My headache returned with a splitting intensity later that afternoon, but I was determined not to miss the ball scheduled for that evening. After a lengthy afternoon nap and a vile-tasting tonic from Giles, the throbbing behind my eyes slowly abated as the sun set. I waited to hear the string music wafting up from the ballroom before I descended, more intent upon observation than participation.
I made my entrance quietly, without fanfare and without being announced, slipping in through one of the side doors from the gardens. I secured myself a drink from a passing servant, meant solely as a prop and not for its contents. No amount of gold or bribery could have compelled me to drink that night, least of all among the poisonous vipers of the Ardalonian royal court.
Lurking behind one of the many marble pillars, I observed the nobles, taking time to note who spent the most time talking together and went to great lengths to avoid each other. I kept one eye on Ana-Cristina and Dulciana, slipping into the crowd to find a new lurking spot whenever one of them noticed me. I wanted to be sure they noted my attendance, but I had no desire to speak to either of them.
As the day had drawn on and the reality that I'd almost lost my life the night before finally processed in my head, my wrath towards Dulciana had grown into quite the formidable beast. I doubted whether I'd be able to preserve my calm facade if she dared approach. I took some small measure of satisfaction, however, when I noticed Armando standing rigidly behind the throne, a shining purple eye to match the battered cheekbone just below it.
At least someone had been punished.
The other young nobles that had accompanied us appeared no worse for wear, which again served to feed the rage growing inside me. Clearly the poison in my drinks had been deliberately directed to me, not a blanket plot to poison nobles by some unhappy commoner working in the questionable establishment we'd visited.
My eyes wandered toward the Duque Delminas and his son, the pair of them huddled in a corner as the son, Guillermo Peñarisco, followed Ana-Cristina with his eyes. He was just as sullen as he had been the evening before, albeit far more sober. His mother, the ravishingly beautiful Duquesa Delminas, was conversing with Dulciana and the Duquesa Delbosque, in what appeared to be more of a verbal sparring match than a conversation. I was attempting to puzzle out whose side Dulciana was favouring when I noticed the Duque Delbosque headed my way.
"Good evening, your Grace," I said, forgoing my usual attempt at clumsy Ardal as he took up a place beside me, surveying the ballroom.
"A very pleasant evening indeed, your Highness," he said, inspecting me out of the corner of his eye. "I daresay more pleasant than the last, yes?"
I looked over at him, careful to keep my face frigid and unreadable.
"I never allow my sons to venture down to Relizia," the duque continued, undeterred. "Terribly dangerous place, even for one who speaks the language. You must have a guardian angel looking out for you to have made it back in one piece."
"Indeed," I said, as much frost in my tone as on my face. I was already running low on patience, but it would not do to unleash my wrath against my devious betrothed on an unsuspecting duque. Keeping my eyes on the ball guests, I fervently wished he'd walk away and find someone else to converse with, for I had no desire to partake in the veiled double-entendres and subtle jabs that comprised a conversation with an Ardalonian noble.
"You must think me terribly forward to be scolding a prince as if he were my own son," the duque chuckled, looking down into his drink.
I bit back my sigh. Clearly he was not leaving any time soon, not until he spat out whatever it was he'd sauntered over to say.
"Not at all, though I'm far more interested in your motives. Were you intending to deliver a scolding or is this your version of polite conversation?" I asked, fighting to keep the annoyance from my tone.
The jovial mask the duque usually wore slipped, as it had the first time we'd conversed privately, the shrewd man beneath smiling in admiration of my perception.
"I had hoped to discuss chessboards," he said, turning his attention back to the ballroom, his open, cheerful facade back in place, as if we were conversing about the weather or the tides.
Well, that was certainly unexpected. The last time I'd mentioned a chessboard was when I'd conversed with the crown prince in the poison gallery. Since I wasn't one to believe in coincidence, least of all in a court as tricky and convoluted as Ardalone's, I deduced that this was the duque's way of subtly announcing his loyalty before he went ahead and probed at mine.
I quickly decided to test him at his own game.
