a cream-colored dress with lavender-and-gold embroidery, and I like it even better than the dress I wore to court.
As she’s changing out my earrings, the maid touches my neck and looks at me quizzically.
“Oh… my mother’s necklace.” I touch the spot where the pendant used to lie against my skin. “I—I lost it.”
The maid gives me a look of rueful sympathy.
“It’s alright. Let’s go over the letters one more time! Hopefully soon you’ll be able to spell your name for me.”
She shrugs, her mouth tightening. The meaning is clear—her name doesn’t matter.
“I like to know my friends’ names,” I tell her gently. “Thank you for your help today.”
Her expression softens, and with careful fingers she signs four letters. B-E-D-E.
“Bede,” I say. “That’s your name?”
With a confirming dip of her head, she glides out of the room. There’s a quiet grace in her movements, too—the elegance of someone bred for a life of nobility and wealth. But it’s more than that, in her case. There’s a palpable strength about her—a spirit the palace hasn’t managed to snuff out yet, despite years of mistreatment.
Less than half an hour later, I’m summoned for breakfast. A silent manservant escorts me to an immense dining room furnished with a U-shaped table that can seat at least three dozen people, from what I can tell. There are smaller circular tables along one end of the room, and more tables outside on the terrace. A soft breeze skims through tall doors that stand open to the gardens, and the room shimmers with the pure golden light of morning.
Many of the concubines are already seated, but more enter at the same time I do. A few stride in boldly, heads held high—others sidle in with nervous glances and take their seats quickly, as if eager to escape notice.
I spot Shenya and make my way to an empty seat near her. She’s talking animatedly to another concubine on her right, but she keeps stealing glances across the table at Nerith, the young noblewoman with the lavender hair and the scarlet eyes. It doesn’t take me long to notice that whenever Shenya looks away, Nerith glances in her direction.
I’ve seen plenty of couples in the early stages of attraction, right before it blooms into romance. I like to think I’ve encouraged several successful connections by providing one or both parties with delicious gifts to offer the other. Watching two people sneak longing looks at each other when they aren’t flirting or fighting has always delighted me—but here, in this place, it terrifies me, for their sakes. I can’t imagine the King looking kindly upon romances between his concubines.
