Page 12 of A Treachery of Swans

He makes a face. “This entire marriage affair is ridiculous. I don’t want it at all. But it’s tradition, and the kingdom needs anheir, apparently, so here you are and here I am.” He sniffs. “Might as well enjoy it. Between your controversies and mine, we make quite the scandalous pair.”

Ah yes, the controversies. He must be referring to his reputation:the Dauphin is known to be a foppish, spoiled, and incompetent successor to King Honoré. They say he shirks his duties, caring nothing for politics or the court’s social events, and prefers to spend his time locked in his room, composing music he will play for no one. When he does emerge, it is to spend the kingdom’s dwindling resources on wine or clothing. I’ve heard it whispered more and more frequently at the Théâtre by commoners and noblesse alike—the kingdom has little trust in Aimé-Victor Augier. And considering how he nearly shot me in his drunken state last night, I can see why.

Marie’s controversies, though… that’s more of a mystery to me. I wonder if he’s referring to the same thing Charlotte mentioned last night:something about a necklace.In my memory, diamonds wink hypnotically. But she couldn’t have been referring to… No. There is no waythatcaused such a scandal. There must have been a different incident, another necklace. And yet…

I focus back on the dance, shaking off the nagging feeling. In response to Aimé’s words, I give a flirtatious smile. “A match made in heaven, I daresay.”

To my surprise, the Dauphin’s coy demeanor fades momentarily. His eyes flick over my shoulder; when he turns to me and I’m able to see where he has been looking, I recognize my brother standing in the corner of the room, a glum shadow in his guard’s uniform. I frown, but before I can say anything, the song ends.

The Dauphin steps away from me, dropping my hand. I curtsy in turn.

“Another, monseigneur?” I want to continue to pry information from him, but the Dauphin shakes his head.

“I must take another partner now,” he says. When my face falls, he leans forward and whispers in my ear. “You know how it is. I can’t show favoritism. I need to pretend to considerallthe candidates, or Stepmother will have a conniption. Anyway, I think it’s time for adrink. I’ll certainly need it to survive this night.” He winks at me, bows, and whirls away.

As the Dauphin makes a beeline for a servant carrying flutes of wine, I take a breath, forcing the tension from my chest. Now that I’m free, I notice an older nobleman with a face like a prune sliding his eyes over me. Before he can ask me to dance, I turn away and hurry to the edge of the room, where I make a show of eyeing the ridiculously extravagant pastries. The theme appears to be birds—red cardinals iced on cream-filled choux, macarons shaped like swooping sparrows, fruitcakes topped with little lemon canaries. The result is a lurid, mismatched flock that looks less like an artful arrangement and more like something a house cat might drag in.

I pluck a chocolate parakeet from its basin of ganache just as a hand seizes me from behind.

I turn in panic and come face-to-face with a broad-chested guardsman, who glares at me down the length of his crooked nose. I remember the day it was broken—he’d been defending me from a particularly aggressive patron after a play.

Damien.

“Monsieur!” I gasp, raising my fist. “Unhand me at once!”

Damien scoffs. He looks me up and down, then eyes the chocolate parakeet still clutched in my raised fist. “Are you going tohitme with that, Dilou?”

My stomach plunges. He knows. Of course he does.

I place the now-mangled bird back on the table and wipe my hand on the tablecloth before scanning the room anxiously. Thankfully, most of the noblesse are preoccupied with either dancing, flirting, or attempting to elbow their way to speak with the King. I turn back to Damien, keeping my expression polite as though we are strangers. “How did you know it was me?”

“Marie d’Odette isn’t the type to resort to trickery,” he says. “Also, the owl necklace. Very subtle.”

I scowl, raising my hand to clutch the owl-face pendant protectively. “What do you want, Damien?” I snap. “Planning to betray me again?”

He glowers at me. I glower back. As usual, Damien breaks first, running a hand over his face. “I just… What are youdoinghere? And what, by the Mothers, did you do with the real Marie d’Odette?”

“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Damien replies acridly.

Once upon a time that might have stung. But I don’t care what my brother thinks of me anymore. “Yes, you’re right,” I sneer. “I’m on a rampage, killing noblesse left and right. You should arrest me before I murderallthe realm’s spoiled lordlings, since that would be such a tragedy. But wait”—I give him a pitying look—“you can’t, can you? Because you made a vow to our poor dead maman.”

Damien, as usual, has no sense of humor. His scowl deepens, but he’s smart enough to keep it subtle. “Dilou,” he says quietly. “Please. What deranged errand has that man sent you on this time?”

That man.As though Regnault didn’t rescue both of us,raiseboth of us, despite Damien being utterly barren of magic.

I would roll my eyes if I didn’t have to keep up my charade as dignified Marie. “What will you do if I tell you?”

“This isn’t a game, little sister.”

“Answer my question.”

“I asked first.”

More glowering. Once again I win. “You’re not even acting like her, you know,” Damien mutters. “Someone is bound to become suspicious.”

I shrug. “Let them. Marie d’Odette has not been to Verroux in five years. It’s normal for people to change as they get older.”

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