"Chessboards?" I repeated. "Am I to assume you are a fellow chesspiece or do you presume to be the chessmaster?"
He glanced over at me.
"I am but a rook protecting his king," he said, his shrewd eyes holding my gaze before they returned to the ball guests milling around us, "Hoping to remind you that a pawn can become queen when your opponent succeeds in distracting you."
A little on the nose, I thought, but the analogy certainly worked. If the Duque Delbosque was working with Frederico, he was most certainly on the side I hoped to ally myself with.
"Sound advice, your Grace, but you will be happy to know that I am not at all distracted," I replied, my eyes finding Dulciana. "I know which pawn is crossing the board, I only I wish I knew who was deciding her moves."
"You would do well not to underestimate her," the duque said, following my gaze. "She is the master of her own fate, that one."
"I was under the impression a certain bastard son was masterminding her actions," I said, nodding towards where Armando still stood behind the king.
The duque snorted, turning towards me. His facade was gone now, his tone just as serious as his eyes.
"If you think anything she does is at the behest of another, you are sorely mistaken. Every brutal act is her idea, he is simply the one who carries out her plans," the duque said. "Which is why she cannot be queen, ever. She is-"
The duque abruptly cut himself off, bowing.
"This seems to be quite the riveting conversation. I hope you don't mind the interruption," Ana-Cristina cooed, fixing her best smile in place as she sidled up beside me.
"Not at all, your Highness," the duque replied. But she was thoroughly ignoring him, looking up at me as she batted her lashes.
"I was hoping for a dance," she said, snaking her arm through mine. I took a step away, detaching myself from her.
"Perhaps some other time. I was quite enjoying my discussion with the duque," I said, ice and anger in my eyes when I caught Dulciana watching us from across the room.
I should have expected that she'd send someone to interrupt, especially if the Duque Delbosque was her brother's ally.
Beside me, Ana-Cristina's brows had crashed together into a frown, clearly not expecting such a rejection. The duque, however, had pressed his lips together as approval danced in his eyes.
Without even meaning to, I'd just proven myself to him. Fortunately he didn't realize that my refusal to dance with the conniving princess had nothing to do with loyalty to Frederico, but rather because I would have preferred to eat an entire barrel of ants than spend a dance falsely reciprocating her flirtation.
"How disappointing," she said to me, jutting her lower lip out in a pout before she turned to the duque. "Señor Carvalho, you wouldn't be so unkind as to leave me partnerless, would you?"
"Your wish is my command, princess," the duque said, bowing once again. He offered his arm to Ana-Cristina and the pair of them turned away, the duque inclining his head with that same look of approval he'd worn when I'd refused the princess.
I made a mental note to call on the duque the next day, so that we might continue our conversation without any interruption from Dulciana.
Alone once again, I slinked back into the shadows at the edge of the ballroom, intent upon slipping from Dulciana's view before she could send any more of her lackeys to intercept me. I skirted the room, once again noting who conversed with who, before halting outright.
Tucked in the shadows against the outer wall, Beatriz' attention was directed through the open door to her left.
"I've been l-" I started, cutting myself off when her brown eyes leaped to me and she pressed a finger to her veiled lips. Annoyed, she held my gaze until she was sure I would obey, before returning her attention to the garden beyond. Curious about whom she was eavesdropping on, I took the spot opposite her, her veil shivering with a sigh as I did so.
"...cannot be seen speaking like this! It would raise too many questions!"
I started, looking over at Beatriz. I knew that voice. She widened her eyes, lifting a finger to her lips again to ensure that I remained silent.
"This would be a far more suitable conversation in my office, say, tomorrow, yes?" Ambassador Wells continued.
"So your secretary can turn me away yet again? I think not, Lawrence."
I glanced over at Beatriz in shock once again, but her attention was on the pair of men conversing outside. I recognized that voice also, with its lilting northern Pretanian accent.
"If anyone sees-" Ambassador Wells persisted, before Callum Winters interrupted him.
