Chapter 11

On the morning of her birthday masquerade, Seraphina woke with a start. Crocheted daisies drifted off her bed like cherry blossoms in a breeze. It took her a moment to recognize them from Jocelyn’s dress, which she had “altered” last night, removing nearly two-thirds of the daisies one by one with a pair of embroidery scissors, keeping only the flowers that accentuated the bosom and hips. The bonnet she hid under her bed, and the mask was stripped of all but one daisy at the right temple. The bee followed the bonnet under the bed. With a needle and thread, she made subtle tucks and adjustments, finally removing two of the lace petticoats that made the gown so unfashionably large.

Today was the day, she realized. The day they’d finally get to watch the sunrise.

Seraphina dressed quickly, wincing at the cold stone on her feet as she flew down the stairs. She donned her slippers and skipped her way to the princesses’ chambers, where Rose and Nina sat bleary-eyed and grumpy at their vanities while their maids bustled around them.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Rose mumbled. “It’s just a sunrise.”

“Something you haven’t seen in four years,” Seraphina reminded her. “And if you two don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss it.”

Finally, after much folderol, they were deemed suitable for company, and they made their way through the castle together.

The king’s decorations for Seraphina’s birthday ball were bizarre, to say the least. Seven seemingly random chambers were swathed in silks of various colors: cobalt blue, a purple as deep as the skin of an aubergine, a rich forest green, marigold orange, snow white, and a shade of violet Seraphina thought of as twilight.

The final chamber was the great hall itself, and it was enshrouded in plush black velvet. The perfume of black calla lilies and burgundy-black roses filled the air. Seraphina had no idea where any of it had come from, but she couldn’t deny its strange beauty. The ebony clock stood at the end of the dark hall like a sentry, counting down the minutes until three o’clock.

It was so dim, even lit by torches, that it took a moment for Seraphina to find the king, surrounded as he was by eager nobles hoping for a front-row view of the sunrise. But others hung back, clearly not as excited about what they might find when the boards came down.

“Ah, there you are! Happy birthday, Genny,” the king said when Seraphina reached his side.

“Thank you, Father.”

“I must admit I don’t see why you’re so eager to watch the sunrise, especially when I’ve taken such care on the decorations...” He gestured to the wall of black curtains obscuring the boarded-up window.

“I know, but it means so much to me,” Seraphina said with a sweet smile. When he proffered his cheek, she leaned in to kiss it, pinching her wrist hard below her waist.

He gazed at her adoringly. “Very well, my dear. Guards?” The king motioned for the men to step forward. They pulled back the black curtains, revealing the heavy wooden boards that had been hammered into the large window frame so long ago. Wielding crowbars, the men set to work.

Several minutes passed before they were finished, and a collective hush fell over the crowd. For a moment there was nothing but the reflection of all their pale faces and torchlight in the glass, which had shattered in several places.

And then everyone gasped in unison. Seraphina’s own breath caught as the sun peeked over the top of the castle wall, as warm and yellow as freshly churned butter.

Tears filled Seraphina’s eyes, and she blinked them away rapidly, not wanting to miss a moment. She didn’t realize Greymont was standing next to her until he spoke.

“I’d forgotten,” he breathed. “I’d completely forgotten.”

They stood side by side, watching as dawn flooded the castle courtyard, chasing away the remnants of the night. The grass was turning brown at the coming of winter, but in the early-morning sun, it appeared golden. Too quickly, the orange yolk of the sun tugged itself free from the top of the wall. It was all over in a matter of moments, and when it was finished, Greymont’s hand found Seraphina’s among the folds of her skirt. His hand was warm and firm, and fresh tears sprang up in her eyes.

It wasn’t a romantic gesture. It was a physical expression of the emotional connection they had just shared: two people watching the sunrise for the first time in nearly four years. But as her tears dried and the sun continued its ascent, Seraphina became conscious of his thumb stroking the back of her hand, and she pulled away.

She turned to find the nobles milling restlessly. Then she noticed the king, standing just a few feet behind her, his mouth pressed in a firm white line while the rest of his face flushed scarlet.

For a moment she was sure he’d seen Greymont touching her, and an explanation was already forming on the tip of her tongue. But then she realized he was staring beyond her, at a skeleton sprawled on the grass, a rock in its outstretched hand.

Oh, God. She’d made a terrible mistake. She was used to the view from her tower to the fields beyond the walls. But the king couldn’t see that the outside world was safe from here. All he could see was what lay between Eldridge Hall and the wall separating them from freedom: a courtyard strewn with skeletons and refuse, flanked by the gallows constructed for deserters.

