Page 112 of Artemysia
Reluctant to make polite conversation that might reveal that I’venever been to the North Kingdom, I follow wordlessly, taking in my surroundings. It’s cold inside the manor, and the deep plums, blacks, and midnight blues of the décor add no warmth.
I pass other guests led by attendants and bow my head in greeting. They don’t seem to harbor any suspicions of me and smile back civilly after glancing at the brown ribbon on my arm declaring my status.
After another long hall, we climb up a second set of curved stairs, past a grand piano on a landing, and at last, I’m peering into a lavish bedroom. At Stargazer Castle, I never had a chance to see much besides the war room, so I have no clue how this bedroom compares, but I’m having trouble imagining anything finer.
Heavy, jeweled-toned fabrics are spread over a massive four-poster bed of black wood topped with the thickest mattress I’ve ever seen. Velvet mustard-gold curtains hang from the windows and intricate brasswork trims the walls, lit by lotus flower sconces.
It’s too bad I’m not here to enjoy the room for the weekend. Maybe in another life.
The attendant is perhaps used to being ignored and sets up my trunk on a low stand. We eye each other awkwardly. The Artemysian Syf seemed to think the customs and mannerisms of high society are similar in both North and South, so I assume he must be waiting for permission to leave. I offer a polite nod.
Instead of leaving, he stands by the door, gloved hands at his sides. “Is there something you require, Marchioness?” he asks coolly. He’s not young, but his ruddy, suntanned skin is at odds with his indoor valet position.
I don’t even know what else to ask for. A snack? The carriage ride was long. “No, you may take your leave,” I say, emulating the words and tone I’ve heard from the high lords and ladies at the king’s court when I’m called to the castle at Stargazer, but adding the flair of the North Kingdom accent I was taught.
Elodie instructed me to change my dress upon arrival, so I turn away and open my trunk, pulling out the gown on top: a long, blood-red column dress.
The attendant clears his throat, and when I spin around in surprise that he’s still there, he shoots me a disdainful look and adjusts the top button of his jacket. He fidgets at the shoulders, as if his stiff uniformbothers him.
What does he want?
I remember a small coin purse I was given back in Artemysia as part of my costume and pat around my cloak for it. Unsnapping the brass clasp, I fish out a medium-sized silver coin and hand it to him. I try not to look too confused and offer a smile.
He cringes, as if offended. “Forgive me, High Lady. You don’t seem familiar with manor customs.”
Uh oh, I’ve already messed up. Not blending in as I’m supposed to.
Okay, think. I can save this. The Syf’s crash course on mannerisms and customs prepared me, but even a small mistake such as tipping incorrectly will now give me away. Change of strategy. I decide to be more honest.
Regaining my composure, I toss my hands up and shrug. “You’re right. I’m completely lost. I married into this pompous position and have no idea how high society works. I’m not fit to be a marchioness.”
The brown-haired servant softens by a hair, and I sense kindness in him. “I wasn’t asking for coin. I’m Gregory, and I’m to wait and chaperone you to the ballroom.”
“Well, thank you for helping me with my luggage. It was ridiculous that I was made to pack so much, and I’m sorry you had to carry it all. I can find my way back downstairs. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time, though I could use your pointers on fitting in here.”
He studies me for a moment. “It’s not a choice. All guests are chaperoned. But you’re the first tonight to thank me for anything.”
“That kind of crowd, huh? It’s not my first choice to be here, to be frank.”
“Neither is it mine,” he grumbles.
“Oh? What would you rather be doing?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Cards. Sailing the river. My wife. Nothing,” he mutters almost inaudibly before correcting himself. “Never mind.”
Did he just say he would rather be doing his wife? Gregory has a sense of humor then.
“But it’s mandatory that I escort you. Security measures,” he says, catching himself.
Security measures? Against Syf? The Artemysians mentioned theirspies were hard-pressed to find information about what North Kingdom knew about Syf.
I tread carefully with my next words and pull up my gown to below my right knee.
“I’m safe with this on me.” I tap the blade. “Mostly because I know how to use it. I’m not noble-born, remember…”
Might as well let my true colors shine.
His eyes round at the sight of Ivy’s ankle holster strapped to my lower leg.