"Shut your mouth before I close it for you and listen to me," Callum hissed.
Their voices dropped to whispers, Beatriz and I both leaning closer in an attempt to hear them. As I leaned towards the open garden door, however, my jacket caught on the handle, clacking the wood against the wall.
Anger and annoyance warred in the gaze Beatriz pinned on me, the whispering coming to an abrupt halt.
"Who's there?" Callum Winters demanded in Ardal. Beatriz shook her head in angry disbelief, shrinking back even farther into the shadows.
"Reveal yourself or I'll-" Winters continued, stopping when I took a step out into the doorway, into view of the pair of Pretanians.
Beatriz paused in her retreat, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. I had a feeling she'd crossed her arms, but I kept my gaze away from her, not wanting to give away the eavesdropping princess.
"I thought I recognized my own language," I said, throwing on my idiot prince grin as I sauntered out to the garden.
Outside, Wells looked as if he were about to die of mortification, while Winters had drawn himself up to his full height.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I said, turning my gaze to the ambassador. "Wells, I didn't realize you were on speaking terms with Winters. Are you even permitted to converse with exiles?"
"This is no business of yours," Callum Winters said, his tone low and dangerous.
"Isn't it?" I fired back, finally unleashing some of my pent up anger as I faced the exiled Pretanian lord.
Anger to fight the other thoughts stirring at the edges of my mind, thoughts of his granddaughter and how closely her blue eyes resembled his.
"Your Highness, I-" Wells started, his pudgy hands shaking as he wrung them, dropping a bow so low it was a wonder he didn't topple over. Winters remained upright, his lip curling with a sneer.
"We were simply meeting to discuss your betrothal," Winters said. "I was ensuring that the ambassador helps you avoid making the same mistake as your brother."
"Mistake?" I demanded. Winters smiled, his teeth glittering in the moonlight.
"Your brother chose the wrong Pretanian bride," Winters said, "And landed you in this mess of a country because of it."
"You must fancy yourself as quite omniscient to presume to know anything about my brother's reasons," I replied. "Or perhaps you're bitter because a Winters once again came so close to sitting on a throne, only to fail."
Winters' grin died, his eyes turning murderous.
"I must admit, I find it strange for someone like you to take such an interest in my betrothal," I continued. "How exactly does my marriage play into your plan to topple my father's throne?"
Wells' eyes widened with horror at the mention of Callum's treason and he shrank away even more, but Winters was undeterred, instead inspecting me with cool calculation.
"I had hoped you'd surprise me and not turn out to be as much of a fool as the other men in your family," he said. "Alas, I'm to be disappointed again. It's a shame you didn't take more after your mother. Perhaps then you might've stood a chance in this court."
"Careful, Callum," I said, using every ounce of willpower to keep from exploding, "I doubt it would be that difficult for me to convince King Felipe to set your head on a spike for me as a wedding gift."
Winters laughed, a mirthless, bitter sound.
"Already mentioning a wedding? Then I wish you every happiness with your Ardalonian bride," he said, dipping a sarcastically low bow. "Such a shame it couldn't be my Adelaide."
The breath left my lungs in a gust. I felt my back go rigid, my fists curling as Winters stalked past me back into the ballroom. Try as I might to hide my reaction, I was powerless in the face of the memories her name on his lips yanked forth, powerless to hide how well his words had hit their mark.
How much did he know? How did he know? Had Adelaide told him? Her mother? Her father? Was Sam Winters even permitted to contact his exile of a father?
The questions tumbled around my mind as Ambassador Wells bleated some pathetic apology, still wringing his hands.
"If I ever hear of you meeting with a Pretanian traitor again, I'll have your head on a spike next to his," I snarled, storming past the ambassador into the darkened garden.
**A/N: What a tricky chess game this is, weaving all this plot together! What do you all think of the Duque Delbosque? Friend or foe? What about Wells chatting with Callum Winters...so suspicious! More importantly, do you think Beatriz overhead the bit about Adelaide? *wiggles eyebrows*
As always, if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to vote and comment!**