Suddenly, she wished she could take Greymont’s hand again. He’d promised to stand behind her, no matter what her father said. But he’d vanished from her side just as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Replace the boards immediately!” the king bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. “Whoever removed them will be hanged for treason!”

The guards shuffled uneasily, not wanting to take responsibility for removing the boards in the first place.

As if on cue, Giselle, who had been conspicuously absent just a few minutes ago, materialized at her father’s side. “Don’t you remember, Father? This was Imogen’s birthday wish.” Giselle’s green eyes narrowed a fraction as her gaze met Seraphina’s. “You did all of this for her.”

“Why? Why did she want this?” he asked, blinking at his second eldest daughter like a lost lamb.

“Because it reminds me of Mother,” Seraphina blurted, her pulse pounding in her ears. If she didn’t phrase this perfectly, she didn’t know what the king would do. “Aurora means dawn, after all.”

She watched the king’s eyes closely, afraid to see the vicious clarity return, but they remained clouded and confused. “My Aurora. Yes, she did love to watch the sunrise...”

As Giselle escorted the king away, the guards made their own hasty retreat, and the relieved nobles began to make their way to the dining room for breakfast.

As the room emptied, Seraphina sniffed back her tears, still searching for Greymont. He’d promised her that other people wanted this, that they would help convince the king it was time to leave Eldridge. But no one had stood beside her, least of all Greymont.

Her silly, pathetic excuse for a plan had failed miserably. All she’d succeeded in doing was reminding everyone how bad things had gotten before the king boarded up the windows; how close the castle had come to being breached. The banquet tonight would be a false reassurance to them all that things here were just fine. They were never going to leave.

Would Greymont even want to leave now? If not, she was doomed. She certainly couldn’t count on some mythical prince to arrive and save her. No doubt the prince from Pilmand had all been part of the king’s delusion.

Jocelyn, seeing Seraphina’s distress, took her arm and patted it gently.

Seraphina allowed Jocelyn to lead her to the dining room. The king had insisted they save the majority of the food for the masquerade, so their breakfast was particularly meager. The porridge was thinned near to water and the cuts of cured meat seemed parchment-fine. Even the king himself was gaunt in a way Seraphina hadn’t noticed before. She watched him eat, wondering if it was just her imagination that his cheeks seemed hollower. The movement of the joint in his jaw entranced her as he worked on a piece of stale bread.

She was still rattled from her utter disaster of a birthday gift, but at least the king seemed to have forgotten. Giselle sat close by his side, whispering reassurances into his ear.

Seraphina startled when someone cleared their throat next to her. Greymont had taken his seat.

“What happened to you earlier?” she whispered, hoping there was some explanation for his abandoning her.

He remained facing forward. “I didn’t think you wanted me there.”

“Why?” she hissed.

“You dropped my hand. I assumed it was because of your...”

“My what?”

His eyes darted to her. “Your engagement to the Prince of Pilmand.”

A cold sweat prickled Seraphina’s back. She had assumed no one else knew about her betrothal. The only person she’d told was Jocelyn. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter? I thought it was a lie, but then when you dropped my hand before the king, I started to question everything. Perhaps I don’t know you at all.”

She studied his profile, trying to determine if Greymont was saddened by this news or merely disappointed that his grand plans were dashed. He wanted her, and perhaps he felt he needed her, but she didn’t believe that he loved her.

“Do you really think this prince exists?” she pressed. “We just witnessed my father’s utter breakdown at the reality of what lies beyond these walls. Even if he did somehow get word to Pilmand, he would never allow a stranger in.”

Greymont gave a noncommittal grunt.

“I’m disappointed in you,” she said after a moment. Perhaps appealing to his vanity would help. “I didn’t think you were the kind of man to give up so easily.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I’m not. Not if something is worth fighting for.”

“Am I worth fighting for?” she murmured.

His lips curled in one of his cocky grins as their eyes locked, sparking something low in Seraphina’s belly. “Yes, Princess, I think you are.”

She released her breath quietly, feeling some of the fear leave her. All hope was not lost, and he hadn’t even seen her in her birthday gown yet. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders just like she’d been taught. After tonight he wouldn’t just think she was worth it.

He would know it.

The masquerade would start just before sunset, but until then Seraphina would stay in her room with her sisters and their ladies. There was no great surprise now; she’d already seen all the decorations, and though bizarre, they were well suited to the madness of the affair. There was an undeniable tension in the air, and even she couldn’t help feeling a little thrill of excitement as she joined her sisters.

“Happy birthday, Imogen!” Rose said as Seraphina entered the room. She sat in her chemise and corset, her maid pinning up her hair in long coils. Silk roses lay in a pile on the vanity. “All the real ones are wilting,” Rose said with a pout. “But these will look just as pretty, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Seraphina said, joining Jocelyn on a sofa. Jocelyn was reading, but she set her book aside when Seraphina sat down.

