Page 14 of A Treachery of Swans

I manage to keep my composure long enough to leave the ballroom. My skirts rustle behind me—my chest strains against the confines of my tightly laced bodice. The crimson of the ballroom breaks like a tide upon a gallery of black and silver, the polished indigo flooring speckled white as though stars are trapped beneath. Columns flank the room, and I duck behind one to catch my breath.

I inspect my hand, assessing the damage. The cut is blessedly small; I suck on it and am relieved to see that the bleeding has already slowed. I exhale in relief and begin rubbing off the stain on my bodice, when footsteps echo through the room.

“…High time for change,” a voice is saying. When I peer around the column, I see it belongs to a short, balding man, the buttons of his doublet straining to contain his stomach.

Beside him walks a nobleman of middling age, thin brows lording over a thinner face, a scar carved across his nose. “Yes, yes, so you’ve said,” he drawls as the pair approach my hiding spot. I tuck myself more tightly against the column as they pass. “At least my brother still inspires enough respect in this court to keep it from falling apart entirely. But that brat of his… you’ve seen it firsthand. Never in the history of Auréal has there been an heir more unfit to the throne.”

“At least his incompetence has an advantage,” says his companion.

“And what is that?” asks Scar Nose, adjusting his auburn peruke. The guards flanking the ballroom doors pull them open, sending golden light gushing through the dark gallery.

The balding man snorts. “The little pest is easy to get rid of.”

Their laughter trails behind them even as the doors fall shut again.

I frown, turning their words over in my mind as I rub any remaining blood off my palm. My shoulders ache with tension, and I roll them before heading back toward the ballroom.

Before I can reach the doors, they go flying open. For a second time that night, a figure crashes into me.

“Marie!”

It’s the Dauphin. He reels back in surprise, his cheeks red and eyes even redder. His golden hair has come undone around his face, any confidence he’d worn previously shed in favor of genuine despair.

He sways for a moment, staring at me piteously. Then, “Marie, I’m so sorry,” he wails, and throws his arms around my neck.

It takes all my willpower not to punch the Dauphin of Auréal. “Sorry?” I echo, trying to peel him off myself. His perfume has turned sickly sweet, spoiled by sweat and alcohol. “What are you talking about?”

“The bargain. I couldn’t do anything, he’s already arranged it, it’s all ruined—”

This time I do succeed in shoving him off. “What bargain?”

“The one we made as children! I knew, after the scandal, that it might be difficult to keep, but now Charlotte wants an alliance—though we all know this is just aboutpower; when has Lore ever done anything without ulterior motives?—but my father somehow thinks that’s a better idea than strengthening Auréal, or perhaps Anne talked him into it—she can be socruelsometimes—or—or—”

“You will not choose me,” I realize, a wave of furious disappointment rising up inside me.

His shoulders sag. “I cannot. The King has sworn to the ambassador of Lore that I will marry Charlotte. And I cannot disobey him.”

Coward,I want to say. Instead, I smile gently, gathering what little scraps of kindness I can dredge up from my withered excuse for a heart. I take Aimé’s hand and pull him away from the doors, through the gallery, and into the glittering entrance hall beyond. “Monseigneur, correct me if I am wrong, but I believe your father is already married.”

He frowns, brushing tears from his eyes. “Y-yes…”

“So he cannot possibly be choosing a bride for himself.”

“Yes, but—”

“Then this is your choice to make.”

The Dauphin shakes his head violently. “I can’t go against him,not again. When I tried to do it at the last Conseil meeting, he… Regardless. He knows better than I.”

“Perhaps he does. But this is your happiness in the balance. And mine,” I admit. That much is not a lie.

The Dauphin bites his lip. “If I undermine him in front of the whole court—”

“He can do nothing.”

“You underestimate him.”

“Your choice is made publicly,” I say. “I doubt he will force you to change it after the fact. That would be a sign of discord, of instability within the court.”

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