Like the stone paths, the stone benches had been cleared, and, of course, the flowers themselves had been carefully wiped, so that a thousand colors shone against the surrounding world of white.
Those poor, poor servants.
As Safi passed through a second archway, her eyes snagged on one bench in particular. Shaded by a blossoming lilac, it had lion paws for feet—and Safi knew those feet instantly. Just as she knew that lilac, though it had been smaller ten years before. A sapling newly added.
Henrick had spotted her playing here, her doll dressed in as many furs as she had been. The toy, newly acquired in a rare burst of generosity from Eron, had delighted her with its eyes of Hasstrel blue. Her uncle read on a separate bench nearby, already sipping from his flask though it was not yet noon.
He glimpsed Henrick right as Henrick glimpsed Safi, and in a move that now seemed much too graceful for a drunkard, Eron skated in front of the Emperor before he could address his niece. And Safi used that time to scrabble behind the bench, heart pounding.
“She looks so much like Laia,” Henrick murmured. Safi didn’t see his face, but she felt a frown bunching there. “Remarkable.”
“Yes,” Eron drawled, unscrewing his flask. It always squeaked. “Unfortunately, she lacks her mother’s wit. Or her refinement. Or”—he paused for a gulp—“her initiative. She is a candle to my sister’s bonfire. She ruins everything she touches. But come, my Imperial Majesty. Share a drink with me.”
At the time, those words had gouged. Fanged and serrated, each sentence had burrowed deep into Safi’s heart. Her eyes had burned; tears had fallen; and she’d scolded the doll again and again for being just a candle. For ruining all she touched.
“Safiya?” Light fingers hit Safi’s elbow. Her lungs clenched. She whirled about, arms rising. But it was only Leopold—of course it was only Leopold.
“Are you all right?” Genuine concern darkened his seafoam eyes.
And Safi nodded. “Of course.” She forced a smile. “I am perfection. As are you on this fine winter’s day.” Nothing she said was a lie.
Leopold wore soft silver beneath a cape of glistening mahogany. Unlike most days, he wore no extra ornamentations. No decorative weapons at his waist, no jewels upon his fingers or at his neck. It was as if his outfit was selected to highlight the colors of the garden, and Safi had to wonder, not for the first time in her life, if he had chosen his clothes or some well-paid attendant had.
Growing up, she had always assumed the latter, for even as children, he had dressed in a way that flattered while it also impressed. But in the last month, her judgment had changed. He might have given her the Truth-lens and a clever means of examining it, but in the end, he was as duplicitous as his uncle—and far more inclined to laugh while he watched his enemies fall.
“Thank you, my Empress.” He flourished a bow. “If it is acceptable to you, I will have the Hell-Bards leave us in solitude.”
Of course it was acceptable, but Safi found it hard to believe they were allowed to lose sight of her. As if sensing her thoughts, Leopold added, “Oh yes, my own Bards are in position with spyglasses and crossbows fixed this way.” He motioned a lazy hand toward the ramparts that surrounded the outermost edges of the garden complex. “I expect no danger here.”
“In that case…” Safi turned to Lev. “Please wait for me outside the garden.”
A curt bow from Lev, face invisible inside her helm, and as one, the Hell-Bards marched stiffly out of sight.
“Now then.” Leopold offered Safi his arm, and once she’d accepted it, he murmured, lips unmoving, “We must pretend to be very much in love. Do you think you can manage?”
Safi bared her sweetest smile. Even cocked her head and cooed, “As I once told Captain fitz Grieg, I can smile at even the ugliest toad and flatter him on his perfectly placed warts. And you, Polly”—she reached up to gently touch his jaw—“are the ugliest of ugly toads.”
“Excellent.” He cupped his hand over hers before she could withdraw it. He wore no gloves; his fingers were cool against her fur-warmed ones. “We will provide a good show for the spies then.”
“Are there many?” Safi batted her lashes.
“Always.” His eyes flicked to her lips.
“Should we be worried?”
“No.” His eyes moved back to her own. They were a vivid green in the light of the flowers. “My uncle was the one who suggested that we rekindle our passion.”
“Rekindle?” Safi asked, pulling her hand free.
Leopold relinquished his hold with a sigh. Then drew her into an easy pace through the garden. “I might have told him the eve before your wedding that we had once been lovers.”
“And he believed you?”
“He had no reason not to, and I had all the reason in the world to find a way to see you privately—oh, that frown will not do, Safiya.” He smiled handsomely at her. His skin seemed to gleam.
And Safi quickly brushed away the frown she hadn’t realized she’d been wearing. As startled as she was that Henrick had so easily believed Leopold, she was far more annoyed that Leopold had told such lies in the first place.
“You should have warned me,” she said with a twinkling laugh. So false, she could only imagine how white the lens in her pocket must be. “What if Henrick had asked me about it?”
“He would not have believed your denials. You do recall what happened after the wedding.”
Of course Safi recalled. It was the moment when her whole life had been flipped, shredded, tossed away. And when the person in this whole thrice-damned world who mattered most to Safi had been forced to run.
“No thanks to you,” Safi whispered. She couldn’t keep the venom from her voice. Leopold must have known what was coming—he had to have known what Henrick planned to do to Safi and Iseult. And he had done nothing to stop it, nothing to protect them from the pain of Hell-Bard cold.
“The truth is not what you think it is.” Leopold pulled Safi to him. His lips hovered near hers while his eyes bored deep. “I will explain everything to you, and you can use the Truth-lens to confirm I do not lie. But we must go somewhere more private for such a conversation.”
His breath fluttered over Safi’s skin. She dipped her lips a bit closer. “How can anything be private when spies live everywhere?”
“There are secret ways of moving, even here. Tonight, after the dancing, I will send another letter, and you will come to my quarters.”
“I will?” She pulled away. Cold air rushed between them. “And if I refuse?”
“Let us not even consider that thought.” He offered a flirtatious grin and resumed their walk.
Except that before he could actually step onward, Safi grabbed his cape and pulled him to her. Her lips hit his a split moment later, and where she had expected surprised stiffness, she got only willing embrace. Leopold’s hands instantly moved to her hair, his mouth pressed firmly against hers. He deepened the kiss. She deepened it right back.
At some point, her ermine hat fell off.
This was not, in fact, Safi’s first kiss with Leopold. As shy ten-year-old, she had experimented with him in the dustiest corner of the imperial library. It had not been a passionate affair, and it had not been particularly interesting. They’d both laughed afterward and vowed never to try again.