Jocelyn’s dress was still on its form, looking much more fashionable after Seraphina’s alterations. Nina was dressed in her chemise, corset, and silk robe, examining her complexion in a hand mirror. A seamstress was attending to her dress.

“Did something happen?” Seraphina asked, nodding at the gown.

“I’ve lost so much weight in the last week it has to be taken in,” Nina said with a frown. “I swear my bosom has shrunk.”

Jocelyn smiled knowingly. “She plans on getting an offer of marriage today. Her entire future rests on the size of her bosom, apparently.”

“I doubt Lord Basilton will notice,” Rose said.

“Then you haven’t been paying attention to our interactions.” Nina squeezed her corset a little tighter. “His eyes rarely travel above my neck. Which seems such a pity.” She blew a kiss to herself in the mirror.

Lord Basilton was rich, or he had been once. He was handsome enough, and not as arrogant as some of the other nobles. But if King Stuart had chosen a prince for his youngest daughter, he was never going to allow Nina, the heir to the throne, to marry a mere duke. Seraphina felt it wasn’t her place to remind Nina of that, and with her so happy, Seraphina didn’t have the heart to tell her anyway.

“We should start getting you ready,” Jocelyn said to Seraphina with a grave expression. “We’ve only got three hours before your grand entrance.”

Seraphina laughed but walked dutifully to her vanity, where a maid was waiting with brushes and cosmetics. When she was finished styling Seraphina’s hair, she produced a bowl of pearl-and diamond-studded pins and downy white feathers, which she arranged artfully throughout. The gold circlet from the king was placed on the crown of her head last.

The dress itself was easy enough to wear; the style didn’t require all the squeezing and fastening that Nina’s did. Seraphina would wait to put on the wings until the last minute. They were quite heavy and would make it impossible to sit.

Finally, the clock struck three o’clock and the ladies finished readying themselves. Seraphina would make her appearance at the top of the stairs leading down to the white chamber, where the king and the rest of the lords and ladies would be waiting. She took one last look in the mirror as Jocelyn tied the golden ribbons of her mask, and started.

Behind her the reflection of a portrait of the real Imogen watched her with mournful eyes. Her gaze flicked back to herself, and for one unsettling moment it was as if she were looking at Princess Imogen’s ghost.

What would the king see when he saw her descend the stairs? His daughter as an angel in heaven, with her halo atop her auburn hair and her wings outstretched behind her willowy, pale limbs? Or simply a Jewish girl in a costume, one in desperate need of a good meal?

Whether or not the prince arrived, or she escaped with Lord Greymont, how long could she keep up this charade outside Eldridge Hall? She had lived as a fraud for nearly four years. Did she mean to die as one, too?

Her sisters began their descent, leaving Seraphina alone at the top of the stairs. She was hidden in the shadows of the hall, but from here, she could see down to the bottom. The white room was a ballroom, with polished wooden floors and crystal chandeliers hanging down from a ceiling painted like the heavens: blue sky, billowy white clouds, pink cherubs trailing flower garlands. The room seemed almost painfully bright from here.

Seraphina’s mouth dropped open as she realized that sometime in the past few hours, the boards had been removed from all the windows.

It made no sense, not after the king’s reaction this morning. But she wasn’t imagining it. Afternoon sunlight flooded the room, and though the early-winter light was beautiful, the lords and ladies themselves were a disturbing sight. How gaunt they all were; how pale and insubstantial. Lord Greymont, standing near the king, was more than thin. He looked sickly. Her sisters, normally so vibrant, were sallow, their limbs as thin as birch branches.

She felt as if a veil had slipped from her eyes. How much had been hidden in the shadows for all these years?

A chill crept over her spine as someone sounded a gong, heralding her arrival and signaling to everyone assembled it was time to don their masks.

With her right hand gripping the balustrade, Seraphina descended the stairway as slowly and with as much dignity as she could manage. She hadn’t realized how weak she was until this moment, when hundreds of eyes in hundreds of upturned faces fell on her. She tried not to let her gaze linger too long on individuals. It helped that everyone was masked and she couldn’t recognize most of them from here, but a few expressions bled through: a woman whose upper lip was curled in what looked like a sneer of disgust; a leering man who had changed so much that Seraphina at first didn’t recognize him as Pottington, the once-portly lord at whom just weeks ago Lord Greymont had been casting jealous looks; the king, whose eyes shone bright with tears.

Hundreds of men and women, hundreds of different opinions and expectations, a multitude of dreams and nightmares...

All waiting for her.

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