Nora followed the Kaulish admiral through a series of halls that appeared to have no other purpose than to portray large paintings of inbred royals. They were surrounded by a guard of one hundred men. She was strong and she was good with blades, but she wasn’t invincible. There was no way she could fight her way out of this foreign palace.
At least, not yet.
A giant footman opened a door to a large, noisy room full of people. Nora blinked to make sure she was actually seeing what her mind told her she was. Everyone in the room had curly white hair. Old or young. Male or female. Although, the women’s wigs seemed to be three times the size of the men’s. Every face in the room was painted a chalky white despite the varying tones of their skin. Their painted white faces were made even more garish by the use of bright cosmetics that made their lips bloodred and their eyes shadowed in blue and black.
But the most ridiculous thing about the king’s court was how they were dressed. Both men and women wore silk stockings and high-heeled shoes. The men wore silk breeches and coats in pastel colors, mostly blue. The women wore gowns all shades of the rainbow and more ornately decorated than the palace itself. One woman’s skirt was as wide as four people standing side by side. The dresses were laughable. A woman could barely move in one, let alone fight in it.
The courtiers’ speaking stopped when she walked by. A hush fell over the entire room. She saw a young woman lift her fan to her mouth with one hand and pointed mockingly at Nora with her other. Nora longed to straighten her braid or adjust the collar. But she was not going to give them the satisfaction of thinking she cared about their thoughts.
Nora truly didn’t.
Holding her head high, she continued to walk behind Admiral Rapace until they arrived at the dais where King Pierre, his wife, and their heir, Prince Alexandre, were sitting. Each on a gilded, ornately carved throne of their own. The king’s throne, however, was nearly twice the size of the other two thrones. The illegitimate prince did not look as much like his father as she had thought. King Pierre was the only person in the room wearing a black wig. It was enormous, curly and parted down the middle. Long curls fell over both his shoulders. His face was also painted white, but not even cosmetics could hide his flaccid cheeks and drooping brow. Biting his ruby-red lips, he lifted one jeweled finger.
Admiral Rapace took off his bicorn hat and bowed deeply to his king. “Your Majesty.”
A small smile played on the corners of King Pierre’s brightly painted face, and he nodded to the admiral. The man stepped forward and took his king’s hand and kissed it. Nora shivered in disgust at the thought of kissing such a man’s hand. Admiral Rapace bowed once more, then stepped back with his eyes and head lowered.
“They did not lie about her beauty,” King Pierre said in the high tongue, smiling at Nora in a way that made her stomach roil. “Or about the unusual color of her hair.”
“Or about her powers, sire,” the admiral said. “She nearly strangled Captain Batard on our first meeting.”
“What caused her to stop?” the king asked, the smile never leaving his painted lips.
Admiral Rapace cleared his throat. “Queen Eleanora offered to trade his life for her cousin’s safe passage to Urka.”
“And you granted it?” King Pierre asked in a dangerous whisper.
The admiral’s already red face turned a violent maroon hue. “I-I-I thought Your Majesty would want me to save the life of your so—sailor.”
He’d been a hairsbreadth away from saying “son” and everyone in the room seemed to know it. A din of whispers filled the air. Nora flicked her eyes speculatively toward the queen, Elea’s aunt by blood (her dead mother’s sister). She wore a white wig and was covered in white powder, but her narrow eyes looked dark and intelligent. She had visited Urka only once with her son—for her sister’s funeral nine years previous. Even covered in white dust, the queen’s resemblance to Nora’s late aunt Gabriella was striking. Seeing Queen Maria’s face was like reopening an old scar and making it bleed again. Aunt Gabriella had been like a mother to Nora. She had loved her when no one else did.
Prince Alexandre, the dauphin, was also painted and powdered and wore a curly white wig. But beneath it all, she recognized her old friend. She knew that underneath his white powder, he had his mother’s coloring, but no other resemblance to her family. He had inherited his father’s nose. It was curved like an eagle’s beak, and underneath it, his thin lips tilted upward into the slightest of smiles. Her pulse quickened. Was it for her? Even after all these years, Alexandre would know that she was not Elea. She and Alexandre had once held each other’s deepest secrets. Would he help her? Could he help her? He’d grown taller and broader since their last meeting. But he was still only the dauphin. It was his father who had all the power. At leasthehad never met Elea.
“What is done is done,” King Pierre said, leaning back in his chair. “Two would have been preferable, in case one of them proved to be . . . difficult.”
Nora forced her lips not to smile. She would prove to be much more difficult than that silly painted king had any idea of.
Admiral Rapace bowed again, both relief and fear marked into the lines of his face. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
King Pierre lifted his jeweled pointer finger. “You may go, Admiral.”
The king’s sunken eyes turned her direction. Nora did not so much as flinch. She’d been ogled at before, and while it made her feel like spiders were crawling over her skin, there was nothing she could do about it now. A smirk formed on his lips and he seemed to be pleased by something.
“Queen Eleanora, you are dressed most unusually.”
Nora did not look down at her dirty and torn gown. She would not show the king any trace of discomfort or fear. She would never allow such a man to think he had any control over her. She refused to answer.
“Do you speak the high tongue? Or must I utter the guttural sounds of Urkan?” King Pierre asked, the second question spoken in heavily accented Urkan.
She blinked but remained silent.
“Sanian, perhaps?”
She understood Sanian fluently. In the last year, it had become the language of her heart and she could speak it without an accent, but she still refused to answer him.
The smirk on the king’s face expanded into a smile—his teeth were sharp and yellow, like a wolf’s. He giggled loudly and clapped his hands like a child.
“Oh, this is going to be such fun!”