Page 15 of A Treachery of Swans

He smiles wanly. “I missed you. And your ridiculous problem-solving.”

It appears Marie d’Odette and I have something in common after all. I put a hand on my hip, trying to mimic her stern manner. “You don’t really want to marry Princess Charlotte Turnip Hair, do you?”

“Marie!” A surprised laugh bursts out from him.

“What? Do you disagree?”

He sniffs. “Personally, I think it looks more like a beet.”

“A discolored beet, perhaps,” I muse, then grow sober again, eyeing him carefully. It’s time to finish this game. And for that I must draw on a resource I rarely use: honesty.

“Monseigneur, listen to me now.” I take the Dauphin’s hand in mine, hold his gaze with fierce conviction. “Aimé-Victor Augier, I swear this upon the Mothers. I do not want to be queen, not truly. What I want… what I want is to restore this kingdom to what it was truly meant to be. To bring about a new era. But without you, withoutthis, I can’t do it.”

His eyes have gone wide and hopeful in a way that almost makes me pity him. Almost. “Do you truly think so?”

Before I can reply, a shadow falls over us. “There you are.”

We both turn to see Damien, his expression an excellent imitation of a thundercloud. He blatantly ignores me and walks up to the Dauphin, his eyes gentling a fraction as he bows to the wayward prince. “It’s time for you to make your announcement, monseigneur.”

The Dauphin scowls. “Mothers, I hate it when you call me that.”

Damien looks weary. “You know I cannot—”

“I know. You do so love reminding me.” The Dauphin rubs his eyes. “Must I do this?”

Damien puts a hand on his shoulder and draws him away from my side. “The King is waiting,” he says, with a gentleness to his voice that I have seldom heard. “This ball must end eventually. You cannot draw it out forever.”

“You’re right, I suppose. Though I do resent it.” The prince turns back and bows to me, his eyes dark and thoughtful. “Mademoiselle d’Auvigny.”

I curtsy in return. “Remember my promise,” I say, and ignore the deadly look Damien shoots me. As I watch my brother usher the Dauphin away, Regnault’s words ring in my head:If you cannot avoid him, you must eliminate him.

Well, Damien hasn’t told anyone of my identity yet. He’s a variable I’ll have to worry about later; for now I can only wait and pray that my words to the Dauphin have been enough to change my fate.

“Mesdames et messieurs, may I claim your attention for one last time tonight? After some… deliberation, the Dauphin has made his choice.”

I’m glad for Marie’s height as I peer over shoulders, weaving between the press of bodies to attempt to get to the front of the crowd. King Honoré stands in the center of the ballroom, the Dauphin fidgeting beside him. One of the King’s meaty hands gripshis son’s arm, and even from a distance the gesture does not look amicable.

“Well?” says the King. The silk of the Dauphin’s sleeve creases under the King’s tightening fingers.

“I have made my choice!” the Dauphin says, forcing a smile as he addresses the crowd. “Thank you all for coming today and placing your offers of alliance before me.” I make this decision with difficulty, but also with reassurance, for I have found someone whom I believe I can trust with my heart and with the kingdom. Someone who will someday make an excellent queen.”

My chest feels tight. I watch with dread as the Dauphin’s eyes land on Charlotte, who is tapping her foot impatiently. The Dauphin opens his mouth again, hesitates.

The King shakes him by the shoulder, as though to break him from the silence.

I push past the man standing in front of me to emerge from the crowd. The movement is enough to bring the Dauphin’s eyes back to me—his gaze pools with the panic of a much younger boy, caught in a riptide and struggling not to be pulled under. I can’t help but feel a reluctant stab of kinship. Aimé-Victor Augier’s brand of chaos is different from mine, but it comes from the same place. We are both birds trapped in cages. Only, while he is batting brokenly at the bars, I’m determined to pick the lock.

That is what I try to convey as I hold his attention. Understanding. A final play on his pity, in case my vow earlier was not enough.

The Dauphin looks away. Straightens. And steps away from his father, forcing the man to release his grip.

“My beloved guests, I present to you the future Queen of Auréal, Mademoiselle Marie d’Odette, daughter of Auvigny!”

The world becomes a blur. The musicians play a jarring, rushed fanfare, and the Dauphin rushes forward to grip my hands and pressa tense kiss to my cheek. I dart a look at the King—though his face is without expression, he watches his son with cold, vicious rage. The Dauphin wisely avoids his father’s eyes as he pulls me toward the gathered court.

The crowd bursts into applause, though it sounds malicious somehow, threatening. As I walk by them, their faces blur together, artificial as theater masks, lifeless eyes and painted lips and too-sharp teeth glinting as they seethe out their congratulations. They think I will be an easy meal, I realize: the Swan Princess of Auvigny, pearlescent and purehearted and ripe for their devouring.

But they’re wrong. I’m not the delicate white-feathered bird they believe me to be. I’m the darkness of cold gutters and merciless nights, the bruised shadows beneath a thief’s desperate eyes. I’m nothing but a lie, a twisted reflection, a black swan.

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