Chapter 15

Seraphina had been awake for several minutes, but she hadn’t opened her eyes, afraid of what might happen if she did. It seemed safer to pretend to be unconscious; maybe he’d get bored and leave.

But then the stranger had taken her wrist and pushed back her glove with such gentleness, touching a tentative fingertip to a bruise there so softly it didn’t hurt, that she was no longer afraid. She was as vulnerable as a person could be and he hadn’t tried anything malicious. If anything, he’d been astonishingly thoughtful, covering her in his cloak and placing his coat beneath her head.

The question was: Who in the bloody hell was he? She’d thought he was a monster when she first saw him, a giant, hulking crow-beast. But now she could see it was just a plague mask covered in mud—clumps of it had gotten in his hair, and there were sooty smears on his face—and a fur cloak. He didn’t look anything like a prince, but then, he’d just made a long journey to get here. Who knew what horrors he’d faced? Because it had to be the prince, didn’t it? Who else would even know to come here?

When his eyes began to travel over the rest of her body, she lifted her head and opened her eyes all the way.

“Who are you?” She sifted through her mind for the name of the Prince of Pilmand. “Prince Martin?”

He stared back at her blankly, and for a moment she wondered if he spoke English. What language did they speak in Pilmand? Pilmandian? Pilmandish? Was she expected to spend the rest of her life with someone she couldn’t talk to?

But finally, he cleared his throat and offered her a hand. “I’m so sorry I frightened you. Can you stand?”

“I think so.” She took his hand and let him help her to her feet, because she was still a little wobbly from the wine and the fall. She waited for him to say something, but he only looked around the room anxiously.

He seemed awfully unsure of himself for a prince. “I’m Princess Imogen,” she said. As she curtsied, she realized her halo was missing and bent down to retrieve it. “Where is your retinue?”

“I’m afraid there was a terrible accident. We were set upon by wolves. Everyone else was killed.”

She gasped and threw a hand over her mouth. “That’s terrible! Have the animals gotten so bold over the years?”

“Indeed they have. The woods are not as safe as they once were. The world has changed very much in your absence, Your Highness.”

He didn’t look at all how she’d imagined, but underneath the soot and soiled clothing, she could see that he was handsome, with dark, intelligent eyes, a strong jaw, and the healthy complexion of someone who had spent time out of doors. “You must be exhausted. Come, meet the king. He’ll be so delighted to find you here. We had all but given up hope that you’d make it.”

“I can’t present myself to the king like this,” he said, gesturing to his clothing. “And if my costume causes maidens to faint, I should probably do something about that as well.”

She laughed. “I didn’t faint. I was frightened, but it was the wine that caused the fall.”

“I nearly forgot. You’re celebrating. Happy birthday, Your Highness.”

She searched his brown eyes until he looked away. “Thank you.” She realized they were still holding hands and she slipped free of his grasp, getting her bearings. The room didn’t look so frightening anymore. “Come with me. I’ll find you a costume and a proper mask. Then we can introduce you to the king.”

He followed her to her princess chambers, where she left him in a room full of half-drunk wineglasses, discarded petticoats, and an embarrassment of fainting sofas. She returned a few minutes later with new clothing to find him rummaging through a little glass dish full of mismatched buttons.

“I see you’ve found my button collection,” she said. She set the pile of clothing on a sofa and came to stand next to him. “They’re silly, I know.” She held out her hand and he placed a small wooden button he’d been examining into her palm. The bruises on her wrist were garishly green in the candlelight, but there was no sense in covering them now, when he’d already seen them.

“What are they from?” he asked, indicating the buttons.

But she was staring at his hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch from a nail by the window. They were boarded up, I take it?”

“Until today.” She went to a dresser and pulled open a drawer, returning a moment later with a fine hand-embroidered handkerchief. She pressed it to his wound, and he stared at her with his mouth slightly agape. A princess was probably supposed to be squeamish.

When she was satisfied the bleeding had stopped, she dipped the kerchief in a water basin and wiped away the excess blood. “I found you something else to wear.” She gestured to the folded pile of dark clothing. On top was a proper mask of black porcelain, though one with a long nose reminiscent of his plague doctor’s mask.

“Thank you.” He picked up the mask, turning it over in his hands. “How have you all managed to survive in the castle for so long, Your Highness?”

Seraphina sat down on one of the sofas. If there was any way to respond without making them all sound cruel and selfish, she didn’t know it. “My father collected supplies from all his subjects, then barred the doors.”

“And the subjects? What of them?”

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, images of her parents and Dalia flooding her mind. “I imagine they suffered greatly.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Yes, I imagine they did.”

Her cheeks heated at the implication in his tone as guilt, shame, and defensiveness welled within her. She couldn’t bite her tongue fast enough. “Things are not what they seem at Eldridge Hall, Prince Martin. I implore you to remember that.”

He started. “Is that a threat, Your Highness?”

“A warning.”

“Then I should warn you, Princess, that things are not what they seem outside the castle, either. The world is greatly changed since you locked yourself inside these walls.”

She rose, lifting her chin despite the shame still washing over her. “Please, get changed and I will take you to the king. He will be eager to meet you, and I am eager to get something into my belly other than sparkling wine. They’re serving swan, I believe.”

***

Seraphina thought she knew what noblemen’s hands felt like: as smooth as her butter-soft leather slippers. But the stranger’s hands were rough and callused, his skin browned in the places where the sun would have touched it. As they neared the dining room, he tensed beside her. She placed a reassuring hand on his forearm and felt that it was corded with muscle beneath his shirt. Whatever life in Pilmand had been like these past few years, it was very different from Eldridge Hall. Perhaps nobility in Pilmand weren’t afraid of a bit of hard labor.

