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

19. A Servant’s Game

19

A SERVANT’S GAME

I have one goal tonight: gain the prince's trust.

At more risk than I’d take sober, I’ve secured a connection with him during our drunken adventure in the forest.

Now, I need to deepen it so he’ll lower his defenses even further. The line I must tread is delicate. Somehow, I need to lure him into my web without letting my own guard down, which means absolutely no more fae brandy.

And then I’ll be ready to strike.

My legs yearn to stretch as I take short steps, the dress I'm wearing so snug around my backside that one wrong step is sure to tear the fabric. And I don’t need to ruin the night before it starts.

Nobles mingle around me, lost in chatter and liquor as they wait for tonight's event to begin. I search for the prince, but he hasn't arrived yet.

When I returned to my room after today's confessions—the longest day of confessions yet—a note was waiting with the outfit. Not only had I been utterly exhausted, but dealing with Blaise and then Maddox back-to-back had been nearly too much to handle.

Blaise knows a secret about me; I'm sure of it.

Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I worry he knows about my double life. The servant saw my face behind my veil, and perhaps she told him. Though, I don't recall seeing the woman in my time as a non-Priestess.

While Blaise knows something about me, Maddox clearly knows Nevan's secret. Worrying about all of it at once will drive me mad, so I decide to forget Blaise's accusation for the night and focus solely on getting closer to Prince Nevan.

I'm too deep in this game to quit now.

"Well, hello again," a female approaches me from the side.

I turn to see Emeryn waltzing toward me, her hips swaying side to side in a dress that’s even tighter than mine. I searched for her at the second revel, but I never saw her there.

"Hi there.” I smile, turning my perky, outgoing side on. After spending so many years in the resistance, I’ve learned to wear many faces, and my friendly, flirty one almost always works. "I thought I loved the last dress I saw you in. But this one is stunning."

"You should see me out of it.” Emeryn winks with a smirk. "I can't believe we're already near the end of the Solstice celebrations. I'm not sure what I'll do with myself when I'm sent back to boredom hell at home."

"I plan to sleep for at least two weeks once this is over.” I casually glance behind Emeryn, searching for the prince.

"I take it you've been enjoying yourself?"

"Mostly."

"I heard you slipped out of the prince’s last revel with the handsome host himself."

I can't fight the rise of heat in my cheeks at how many people saw me, drunk on the strong liquor. "I might have gotten a little carried away after having a shot of fae brandy."

"Ahh, you beat that little game of the prince's, did you?"

"Have you?"

"No, but I've heard all about it," Emeryn says. "I've never had fae brandy myself, but I've seen others take it. Nasty stuff."

Nasty, glorious—the line between the two is thin. Letting go of all inhibitions is a blessing as much as a curse, and I’m lucky the worst part of that night in the forest was nearly making a mistake by kissing him.

"It was a mostly uneventful night.” I shrug.

"Surely, something gossip-worthy happened after you two disappeared?"

"He gave me a tour of the haunted wood behind the castle. It was thrilling, but hardly worth much gossip." I resist the urge to touch my lips. "But I'm sure I'd have been too afraid to go without the brandy."

"Did he give you a tour of anywhere else?" Emeryn quirks her mouth into an accusatory grin.

"That would be a better story, but no."

Emeryn reaches up and tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, revealing a jagged scar on her hand that looks exactly like the scar of the castle servant who dropped the bouquet. The servant's hair had been brown, though.

I hone my attention back on her face, faking a smile, and studying her features. She has the same long face with wide-set eyes and a defined chin as the servant. If it were only a difference in hair color, I might assume it was just a wig. But her eyes are clearly blue now, not the brown they'd been before.

Her nose has been contoured smaller, as have her cheekbones, but now that I’ve seen the clear resemblance, I can't unsee it.

Somehow, Emeryn is the servant.

My throat tightens as a watermelon-sized pit rolls in my stomach. I swallow hard, forcing the stress in my features to relax.

"This attention to detail is exquisite.” I touch the delicate beading around Emeryn's waist. "Where do you shop? It's so hard to find truly well-made attire. But that beading must have taken the seamstress days."

