House of Secrets and Vows (Crown of Deceit #1)

14. Game of Tokens

14

GAME OF TOKENS

N ow that I’ve been seen, my double life has never been more dangerous.

Everything in me yearns to finish my plan, but I can’t ease the tension in my muscles, reminding me of what I risk by continuing.

I adjust the deep V-neckline of the cherry-red dress that came from another box left on my bed while I was in the cathedral listening to a day of confessions. Along with the attire for tonight’s event is an invitation to another revel hosted by none other than Prince Nevan.

Perhaps he'll actually attend this time.

The event is held in the same place as the previous one held a week ago, and now that I know it was once a crypt, I can’t help but shiver as I follow the pathway underground.

In its usual fashion, the late spring weather is fickle and unpredictable. Two nights ago, I woke up covered in sweat, despite my lack of clothing. Tonight, goosebumps scatter across my arms like rosebuds blooming after winter.

It would have been nice if whoever picked out my outfit left me a jacket, but I’m given nothing but a dress and heeled shoes that are already torturing my feet.

I have to give Felix credit. Both outfits have been the right size, hugging my shape as if they were tailored just for me.

Tonight, there is no item required for entry, and the man standing guard does nothing but watch me walk by.

The room appears mostly as before—tables scattered throughout, an area for dancing, and couches and chairs set in groups for comfortable places to converse.

Tonight is more crowded, though. Since there is no barrier to entering, I imagine anyone who has heard of the gathering has come to enjoy the free liquor and the chance to live like a noble.

I linger near the entrance, scanning the room for the prince. No sign of him.

I exhale a puff of annoyance. Surely, he wouldn’t miss both revels, would he?

Of course he might. Rules and expectations are nothing to a Valazican prince, and thinking anything different is a waste of thought.

Blaise appears in my peripheral. “We meet again.”

I'm not sure where he came from, but I don’t show the rise in my pulse. With the risk of exposure higher than ever, I’m on edge, vulnerability heightening all of my senses.

“So it seems.” I fight the urge to cross my arms. “I hope your night went well after we parted.”

“Oh, quite.”

I don’t inquire any further into the happenings of his after-wine affair. “So, another revel?”

“Prince Nevan never disappoints when it comes to the Solstice.”

“And will Prince Nevan grace us with his presence this time?”

“Hoping to catch a prince’s eye, are you? Ambitious .”

“No.” My voice hangs on the word. “I just think it’s rude to throw parties and then not attend them.”

“It’s rude to give people free drinks and music?”

“There’s an expectation that the host will actually host, at least in the circles I run in.” The last part is a lie since I’ve never actually been to a revel as a simple guest. I’ve always had an agenda.

Blaise shifts closer to me as a large group enters the room. “And, do tell, what circles are those? I don’t think we’ve crossed paths at any of the events I’ve attended.”

I bite my cheek, reminding myself that talking less is always safer. “It’s been a while since the last one.”

“Well, Zariah, you’re in luck.” He points to the back of the room. “Prince Nevan is here tonight, in the room behind that archway.”

Why would he be hiding away from the revel?

As if sensing my question, Blaise continues. “That’s where the real party is happening.”

“And, do tell ”—I mock his earlier phrase—“how do I get invited back there?”

I’m not naive enough to think I can just walk in.

“You have to collect four tokens.” He moves toward me and leans in so close his mouth is an inch from my ear. “Once you have one of each bronze, silver, gold, and red tokens, you hand them to that man lingering near the archway.”

“How do I find the tokens?” I fight the irritation growing inside as he makes me work for every detail.

“Start with him.” He juts his chin in the direction of a man wearing a silver masquerade mask. “Good luck.”

The bastard enjoys getting under my skin. But as frustrating as that is, at least he’s been helpful.

A part of me expected the prince wouldn’t show up again tonight. I’d been prepared for that possibility. What I hadn’t considered was having to play some silly game, but I refuse to leave this party without speaking to him, so I have no choice but to play.

Without bothering to thank Blaise, I strut from him, straight toward the silver-masked man.

An older man in a white suit cuts me off before I can get to the masked man. Interrupting them would be a bad idea, so I scan the room while I wait my turn.

The dress code appears similar to the night of the other revel. Women don both pants and dresses, nearly all seductive in one way or another. Some dresses have modest necklines but revealing slits in their skirts. Most who wear pants opt for tight, low-cut shirts.

