Page 52 of The Reluctant Queen
On the day ofthe prince’s birthday masquerade, Hevva tried to convince Aylin to let her lie abed again. But the maid wasn’t having it.
Then, since Hevva was the employer and Aylin the employee, the countess forced her superiority. It was a decent success; she obtained permission to stay in bed until well past luncheon. Hevva had eaten of course, beneath the covers, in naught but her chemise. Eventually, she’d dragged herself from under the plush down duvet. The countess hiked to the washroom, where she’d half considered drowning herself in the tub. But she didn’t have the energy.
“You look captivating, my lady.” Aylin grinned as she fastened the ribbons of Hevva’s domino and tucked the loose ends in amongst the silvery waves of her hair.
With the final touch on the outfit complete, she was spun from where she’d been staring dolefully at the bed to face the mirror.
“Yes?” Aylin prodded her, fishing for a compliment.
Hevva eyed herself warily, not feeling much like attending a ball, though her dread was lessened by the prospect of hiding behind a mask all night. She would just have to duck out before the disguises were removed for supper at midnight. “Yes. You have done an astonishing job, as usual Aylin.” She forced her mouth to smile for the maid, the domino hidingthe fact that the display didn’t reach her eyes.
She did look wonderful, that wasn’t a lie. Her gown was pure white, but in no way plain—one of the new ones her mother had insisted she purchase. The contrasting textures of its flowing silk and puffing organza were tied together by artfully arranged shimmering pearls and sparkling diamonds from her mines. The blinding effect of the dress was softened by the hundreds of snowy feathers covering Hevva’s skirts. They fluffed out like a cloud when she twirled. She hadn’t done that yet while at Kirce, but would be sure to, regardless of how horrid and hollow she felt inside.
The balm that Aylin had applied to Hevva’s lips shimmered pearlescent, and she found herself angling her head up and down in the mirror, observing the way the gloss sparkled in the candlelight. As always, her maid had made the perfect choice. The makeup matched the twinkling pearls, diamonds, and enhancing feathers of her mask—which in turn matched her dress—to perfection.
She couldn’t help the tiny flickering question that sparked in her mind.What will Ehmet have to say?
That small ember of excitement was promptly doused by a rushing wave of nausea that roiled her belly. Hevva drew back her shoulders, steadied her chin, steeled herself, and went down to face the crush.
The masquerade was the midpoint of the house party, a grand ball in honor of the Prince of Selwas and Duke of Serkath, the disreputable Nekash Hethtar. Kirce’s expansive ballroom was even more packed than it had been during that first night. The masquerade had at least an additional fifty or so guests in attendance.Ridiculous.She rolled her eyes behind her mask, grateful for the obscuring accessory.
Yes, she’d made it to the event, but that didn’t mean Lady Hevva had any interest in taking part in the dancing. Skirting the sidelines, she helped herself to a flute of champagne as she wound around the room. She greeted the Baron of Napivol and the Duke of Rohapavol, then stepped between the two of them to carry on her way. Though masked in simple black dominos, both men were recognizable due to their unmistakable rotund belly and insubstantial height, respectively.
Prince Nekash was also easily identified in his blood red velvet jacketand buff breeches. He’d donned a mask that matched his tailcoat, accented with scarlet feathers that flowed away from his face. They reminded her of flames. He’d spotted Hevva as well, and from the avaricious look he tossed her way, he liked what he saw.
She shivered.
The birthday lecher was speaking with Sir Peros, the brother of the Countess of Midlake. Hevva hoped to pass by with little more than a polite nod, but Nekash quite rudely ended his conversation with the man mid-sentence and fell into step beside her.
“Later then, Sir!” the prince called out an odd sort of apology to the startled knight.
Hevva drained her champagne and traded her glass for a new one. She had no desire to repeat her experience at the first ball of the house party, but she also knew she didn’t want to deal with Nekash stone sober. He wasn’t all that delightful to be around.
“You don’t feel like dancing?” The prince tilted his head toward the busy floor. “I haven’t seen you out there during this set.”
“Not this evening, no. If you’ll excuse me.” Hevva veered right, away from the crowd and toward the rear balcony.
“Walk with me.” Nekash ignored her attempt at a departure and instead offered his arm.
Hevva turned to decline, politely of course, when she spied Ehmet by the north wall. The king approached a woman, Miss Tarcadu, kissed her hand, and then moved to escort her onto the dance floor.
Hevva accepted Nekash’s escort. “Let’s go outside.”
“That sounds charming.” He steered them toward the open doorway, pausing only twice to accept birthday wishes. Then they were out of the stifling, bright room, and into the cooler evening air.
“Look at us.” With his free hand he tweaked a feather on his mask, and then one on hers. “Two little birds out for a nighttime flight of fancy.”
She chuckled darkly.
The prince escorted her down the length of the long balcony before they turned back toward the ballroom. But by that time the first set had ended, and the balcony was full of carousing revelers hoping to catch abreath of air before the second began.
“Would you like to return? Or, perhaps, find something more interesting to do?”
She cocked an eyebrow at the prince, even though he couldn’t see it behind her mask. With his pale brown hair and eyes, slim build, and pleasing face, he wasn’t the worst looking man by any means. It was too bad he was so unlikeable. “And what did you have in mind that would bemoreinteresting than your birthday ball?”
Nekash seemed to have dropped his oft lecherous demeanor, and his offer to do “something more interesting” lacked its usual sexual overtures.
“Billiards? Have a drink—something stronger than the blasted champagne—and get away from the crowd.”