Which would cost a whole lot more than the measly amount the servants must make. Unlike slaves of other nations, everyone who works in the castle is paid, though their duty is that of servitude, promised by themselves or their parents.

They usually have no choice in the matter, so for all purposes, they might as well be slaves.

Just one of the many cruelties of the crown.

Emeryn smooths out the fabric around her waist. “I’ve had this one a while."

"Mine was a gift," I say, before she asks reciprocal questions.

I recall the brief conversation we had at the first revel. Emeryn mentioned her father was a merchant, way too wealthy of a profession to have a servant as a daughter.

Clearly, she’s up to games of her own, and I have no idea how she might use what she knows about me, or whom she may tell.

Or already told.

The crowd near the door parts, and Prince Nevan waltzes into the room, the picture of self-assurance. Everyone grins at him as if he were the star of Valazica. He’s a prince, so I'm not sure why I’m surprised.

But when his brother follows a few steps behind him, the welcoming is neutral at best.

Emeryn glances from Nevan to me. "I won't keep you. Enjoy the competition."

Competition? The invitation didn’t state what tonight’s event would be, only to come to the arena located in the far northwest corner of the palace grounds.

A man approaches Nevan and shakes his hand, then proceeds to talk as the prince scans the room.

When his gaze meets mine, my stomach flutters. The pleasant expression on his face widens into a grin. He pats the man on the shoulder, nods my way, then saunters toward me.

"Hello there, Zariah." He’s dressed in a finely made suit today, much more formal than he’d been at his revel. The jacket fits snugly, but is tailored to his exact measurements as it hugs every dip in muscle with precision.

"Hello, Prince." My tone is sultrier than I intend. "Had any more nightly excursions to visit your ghostly friends?"

"Unfortunately, I've been preoccupied with courtly business."

"Sounds tedious."

"Quite." He adjusts a button on his jacket. "But I won't bore you with the details."

A roar of cheering seeps through the double doors at the end of the room.

"That sounds exciting," I say. "I've heard tonight is a competition of some sort?"

"Yes, the Legends' Duel. It happens every Summer Solstice. Warriors train all year for the chance to win."

"The Legends' Duel?" I’ve never heard of it.

"Tonight is just a practice round. Anyone can participate. Tomorrow is an all-day event. The winner is awarded five hundred gold and is named this year's champion."

"Sounds so official." As I am about to ask what kind of battle to expect, the crowd erupts again.

The prince offers his elbow. "Shall we?"

I should be ecstatic that getting his attention was so easy. It is, after all, what my entire goal of the Solstice has been. And yet, I hesitate.

Taking his arm and walking into an entire crowd of people will draw more attention to me than I’ve ever had in my life.

And, try as I might, I can't push away the bubbly sensation that forms in my stomach whenever I think of our twined hands as we left the revel or his mouth so near mine, buzzed as we could be on the fae brandy.

Refusing his offer to escort me in would have been stupid on so many levels, so I lock my elbow with his. “Lead the way.”

My heart flutters as we step through the double doors into an arena. Every seat in the top two tiers is packed. The structure around us is large and opens to the darkening sky above.

We walk out to the ledge and peer out into the stadium below, just a fence separating us from a long fall down. The chill of the setting sun skitters through me as the gazes of the spectators all fall on us.

“Would you like to sit with me?” Nevan asks.

I should accept without hesitation, but I can’t help but remark, “I’m surprised you don’t already have a date.”

“I could say the same to you.” He arches an eyebrow with a devilish grin as if flattery is his second language.

I match his confidence with a coquettish smirk. “Then, I suppose, we can be lonely together.”

He leads to a set of stairs which we take to the section of seats in the front rows where his brother is already seated. Unlike the above tiers, very few are seated here, and no one else sits this low on our side of the arena.

Maddox’s expression remains unbothered as he notices me. “A new friend, brother?”

“We go way back.” Nevan grins. “Maddox, this is Zariah.”

He doesn’t bother introducing his brother to me. Anyone invited to the Solstice knows who the members of the royal family are.