She wished she had asked him more about the world outside, but that would have to wait until the king was tucked in bed. He may have been willing to invite a stranger to the castle to marry his favorite daughter, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear about the man-eating wolves and suffering outside the castle walls. If, in his fantasy world, the plague had never existed at all, then Prince Martin himself would need to tread carefully. She was just grateful she’d recovered her own wits by the time the prince found her—or that her fall had knocked them back into her. If they’d crossed paths earlier in the evening, before she’d sobered up, she would have told him anything he’d wished to know, including her secrets.

When they entered the room, the clinking of cutlery and hum of chatter came to a halt as everyone stopped to look at them. Seraphina beamed brightly and walked straight to the king.

“Look, Father. I’ve found my birthday surprise. Prince Martin has made it to us. It’s a true miracle.”

She could feel the prince’s eyes on her, but she had no idea what was going through his head.

The king rose and the prince bowed smoothly. “Your Majesty,” he said as he straightened. “I am so pleased to meet you, finally.”

“Prince Martin! We are delighted to have you!” The king pulled him into an embrace. “Please, have a seat. You must tell us about your journey. We were beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

King Stuart gestured to the two empty seats beside him, saved for the prince and Seraphina. “Please, sit.”

“I’m afraid the journey was not a pleasant one,” the prince said. “We were attacked by a pack of wolves. The rest of my party was killed. It’s a miracle I made it here at all, as Princess Imogen said.”

Seraphina steeled herself and watched the king closely, to see how he would react to such news, but he only nodded. “Well, we are certainly happy you did make it,” the king said. “We held this masquerade as much for you as we did for my darling Genny. I’m so glad she found you first. I’m sure you’re already as enchanted with her as the rest of us.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Oh yes, Your Majesty. She is charming, indeed.”

Something in his tone rang of insincerity, though the king was as oblivious as always. She turned to her other side, where Henry was sitting. “Allow me to introduce you to Prince Martin,” she said. “Prince Martin, Lord Greymont.”

Henry inclined his head, but he barely managed to suppress the scowl twisting his mouth. Seraphina almost felt sorry for him, after she’d offered him hope. But nothing was set in stone yet. She wasn’t sure the prince would want to marry her, once he got to know her better. Clearly, he disapproved of the court’s behavior, though she couldn’t blame him for that.

“Please, Prince Martin, tell us about Pilmand. I had heard yours was a pale and fair-haired people, owing to the climate in your country.” Henry stared pointedly at the stranger’s dark hair.

“Like Goslind, our people vary in appearance. Tell me, have you studied Pilmand much?”

“No more than any other country.”

Prince Martin smiled. “Ah, I see. That explains your confusion.”

“You misunderstand me. I have studied the history and geography of our continent quite thoroughly. We’ve had four years with not much in the way of diversion. Aside from our company in the castle, of course,” Henry added with a smirk at Seraphina.

The prince’s lip curled in barely concealed disdain. “I beg your pardon. Diversion hasn’t been high on my list of priorities lately.”

Seraphina had been enjoying watching the men posture while she ate the delicacies brought to her by the servants, but she didn’t appreciate Henry’s insinuation that she was merely a recreational activity for him. She cleared her throat loudly.

Henry deflated a little and turned back to the prince. “I wonder if you can tell us more about the world outside the castle walls, Prince Martin.”

Seraphina wanted to kick him under the table, her gaze darting pointedly to the king, but fortunately, he was dozing.

The prince fixed his dark eyes on Seraphina, and for some reason she flushed. His words, and his glances, were more frank than any she’d experienced here in the castle, including Henry’s. “We can talk about that another time. It’s Princess Imogen’s birthday, after all. We should be celebrating.”

The king perked up suddenly. “Celebrating! Yes! Come, let us return to the ballroom for a while. My daughter only turns twenty once.”

Seraphina almost laughed at the irony. She had misplaced her mask, and her wings were long forgotten, but she took the prince’s arm and escorted him to the white room. She was glad he didn’t don his own mask. Every time she saw it, she remembered the moment she’d first encountered him in the great hall and shuddered.

Why didn’t he come through the front door? she wondered. Most men here would have sauntered right up, expecting a retinue to greet them upon arrival. And he was a prince. Why sneak in like a thief in the night? Unless he was afraid of them, too. Perhaps he’d wanted a chance to suss them out before revealing himself.

She was surprised he’d even found the door to the clock. Was it so obvious from outside the castle? If so, they were fortunate no one else had snuck into the castle all these years.

“Tell me, Princess Imogen,” he said as they took their places on the dance floor. “What is it like to be the king’s favorite daughter?” His eyes traveled to Giselle, who was preparing to dance with the king. She was glaring at Seraphina, not even bothering to hide her annoyance.

Seraphina arched an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m his favorite?”

“Rumors.”

“All the way in Pilmand? I had no idea I was so famous.” Seraphina placed her hand on the prince’s shoulder, once again noticing with a shock how much bigger he was than Henry, who had always seemed so solid and strong to her; his transformation, like all of theirs, had been slow.

She scanned the room and found Nina giggling at something Lord Basilton whispered in her ear. Rose was standing with her attendants, gossiping, no doubt. “My sisters are happy so long as the king is happy,” she said finally.

“And what about you?” the stranger asked, his eyes meeting hers. “Are you happy?”

Seraphina blinked. In four years not a single person had asked her if she was happy. What a ridiculous notion, that she could be happy in circumstances such as hers. She remembered his finger against her bruised wrist and wondered what he’d made of it, what he’d made of a spoiled girl having a ridiculously lavish birthday party while the outside world rotted.

Henry watched her from across the room, his eyes large in his too-thin face, and she wondered, if she stood next to the girl she’d been four years ago—the last time she’d been happy—would she even recognize herself?

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” she asked Prince Martin as the musicians began to play. “I’m a princess.”

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