The men wear tailored suits, varied in style and color. All the outfits are clearly expensive, and though there is no invitation required to enter the main room, I now suspect someone in basic attire would be turned away.

Princes don’t throw revels for servants.

An older man in a white suit approaches me, eying the high table at my side. “Are you saving this table?”

I step away from it with a smile. “It’s all yours.”

The man and another man, this one around my age, pull out the wooden stools from underneath the table and each sits down, full glasses of red wine in their hands.

The younger one rests his forearm on the table’s edge. “Can you believe the fae bitch dared show her face at the opening ceremony?”

“After all that Solendale has done, she has some nerve.” The older man turns toward me. “What do you think, girl?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek at being called girl in a clearly diminishing tone. My teeth scrape my inner mouth as I force a polite smile. “Perhaps she seeks to solidify the treaty by making the first gesture of trust.”

“Fuck the treaty,” the younger man snaps. “It’s too late for there ever to be peace. My older brother came home in pieces. The bastards have no mercy.”

I sympathize. Losing a loved one is never easy, especially in a war that never seems to make much change. But that’s the exact reason a treaty should be welcomed.

The war has never been fair, not when the fae possess magic that outpowers even the most advanced weapons the human kingdom has. But what the Valazican army lacks in magic, it makes up for in sheer numbers.

While the fae can live for centuries, reproducing doesn’t come as easily.

Hate that runs so deep doesn't bow to logic, though, and it will be a long time before anyone in Valazica finds comfort in the newfound peace.

Finally, the masked man is free, just in time for me to leave the conversation I want no part of.

With a quick calming breath, I approach him before someone else steals the chance. “I hear you’re the man to speak to about getting a silver token.”

My lips curl into a sensual smile. It’s a blunt approach, but I don’t have time for subtlety.

“I’m the man to speak to about earning one.” He grins back, displaying a perfectly straight set of teeth. Even with the mask covering most of his upper face, his handsomeness is apparent, with dark eyes and even darker hair, and a jawline that could cut through steel.

“And how might I earn one?”

He slides a silver token from his pocket and rests it between his fingertips.

“We’ll play a little game. I’ll tell you three things about me. Two of them will be the truth, and one will be a lie. Guess which one is a lie, and this token is yours.” He tosses it in the air then catches it in his palm. “You only get one chance.”

“Very well. Let’s play.”

The man who cut me off earlier must have lost because he’d stomped away like a scolded child.

The silver-masked man closes his fist, the token hidden inside his grip. “When I was seven years old, I fell from a horse and got knocked so hard in the jaw, I nearly died.” He swallows. “My first lover was a woman I met in a tavern, with long, golden hair and rough hands from working on a ship. And lastly”—he gives a small pause—“I hate the taste of strawberries.”

My hands find my hips as I replay the three statements. He fell from a horse, met his first lover in a tavern, and hated strawberries. The third one is clearly the least personal and not as detailed as the other two, which makes it seem like a lie. But that makes it too obvious.

A roar of laughter booms toward the back of the room. When the silver-masked man turns to see what caused the commotion, I notice the thick scar on the bottom side of his chin. It could be a scar from something else, which only makes the horse story seem true. But had he not turned his head, I wouldn’t have been able to see it.

“Well, lovely, which is your guess?”

“The statement about your first lover,” I say confidently. “Most of the story is true, but some part of it is a lie.”

The best lies are always cloaked in truth.

He claps four times.

“Very well done.” He opens his fist and tosses me the token. “Her hair was chestnut-brown.”

I smirk, relieved I didn’t mess up on the first token.

As soon as I leave the masked man, a woman in a hunter green dress takes my place.

I meander the once-crypt, finally spotting a petite woman in a golden masquerade mask holding a glass of wine at a table on the outside of the room.

As I slip into the chair across from her, I’m struck by the strong rose scent of her perfume. “I’m here to earn a gold token.”

“Very well.” The woman sips her wine. “All you must do is listen to your fellow revel-goers and bring me back something interesting enough to earn the token.”

“As in, eavesdrop?”

She shrugs a shoulder, causing her short brown hair to bounce. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And how will I know if it’s worthy of a token?”

“Make sure it’s good.” She rests her forearm on the table.

I hate games with no set rules. The first game had been straightforward—spot the lie or lose. This task, though, is too ambiguous for my liking.

