“Oh?” Gisella asks. “How is the little heretic?” Beatriz must give her an alarmed look, because Gisella laughs. “That is what you called her, isn’t it? Both of them, even.”
“Yes, of course,” Beatriz says, laughing as well. “She’s well. Madly in love with her new husband, apparently.”
“Don’t sound so jealous. You and Pasquale seem to be getting along well,” Gisella points out before pausing. “He can be a difficult person to know—the court has said some…unkind things—but I do think you’re good for him. He needs a little boldness.”
“Thank you,” Beatriz says, though she isn’t entirely certain any of that was a compliment. “What…what has the court been saying?”
Gisella gives her an embarrassed smile. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s nothing, really. Everyone gets so bored here when winter starts to close in, they have to amuse themselves somehow, I suppose.”
“What, exactly, Gisella?” Beatriz asks again. Gisella’s eyes go wide and Beatriz gives her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not angry, certainly not at you. But I’d like to know what lies I have to combat—I’m sure you’d want the same in my position.”
Gisella purses her lips, considering it. “I’m sure I would,” she admits after a second. “It’s really nothing, Your Highness. Pasquale is just…so quiet. Most people don’t know the first thing about him—when a mystery is that large, speculation is bound to arise.”
“What sort of speculation?” Beatriz asks, trying to smother her rising panic over what exactly they could be speculating about and how close it might hit to the truth.
Gisella bites her lip. “People are wondering if he’s as mad as his mother was,” she says quietly. When Beatriz doesn’t speak, she hurries on. “It’s easy enough to fix, really. Bring him with you the next time you visit the sea garden, make sure he doesn’t hide in the corner at the next banquet. I love my cousin,” she says. “And I’m sure everyone else would come to love him too, if only they knew him.”
Beatriz nods slowly. It doesn’t matter, really, whether anyone likes Pasquale. In a couple of months, if everything goes to plan, he won’t be the crown prince anymore. These rumors will be insignificant. It will be better, even, for Pasquale if he doesn’t have support, if Beatriz’s mother doesn’t see him as a threat. But still, it is such an easy thing. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Ladies!” A voice booms behind them, and Gisella briefly closes her eyes and gives a sharp inhale, her grip on Beatriz’s arm tightening. But then her expression clears and she pastes a broad smile on her face. Beatriz manages to do the same as they turn toward the voice.
King Cesare strides toward them, a gaggle of courtiers around him, all dressed in an array of vibrant silks and jewels. Beatriz barely makes out Nicolo trailing behind them, carrying the king’s wine goblet, but when he sees them, his eyebrows arch. He and Gisella seem to have a silent conversation—a realization that sends a pang of sadness through Beatriz. She remembers doing the same thing with her sisters.
“Lady Gisella,” the king says. “Princess Beatriz. You both look especially beautiful today, don’t they?” he says, glancing around at his entourage, who are all quick to nod and agree with him.
Beatriz feels his gaze trace over her body, lingering on her breasts. Her gown isn’t particularly revealing—it might even be one of her more demure dresses—but suddenly she feels naked. It takes all her self-control not to cross her arms over her chest.
“Your Majesty,” Gisella says, dropping into a sweeping curtsy, with Beatriz half a heartbeat behind her. “It’s a fine day today, isn’t it? I was just saying to Princess Beatriz that we should take in the air at the sea garden. She said she had a bit of a headache—isn’t that right, Princess?”
Beatriz hasn’t the slightest idea what she’s talking about, but she decides to play along. “I do,” she tells the king with a sheepish smile. “The air here in Cellaria is so much fresher than in Bessemia, but I believe I’m still adjusting to the change in altitudes.”
“Oh, no need for that,” King Cesare says, waving her words away. “You know what always cures a headache? A cup of wine. Nicolo! Give the princess some wine.”
Nicolo looks flustered. “Your Majesty, I only have your goblet and—”
“No arguments!” King Cesare barks.
Just as Nicolo steps forward, his brow furrowed, Beatriz offers the king a smile. “That is very kind, Your Majesty, though I’m afraid wine seems to have the opposite effect on me,” she says, silently adding like most people.
There are a few gasps from his entourage, and one woman begins fanning herself vigorously with her silk fan. Even Gisella gives another sharp inhale.
“You refuse your king?” King Cesare asks, his voice dropping, all traces of joviality gone.
“No,” Beatriz says quickly. “No, of course not, Your Majesty. It’s only that I would hate to inconvenience you.”
“Would I have offered if it inconvenienced me?” he asks, his eyes boring into her so deeply that she feels his gaze in her very bones.
Beatriz has never thought of herself as someone easily intimidated. Stars, she has always been the one of her sisters who is willing to speak up against their mother. Even when the empress was at her strictest, even when she put them through grueling lessons or inflicted her most nightmarish punishments, Beatriz never truly feared her mother. But there is a small part of her now that fears King Cesare. Her mother is logical if nothing else, and predictable because of it. King Cesare is neither. So Beatriz accepts the goblet Nicolo offers her and takes a small, closemouthed sip, struggling not to cringe as she does. The knowledge that she’s put her mouth where his mouth has been makes her feel sick, but when she lowers the goblet, she forces a smile.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. You were right—it was very refreshing,” she says, passing the goblet back to Nicolo.
“There, you see? You must remember, Princess Beatriz, your king is correct in all things. Aren’t I?” he says, and again, his entourage is quick to agree. Beatriz suspects he could proclaim the sky green and they would fall all over themselves to tell him how brilliant he was. “Come, let us walk.”
Before Beatriz knows what’s happening, King Cesare has her arm linked in his, his other hand resting atop that arm so that she feels well and truly trapped. She glances behind her to see Gisella looking at her with wide eyes as she falls in with the rest of the king’s entourage, but Beatriz knows Gisella won’t help her—she can’t even be upset about that. After all, what help can Gisella, or anyone, give her? The king has already come close once to having her executed. She can’t tempt him into it a second time. So she forces herself to keep smiling as King Cesare escorts her down the long hallway.