Trinkets

I fume as I walk back to my rooms.

Not beautiful enough to tempt him, am I? We'll see about that. I'm going to make him fall so in love with me, he'll forget he ever saw another woman. He will be begging for me by the time I'm done with him.

And then he'll beg for his life right before I end him.

That sweet thought sustains me as I reach my rooms and read toward my bed.

The king was not wrong. A large pile of letters rests on the table in my room, but I don't get to open them right away.

There's a man next to my bed. I half hoped it would be handsome Kastien, just so I could have a story to tell the king about chasing men away from my room. But alas.

It's Lowell.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demand. "How did you even get in here?"

He's so tall his head is only a foot away from the ceiling. Impeccably dressed in black pants and a plum-coloured coat, he turns at the sound of my voice.

"Loralie, fancy seeing you here."

"It's my room!"

"Yes, and your maid was all too happy to let me in. All I had to do was smile and make up some story about leaving a trinket for you to find on your vanity. Apparently, she's a romantic."

I grimace. "For your sake, you'd better hope she doesn't talk."

"Why? Would it be so terrible for people to know I'd left you something?"

I stare at him, trying to make sense of why he could be here when he kicks off his shoes and reclines on my bed.

"Come here," he purrs.

"Get out," I say, my voice turning abrupt and sharp.

"Just because you didn't want my ring, it doesn't mean you don't want this. I know you."

"Since you've failed to notice, allow me to spell things out for you. I don't want you. The king is courting me now. The king, Lowell. Why would I want the second son of a viscount, when I can have the Shadow King?"

Lowell rises so quickly, the bed creaks. "He won't have you. You're not a virgin. Not after I was done with you."

I sigh. "Lowell, just because you were a virgin when we met, it doesn't mean I was."

His mouth drops open.

"What did you say to Lord Vasco and the council?" I demand. "They said they spoke with you."

"I wasn't your first?"

I tug off my gloves and toss them aside, then do the same with my slippers. "Here's how this works. You don't say anything about knowing me ever again. You came to my father's estate a couple of times with your father on business. Nothing more. You saw me in passing. That is all."

"I didn't see you in passing. I saw you naked. More than once," he says threateningly. "I bet the council and your beloved Shadow King would love to hear that."

I toss my eyes heavenward. "That's not how this game is played. Have you forgotten, Lowell? I know what you did. Your father gave you one of his most prized possessions. To you, his stupid second-born son. And you gambled it away. And if he found out? I'm betting disinheritance is in your future."

Lowell's jaw clenches.

"Why do you think I don't have a reputation, Lowell? It's because I know how to play this game. Now leave, and don't ever speak to me again."

He grabs his shoes on the way out, slamming the door loudly enough for my neighbours to hear. As long as no one is out in the corridor, hopefully, no one can guess which room he came from.

With morning arrives a fresh set of ideas for scheming.

I'm getting my king, and I'm riding the palace of anyone who gets in my way.

After breakfast, I tend to the pile of letters, rating them by importance. Invitations from duchesses and marchionesses go in one pile. Countesses and viscountesses in another pile. And those from baronesses I don't bother to open. I use my morning to make replies, accepting invitations and declining others. I write up a schedule for myself, so I can keep track of all my appointments, and then I send a letter to Eudora. I will

need more evening attire. It won't be seen in the same dress twice.

Two hours later, I called a maid to help me get ready. Naturally, I had to fire my first maid, but the new one knows all kinds of fun coiffures. She pulls my hair onto my head, placing every strand with an individual amethyst-studded pin.

A gift from a previous lover, of course. My face is painted to perfection. I pull on lavender pants with a complicated bead design running down the front of each leg. The violet brocade overskirt is simply divine, with long sleeves and a floor-length hemline. I slip into black boots with a small heel, pull on black wrist-length gloves, and then head down for lunch.

Not so beautiful as to tempt me.

I huff as I remember those hateful words.

I appear to be one of the first to arrive in the great hall.

Small groups of courtiers chat animatedly with one another.

When I step into the room, a few heads turn voices quiet to gossiping tones, and ladies pull out their fans. And then a man approaches me.

"Lady Kensington! I'd hoped I'd get a chance to speak with you again."

Blond. Handsome. Perhaps a decade older than I. Where have I seen him before? I still must give him a peculiar look because he adds,

"Your father introduced us at the ball!"

Ah, that does the trick. He was the only person I met aside from the king. He kept bringing up Jessica and trying to compare me to her.

I do not like this man.

"I simply adored your sister while she stayed at the palace," he says before I've even offered a reply, "and I know you are just as wonderful! Since we had such a connection at the king's ball the other night, I hoped you might like to attend the countess's upcoming charity ball with me. I'm sure you've received the invitation.

Alekto is a friend, and I adore functions that raise money for the less fortunate. I simply have so much money to spend!" He laughs as though he's told some joke before continuing. "I once bought a blanket for every child in the Naxosian Orphanage. Do you know how many blankets that is? Two hundred and thirty-seven. Can you believe so many poor souls are—"

"Excuse me," I say. Kastien has entered the room, and since he doesn't consider me a consolation prize after failing to wed my sister, I turn my back on Harris without the slightest bit of guilt.

In fact, I have to physically shake off that last conversation. Charity. Orphans. The devils wasted good looks on such a man.

I put on a smile for the king and his companions.

"Lady Kensington!"

"Kastien."

He's quite dashing today, dressed in a teal waistcoat and brown boots. The colour really makes his hair shine. He's flanked by two other men. His friends who fended off the courtiers while we were out in the orchards, I believe.

"Loralie," he amends since I used his given name.

"Lovely to see you."

A not-so-subtle elbow jabs into Kastien's side, and he remembers that we are not alone. "Right. These are my friends, and they are desperate to make your acquaintance. Meet Damien." He points to a tall fellow with a generous helping of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

Somehow, the imperfections only make him more handsome. "And Tristan." Tristan wears the boldest and most vibrant clothing I've ever seen. He mixes bright blues and greens in such a daring way, looking as fine as any peacock.

I think he might do it to make up for the plainness of his features.

"Gentlemen," I say.

Each takes my hand in turn and offers a kiss atop my glove.

"At last," Tristan says when he drops my hand. "I've been dying to meet the only person at court who dresses better than I do."

"I would argue," I say, "but I would only do it to be polite."

He laughs. "And honest on top of it all. You are a rare treasure."

"Careful now," Damien says. "You're an engaged man, Tristan. Hands off.``

"Congratulations," I offer to the first man. "Who is the lucky lady?"

Tristan grimaces. "Melita Freson."

"I haven't met her yet. Is she here?"

Damien looks over his shoulder. "Yes, she's the one looking distastefully at Tristan's coat."

I find Melita immediately. Perfect blond ringlets rest over her shoulders, covering a blue brocade. In fact, I now note, all the ladies are wearing blue. Which I wore yesterday. I smile in satisfaction. As if sensing my stare, Melita's gaze catches mine. Her features change into a hideous scowl, as though I committed some crime by looking at her. Or by speaking with her betrothed.

"In that case, you have my condolences," I say. "She's awfully protective of you, isn't she?"

Damien slaps his friend on the back and laughs. "You don't know half of it. She's like a leech, sticking to Tristan's arm everywhere he goes. And, oh, you'll love this! His father didn't even tell him about the betrothal until it was already done."

Tristan groans at the memory.

I struggle not to laugh. "And what of you, Damien? Are you courting anyone?"

"Not anymore," he says sadly. "I'd had my eye on Estevan Banis, but at the king's ball, he danced three times in a row with Lord Osias."

"Men can be so fickle," I offer.

"Indeed."