Page 10 of Poisoned Empire

“Ignore him if he has not been properly introduced. Deny him my attentions if his title is illustrus or nobilissimus,” Iliana answered.

“Correct. Now laugh.”

The lesson continued until long after Iliana’s facial muscles were screaming in agony and laughter had lost all meaning. When Diodora departed, it was a relief, even as a wooden bar was placed across her door to shut her in.

Tomorrow, they were headed to the capital.

Had Iliana focused solely on her own terror these past weeks, she might’ve simply thought her half-sisters dull, submissive and accustomed to taking abuse as their due. Both she and Selene had seen their fair share of such women, at the ends of their tethers, searching for one moment to strike back and even the odds of a lifetime stacked against them. Yet her half-sisters were like living ghosts, already dead and only breathing out of habit.

Stranger still, her sisters were nearly identical in their lack of expressions, and decidedly uninterested in complex conversation. Not one could speak of their tastes in anything from fashion to music, though they dutifully explained to Iliana what a proper woman’s views on those subjects should be. It was a parade of terrible sameness. Only Mira, recovering from a whipping, had any spark of life in her.

Still, Iliana had persevered. Domina Roxane Sapphire, a woman of similar age and stature whom she’d never met, was the role she’d been ordered to play. Iliana had heard whispers amongst the servants outside her door that Roxane was bedridden and comatose, slowly wasting away of a mystery illness that the magister feared would ruin the reputation of his impeccably bred bloodline, should it ever come to light. Nobles were known to hide relatives considered imperfect in some way, sometimes refusing to ever let the poor souls leave their patriarch’s home. Despite Iliana’s dire circumstances, she pitied Roxane her lot.

Though Iliana wished someone would pity herherlot, as she and her unwed half-sisters had been commanded to present themselves before the crown prince as bride candidates. Magister Sapphire must have decided it was better to send an imposter than risk the public embarrassment of sending the real Roxane. If his scheme failed, only Iliana would face the legal consequences for imitating a noblewoman, her word meaningless against that of a magister. On pain of death, she was also to outshine her half-sisters to deflect the prince’s attention from their shortcomings.

Iliana doubted the Magister meant for her to live much past the completion of her task. She would need to flee the capital—an effort which would be near impossible, as two of the magister’s other sons were part of the imperial bureaucracy and would supposedly be keeping a watch on her.

Iliana curled up under the covers of her bed and closed her eyes, praying for sleep that never came.

When morning arrived, she and her sisters were bundled into the family carriage. Magister Sapphire swaggered up to the window and leaned in, his cold stare cutting through her heart.

“Ah, dearestRoxane. Should you get it into your mind that you might renege on your word, know that your sisters have been ordered to slit their throats with your knives. They understand it is a faster death than, say, drowning.” Magister Sapphire smiled genially, patted her hand as her face went ashen, and then told the driver to make haste.

Iliana swallowed down her rising bile as the carriage lurched forward. She would be blamed for killing her five sisters and sentenced to death if she fled, imprisoned if the ruse were discovered, or face death if she returned. No matter where she looked, doom greeted her.

“How did he even find me?” Iliana asked no one as she hugged herself.

“How foolish. The magister has always kept eyes on his you, lest you cause him more embarrassment than your mere existence already does,” Diodora replied, toneless as always.

A chill entirely unrelated to the summer breeze held Iliana firmly in its grip.

“Nasty little vermin.” Selene spat on the paralyzed pest at her feet.

In the Amethyst Province, at Dragomire Keep, Selene had very dutifully learned her lessons, allowed herself to be tortured by current fashion and learned that anyone who didn’t address her as ‘Domina’ or ‘Your Resplendence’ should be treated as less than nothing. She also held her tongue at the absurd amount of dragon-themed décor on display. It was unfortunate for the handsy servant beneath her heel that he had neither the benefit of Selene’s recent education nor her self-restraint. Now, where to stash the bastard till he thawed?

“Domina Milena, it is time to practice your mannerisms.”

Selene looked up into a set of amethyst eyes that would have been identical to her own, if only they weren’t so damn lifeless.

“Drew the short straw, Carrot? Burgundy and Copper too busy?” Selene goaded.

Her half-sister betrayed no emotion at the demeaning nickname. Selene had expected women of the nobility to try to put her in her place, to use some of that wonderful noble education to cut her verbally, or simply treat her with a great deal of derision. Hells, their father was heartless—surely his daughters would exhibit some of his traits. But day after day, she tried to get a rise out of them without success. There was simply a wrongness to her sisters that Selene couldn’t understand.

Carrot’s eyes lingered on the servant before returning to Selene.

“This is improper conduct for a noblewoman, though you have dressed appropriately. Please put on your shoes and we will go for a stroll.”

Selene would have expected her to speak with censure, but Carrot’s voice was stubbornly hollow. She had three half-sisters in all, four if Selene counted the one she was meant to impersonate, and for the life of her she could not remember their names. So interchangeable were their expressionless faces and ridiculous gowns that she had taken to calling them Burgundy, Copper and Carrot, after the distinctive hues of their red hair.

Being a rather astute man, Magister Amethyst never allowed her within spitting distance of his stronghold. Selene was relegated to a cottage on the grounds, her abode facing the opposite end of the castle to where her father spent his days. Though if this gardener’s cottage were any indication of what lay within the fortress, it was no wonder her mother had angled for the position of mistress. A soft bed, silk gowns, more food than she could eat and servants to wait on her. As far as prisons went, Selene had seen worse. While he had never permitted her to enter Dragomire Keep, she’d been allowed on the grounds so long as she was under supervision.

“Please state the list of noble titles and their manners of address,” Carrot intoned as they strolled.

“Emperor and empress, addressed as Your Majesty. Crown prince addressed as Your Royal Highness. Prince or princess consort as Your Radiance. Magister and magistra as Your Grace. Dominus and domina as Your Resplendence. Illustrus and illustra are followed by nobilissimus and nobilissima, none of which have a stylized address.”

Carrot nodded, adjusting Selene’s posture as they walked.

“The plural of Domina?”

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