Page 7 of Veiled Flames
As he looked down at me from beneath the shadow of his hooded cloak, I barely glimpsed the man’s features, but I felt the intensity of his penetrating eyes, as if his gaze had pushed directly inside me.
As my servants prepare my hair, I drift to places even more exotic, even more dangerous than the other Kingdoms of Light. A world where I see not only the stranger’s face, but also his body. A world where I’m able to touch his skin and feel the heat of his hands on mine.
Primped and ready, I stand in front of the silvered glass. A full gaggle of servants is gathered behind me now, looking proud of their handiwork.
I’m an object they created, not a real person. And while I don’t want to take away from their labors, I felt far more myself when I was out on my ride and dressed in my simple frock, now rendered into ash in the fireplace.
“Thank you,” I say with as much sincerity as I can. “Also, please thank Seamstress. This new gown is particularly beautiful.”
I run my hands over the ornately patterned silk brocade that forms the gown’s bodice. The base fabric is a fine violet silkthe color of a summer sky, and the soft color is highlighted with threads spun from silver and gold. The gown is undeniably beautiful, even though the corset beneath it binds me like a cage—as do the slippers pinching my feet. The precariously high heels make me feel unbalanced, even as I do no more than stand. Walking will be a challenge, and I can forget about anything close to running.
Why is it the custom for females to be hobbled by their garments? And why must my paps be pressed up to the point of pain, my corset exaggerating my bosom’s shape and size as the tops of my paps bulge over my bodice.
Female servants don’t wear such constricting garments. Nor do my brothers. It doesn’t seem fair.
But Head Dresser distracts me as she drapes a neck piece of diamonds and rubies over my décolletage, and gratitude once again quashes my petty gripes and resentments. This is the first time I’ve been allowed to wear any of Mother’s jewels.
I don’t enjoy tight dresses, nor having my hair twisted into elaborate shapes on my head, but now that my servant’s work is complete, even I must admit that the results are objectively beautiful—at least as well as I can see myself in the clouded silvered glass.
“Come,” says Nurse. “The Crown Prince has arrived to escort ye to the evening feast.”
Surprised, I turn as she opens the door to my bedchamber.
Looking forward to a chat with Alfryd, I totter toward the door. Perhaps the older of my twin brothers will carry me on his back. That way I won’t have to shuffle in these torture contraptions Dresser misleadingly called slippers.
Three
Rosomon
Dressed in a corset so tight I can’t breathe, and slippers so narrow and high I can’t walk, I join the elder of my twin brothers outside my chambers. Touching my mother’s gems at my throat, I try to draw more memories of her.
“What have I done to merit an escort?” I grin at Alfryd.
He doesn’t return the smile. “I am here at the King’s command.” Acting overly formally, my brother offers his arm, indicating I should rest my palm upon it.
Making a face, I nod my head toward his stiffly extended arm. “Is this really necessary? No one is around to see us.” I immediately want to swallow my words. “I mean… There are nocourtiersnearby.” I should not have said that no one can see us. Footmen line the corridor at intervals, ready to cater to our every whim. Well, my brother’s every whim.
“Tonight is very important,” Alfryd says. “You must be on your best behavior.”
I smile softly, thinking of the number of times I uttered those very words to my brothers when they were younger. Each had their own nurse, of course, but I did my best to stand in for the mother they never knew.
Alfryd’s arm remains patiently extended. Conceding, I place my fingers lightly upon it, and the purple velvet of his formal coat is soft under my touch. The color is becoming on the older of my two twin brothers, his peach-like complexion and chestnut hair very similar to our father’s, while Olifer and I take after the Queen.
“So, the King of Khotor is here?” I say, as we start walking.
“The King ofsomeplace,” Alfryd says. “Where is Khotor again?”
“Five days travel by horse to the South. Ten or more by carriage. Their reigning king is named Vyktor.” The name which earlier escaped me falls to my tongue and leaves a bitter taste. “The King is very old, and his son, Lancet, is first in the line of succession.”
“Kingscraft and history are such a bore,” Alfryd says. “I can’t keep the details in my head. You’re so much better at this kind of thing. It’s too bad I am first born.”
I glare at him—I was born seven years before my brothers, who have but five and ten years.
“PerhapsIshould be the one to succeed father,” I say, willing it into existence.
“If only.” Alfryd smiles wistfully.
Hope for my fate rises. “Once you become King, should you find the role doesn’t suit you… You could always abdicate to put me on the throne.”
