Their bloodline was as old as the bricks of the castle before her. They were said to have ruled during the age of fairytales, when magic was wild and as likely to find a poor girl and transform her into a princess—a time when curses made beasts of handsome princes that could be saved by a perfect kiss.
Propaganda and stories. The Vencias were not some secret key to fables and bedtime stories. It was a story that helped to justify the power they held over Meridea. Nothing more. The sting of her cheek proved that just as much as the knowing in her blood.
The door opened, and the scent of perfumes and burning wood splintered along her nose, drowning out everything else. The servant held out his hand to her, and it was all she had in her not to throw herself back into the carriage and demand to go back to Blythe. A small voice inside her head reminded her that this was not about Lucinda Blackthorn at all, but Brielle.
For Brielle.The words were her anthem, beating in time with her racing heart as she stepped from the carriage feeling smaller than she ever had. Tonight, she wasn’t an orphan. She was the heir to Blythe Manor, and she would carry herself as such. Letting down her best friend was not an option.
Lady Margaret threaded her arm through Lucia’s and murmured encouragement. Each step was a little easier than theone before. Ladies in their finery stood next to men wearing new coats and a shared sense of entitlement. For two hours, she was someone else. Someone who belonged.
Soft music poured from the open doors like water lightly cresting the sand. A gentle beacon inlaid with promises and possibilities. For a moment, Luci forgot. She forgot who she was and what she was meant to be. All at the sight of the room before her. For at the top of the stone steps opened a world that was unlike her memories from ten years ago. This was something she had never seen, and all she knew was that Brielle would have loved it.
So she cataloged all of it, committing each detail, smell, and wonder to memory so that she could tell it in a way that Brielle would feel like she had been there.
Bodies in silk and chiffon moved in careful unison like a spell had been cast over them, and they all shared one mind. The music crested and fell with their movements. Candelabras hung from the ceiling in a symphony of light while one that was likely as big as five carriages sat at the center of the room, watching in illuminated detail. Roses littered every balcony and sat like sentries throughout the room in potted plants. The ballroom floor was a perfect hue of gold with roses inlaid throughout lest one forget who owned this palace.
Smells of sweets and baked goods flitted through the air, enticing and making Luci’s mouth water. It was something out of one of Brielle’s stories. It was clear the Vencias were trying to emulate the heritage they claimed—Born of fairytales and stolen midnights.
“Lady Margaret Treveon and Lady Brielle Treveon of Blythe,” called the Herald, reminding her who she was meant to be.
It was a summons, and the nobility below the grand staircase answered with profound reverence. All turned to them, whispers screamed as heads dipped, and frowns were replaced byscandalous gasps. It felt like all the world had narrowed in on her and the judgment of these people. If it weren’t for the music and dancers never faltering, Luci might have been stuck on that staircase for all eternity.
Instead, she felt the gentle pull and murmured reassurance of Lady Margaret. Each step felt like a mile, but she took it with all the grace and pride that Brielle would have. She would not falter. Would not fail.
“I probably should have said something on the way.” Lady Margaret whispered in her ear, each of their steps into the snake den in unison. “But Stefan has been doing very well at court. He says the nobles see him as a threat and have been conspiring against him. Of course, it must be terrible for him, but having you- Brielle, I mean, here will help him immensely.”
Of course, it was ambition. It was always ambition with Lord Treveon.
“How?”
“Oh, you know how he gets about Blythe’s future and image and all that tedious nonsense.”
The words were said with too much casual flippance to be anything but wounds festering. Everything she didn’t say was louder than anything else she said. Brielle was the future of Blythe because Lady Margaret could not have children. It was never said outright, but plenty of mystics and famed herbalists had come to Blythe over the years: doctors, purveyors of the ancient ways, and those claiming a tie to the Light Above. Desperation looked like thousands of coin spent in pursuit of a swollen belly.
Only once had she found Lady Margaret crying after one of them had left. There had been a distinct smell of urine and sage, which had been prescribed to her as a topical fertility stimulant. Nonsense. It was all nonsense and just a way to take advantage of a grieving woman. That night in the kitchen when theyhad both gone to find solitude, Lady Margaret had confessed her perceived failing—a moment of weakness that was quickly covered by smiles and niceties that broke Luci’s heart.
When Luci had tried to bring it up later, she acted as if she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was speaking of. So Luci never said another word about it, but she thought of that night often. Thought of the burdens Lady Margaret carried with her, even though she was always quick to smile. The darkest of pain could be hidden behind a beautiful smile.
“He thought if he could prove Brielle is healthy enough, it would silence the other nobles and solidify his place next to King Rupert. He is using her.” Luci realized she had said the last part out loud and jerked her eyes up to Lady Margaret, but she wasn’t moved.
She merely cleared her throat and kept ahead. “What Stefan does is for all of us, Luci, darling. We must help him in whatever way we can.”
There was no world where Luci was prepared to argue with the woman beside her, who had given more than enough. Instead, she let her disdain for the way Lord Treveon would use his daughter carry her next steps. At least it explained the wary glances and curious whispers they were receiving. If Lord Treveon had made a name for himself at court, then everyone connected to him would now be under scrutiny.
“Ah, come my sweet, we will get you some-”
“Lady Brielle?” A melodic voice called. “I hardly recognized you!”
Swallowing a groan, Luci twisted and found a stunning brunette with perfect curls and large brown eyes staring at her with a wide smile. If she was supposed to know who this was, she was already failing miserably.
“Oh, how lovely. Lady Annabeth, you are practically glowing tonight.” Lady Margaret’s delivery was effortless, and her help seemingly given under polite courtesy.
Lady Annabeth of Dorden, of course. Now she saw the glow of evil around the woman. Ten years had been kind to her and rid her of all her youthful awkwardness, but the words she spoke to Brielle when they were younger were a grudge Luci was willing to carry to her grave.
“Lady Annabeth,” Luci dipped her head, biting back a thousand words.
The woman took Luci’s gloved hand in hers and squeezed slightly too hard. Some things never changed. It was an effort not to roll her eyes.
“You look so well, darling. I knew all those rumors were just immoral gossip. I told all of them that Brielle is a quiet girl; she merely enjoys living out in the country. After all, the court is not for everyone.”