There’s no changing the rules, so I weave through the room, searching for an interesting conversation. I hover near a pair of men discussing the upcoming Solstice events, but within a few minutes deem the conversation boring at best.

Next, I move on to a group of three women who jabber about a widowed man who has come on to all three of them in the last year. The conversation shows promise as they discuss his rumored infidelity.

A blond woman dressed in a shimmery black dress leans in toward the others. “I tried to tell Paulina, but she simply didn’t want to believe her husband was capable of such a thing.”

“Please.” Another woman huffs. “She knew exactly what he was doing. She just didn’t want to leave the luxury he provided her.”

“Barton did have impeccable taste in the gifts he gave her,” the blond woman adds. She raises a brow and shrugs. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Infidelity should suffice as interesting gossip, but as I turn to share what I’ve overheard with the gold-masked woman, a familiar tightness tugs at my chest.

At first, I’m confused, but I quickly understand that the man the women are discussing is the same bastard who made a confession about his infidelity.

After wasting an entire twenty minutes on that conversation, I grumble to myself as I weave through the room. I pass by a pair of women waiting in line to order a drink, and when one mentions Prince Maddox, I step into line behind them.

“Belyndia swore she saw the prince kissing a woman in the gardens last week,” the dark-haired woman says.

“I’m sure the prince kisses many women,” the other one replies. “I’ve never thought you to be so prudish.”

“This was different. She could sense they were hiding.”

“Outside in the garden? Seems an odd place to hide.”

“It was the outer garden, near the southern fence.”

It isn’t quite as juicy as the widowed man, but anything about a prince has to be worth a token. I don’t have all night, so I’ll have to take my chances.

The golden-masked woman sips her glass of wine as she listens to what I overheard.

“Prince Maddox kissed a woman? Not particularly surprising.” She tucks one side of her hair behind her ear. “But meeting a woman in the outer gardens must have been intentional. Very mysterious. It’ll do.”

She slides a token out from the collarbone area of her dress and tosses it to me.

I catch the token and blow out my relief. Two down, two to go.

I have no idea how long the revel will last, and there’s no guarantee of more parties after this one. Plus, even if the prince hosts another, he might not attend.

I still don’t know what Felix has planned, but for my own shot at revenge, I need to gain Nevan’s trust—the sooner, the better.

It takes some searching, but I find the bronze-masked woman near the entrance leaning against a wall, staring at her fingernails as if this were the most boring place to be.

The woman’s gaze doesn’t wander as I approach. “Here for a token, I assume?”

“I am.”

The woman turns her hand and gives one more look to her perfectly trimmed nails.

“Very well. To earn a bronze coin, you must share a secret.” A slight accent tinges her words, Elderburnian if I’m not mistaken.

“A secret?” I resist a cackle at the irony.

“Tell me something you’ve not told a single living soul, and the token is yours.”

It sounds simple—too simple—and usually when something sounds like it's too easy, it is. The woman returns her attention to her hand. This time it's the opposite one, and I notice the tattoo curling around her middle finger.

As I casually inspect it, I make out the curve of a snake.

Perhaps the woman has a fondness for serpents, but in my research of the Houses, I’ve learned that the snake is the symbol of the House of Lies, and many of the members wear it in one form or another.

If my prediction is correct, the woman will be able to sense how true my words are.

As I rack my brain for something no one knows, the woman raises an index finger and adds, “It must be something worthy of the token.”

I don’t hold in my huff.

Of course, it can’t be something simple. Nothing ever is.

Most of my life is a closed book. I’ve told very few anything about who I am. The closest person to knowing the true me is Aella, and even she didn’t know all of my secrets. Some parts of myself I’ve pushed so deep, I don’t even think about them.

What is something I can share that wouldn’t give too much away but would be enough to get that damned token?

I don’t have all night to think, and so, begrudgingly, I say, “I wasn’t born inside the kingdom.”

It’s true, but vague enough, and the only person I’d ever told the truth to was Aella. Since my friend is no longer living, the secret slips between the guidelines.

The masked woman curls the finger marked with a serpent. “Where were you born?”

I shake my head. “You said one secret.”

Refusing her question is a risk, but I won’t share where I'm from, and most definitely not to a stranger.

The woman sucks in a breath and then reaches into the pocket of her pants and hands me a token. “Since you had the balls to tell me no.”

I add the bronze piece to the other two.

Only one more token stands between me and the prince.