We sit in the row behind Maddox, which seems strange, but I don't comment. After Maddox's confession earlier, I can't help but wonder if tension is growing between the brothers. Maddox seemed so concerned with loyalty toward Nevan, but perhaps, knowing what he knows, he can't help but distance himself.

I scan the arena, peering into the two tiers above the ground level. While some of the audience is dressed in finery, many of those in the upper sections wear calmer, more basic attire.

"Who are given tickets to see this event?" I ask.

"All of the noble families, the entire staff of palace servants, and whatever seats are remaining after those groups are given to random Valazicans."

“Random?"

"Usually, one of the city guards hands them out during the day. Sometimes they're given to select groups, like the orphanages. Other times, all the nobles want to come and there aren't many left."

"I've never heard of the king caring about commoners." Another slip of my tongue before I consider my words. I curse at myself in my mind.

"It was Maddox and I who suggested the idea under the guise of keeping a good image. I'm not sure my father cares much about it, but he rarely attends anymore, so he didn't argue."

Two men walk out into the arena, both dressed head to toe in battle gear. The crowd applauds as both reach their hands high in the sky and spin around until they have faced every person in the audience.

Maddox turns around. "Five coins for the one in blue."

"Ten on the one in black," Nevan replies.

Maddox laughs. "Even better."

Each man goes to the opposite end of the battle area. One shakes out his arms and tilts his head from side to side. The other, shorter and leaner, bounces on his feet.

"I don't see any weapons," I say.

Nevan tilts his head toward me. "The first fights of the night don't use any. It's all about brute force."

The burlier of the two, dressed in blue, pounds his fists together as a bell chimes, starting the fight.

I'm not sure how the skinny one, who Nevan has chosen, stands a chance without any weapons. His muscles pale in size compared to the taller man's, and I envision the stronger man breaking his neck in one snap.

But he glides around the battle area, precise in his swift movements. Every time the burly man lunges, the thin one scurries right out of his reach. They dance around, a game of cat and mouse, until the smaller one strikes a quick blow to the other man's neck.

As the burly man grabs at his throat, gasping for air, Nevan’s pick lands a kick to his stomach, knocking the burly man onto the ground.

Then without hesitation, he leaps to the other man and kicks him straight in the nose.

The larger man writhes on the ground, rolling back and forth a few times before finally tapping the ground three times.

The crowd cheers as the leaner man raises his hands in victory.

I scoot forward in my seat. “That was unexpected.”

"If you knew Ronan, you'd know he's a quick little bastard." Nevan taps his brother on the shoulder. "Don't forget you owe me ten coins."

Maddox doesn't turn around as he flicks his hand in his brother’s direction. "Yeah, yeah."

"You know him?" I ask Nevan.

"He's from Elderburn. And what he lacks in strength, he makes up for in speed and pure determination." He playfully bumps me with his elbow. "He trained me last summer after I watched him in last year's Solstice."

When the next two opponents enter the arena below, Nevan asks his brother, "Another bet?"

Maddox says, "Fifteen on the one in red."

"Deal." Nevan extends his foot to rest on the seat in front of him.

When he leans forward, resting his forearm onto his thigh, and smirks, I don't doubt he is familiar with both of the competitors and knows who, exactly, should win.

As I expect, the man in red gets his ass completely handed to him in a battle that lasts only half as long as the last one.

Maddox grumbles something inaudible when Nevan tells him to add the fifteen to the total. When Nevan offers a double-or-nothing bet on the next one, his brother declines.

And when the winner Nevan offers to bet on loses, his brother grumbles again, this time his few choice words very clear.

"I knew he wouldn't bet again," Nevan whispers in my ear, pulling away with a smile that makes my stomach dance.

Five more battles happen, each a little longer than the last. Before the next one begins, Nevan excuses himself, promising he won't be gone long.

After he’s out of sight, Maddox turns to me.

"Be careful around my brother. He's charming, but..." He looks straight into my eyes. "He's going through something and isn't himself."

"What do you mean?" I ask, praying I seem startled by his words.

"I can't say much." He waits as the crowd cheers as the next competitors saunter into the arena. "Just don't trust him."