Page 14 of A Slipper in the Smoke
He really wasn’t sure what to believe, only that it was useful to listen.
He wandered through the manicured lawns, passed flocks of strutting peacocks, perfectly-cut ponds, and sculpted hedges. He’d explored the grounds extensively within the first couple of days, but he still found he was surprised by some new part of it every now and again—a hidden alcove, a pretty fountain, a different flower bed. Still, he never found what he was looking for: a little patch of wildness. In Toulouse, at the edge of the grounds, was a small garden accessed through a tiny door and hidden by a thick hedge. Behind it was a crumbled old stone building, little more than a heap of rock, surrounded by forget-me-nots and wild roses. It was Pip’s favourite place in the entire world, and a favourite haunt of his grandma, the Dowager. She was as sharp as the thorns on the roses, her eyes the pale steely-blue of the flowers.
But nothing wild existed in the Imperial Palace. It was as perfect as clockwork, and as polished as silver.
Pip sighed with frustration, turning the corner into the maze, determined to get lost. He managed about ten minutes before finding himself at a dead end—
Occupied by Prince Nero and one of the palace guards, missing half of her uniform.
“Oh,” he said shortly, before he could stop himself.
Nero looked up from the guard’s neck, black eyes gleaming. “Pip!”
At twenty-three, Prince Nero was older than Pip by two years and at least twice as stylishly dressed. Pip wore his clothes well, and he knew he looked fine in them, but Nero’s clothes always seemed as much a part of him as his walk or his black, tightly-curled hair, cropped close to his scalp. Today, he was wearing a form-fitting ensemble of charcoal and silver, the bodice of his corset-jacket decorated with thorns and stags. The silk clung to his form (distinctly broader and yet somehow more elegant than Pip’s) like a second skin.
Nero was Firenzian, and bore the deep, warm brown skin of so many of them, and eyes like dark coals. Despite hailing from Firenze, he had half grown up in Petragrad, as a distant cousin of the Queen’s. Rumours had it that they’d grown into something more over the years, but Pip had never inquired as to the truth of them. It was rude, and he wasn’t all that curious.
Nero abandoned the guard—hastily pulling her clothes back on—and raised an arm to drape around Pip’s shoulder.
“Pip!” he hooted again, drawing him into something almost like a hug. “Good to see you, old boy.”
“You saw me in the council meeting this morning.”
“Pfft, council meetings don’t count. No one is ever themselves in them.”
It was an oddly astute observation from Nero, but Pip didn’t like it. He shrugged off Nero’s arm.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Nero raised a dark brow, eyes darting to the guard now sliding out of the maze. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Right. Silly question.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t have to go. I would have left.”
He waved a hand. “Alas, the sport was at its best.”
A voice sounded from over the hedge. “Screw you, Prince!”
“I still adore you, Natasha!”
“It’s Natalya!”
“A thousand apologies.” He waited a few more minutes before turning once more to Pip, as if trying to work out if she was out of earshot. “Women, am I right?”
“I feel the problem in that scenario was probably you.”
Nero laughed. “Oh, almost certainly.”
A hard voice burned through the crisp dawn air. “Nero! Where are you?”
Nero froze, laughter vanishing. “Shit,” he whispered, eyes darting about.
Pip fought back a grin. He knew the voice well; Nero’s younger sister, Lucia.
“I know you’re there, Nero!”
They were backed into a dead end. Pip could see Nero’s mind whirring, trying to calculate where her voice was coming from, if she was on the right path or if he could sneak by her. He floundered like a fawn.
Pip actually knew Lucia better than he did her brother. A few summers ago, when he was visiting Firenze with his father, he and Lucia had tried their hand at courting one another. It was common, almost expected, for the young royals to date during the weeks when they would gather, trying to arrange a match for themselves before their parents could suggest one. That summer, it seemed like everyone had partnered off, and he and Lucia had shifted together almost by accident.
