The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  Too bad he hadn’t gotten even a moment of sleep.

  He had spent hours right there, sitting in the center of his large, comfortable bed, unable to decide what to do next. He wanted to flee; he wanted to stay, to wait for Cathal. He expected at every moment for an angry Cathal or stern-faced guards to burst through the door and drag him away. Cathal had to be angry—for any number of reasons, not the least because he had found out the woman he’d been kissing was really a man.

  He also had no idea what the princes would do when Cathal informed them. Everything he knew about them said they were fair men, but what did Flavian know really? That Prince Amory enjoyed art. That the princes loved each other very much.

  Which might make them more inclined to listen to him. He didn’t know, though, couldn’t be certain.

  His gaze fell on his sketchbook, discarded on a chair near the window earlier when he had thought sketching might help him settle down. It hadn’t worked, and the book sat there in a wash of moonlight. Mocking him.

  He’d promised he wouldn’t do portraits ever again. Certainly would never think about using his Talent again. He didn’t want to know those things about people. He shuddered. That was an understatement. He dreaded seeing what was inside a person. But tonight, well, if he saw the worst, wasn’t it better to be prepared?

  Climbing from the bed, he walked slowly to the sketchbook, as if it were a wild animal that might attack him. He laughed, a laugh he could hear the bitterness in. It wasn’t the sketchbook that might attack. Nevertheless, he settled into a chair in the moonlight. Grabbing up a pencil from the small table next to his chair, he brought an image of Prince Philip and Prince Amory into his mind, as vivid and detailed as he could, and when he had it, he put pencil to paper and began to draw.

  Chapter 8

  “YOU’RE DISTRACTED today.” Philip made the casual remark as he wiped the sweat from his face and chest with a towel snatched off a shelf. Philip had discarded his shirt earlier in their fencing practice, the private practice court giving him the privacy to do so. Cathal still had his shirt on, but it was drenched with sweat. He’d been contemplating taking it off when Philip spoke, nearly making Cathal choke on the water he was gulping down.

  “Pardon?”

  “I usually have to work much harder to beat you.” Philip grinned.

  Cathal shook his head. “We’ll see about that. Come on, then, cousin. Try and beat me again.”

  Philip laughed and took up his sword again, walking to the center of smooth wooden floor. Cathal took a last drink from his cup before setting it down on the bench, all as he watched his cousin. Philip was happy, but then if Cathal really thought about it, Philip had been happier, lighter, for quite a while. Since Amory.

  “Cathal?”

  Maybe he was distracted. He picked up his own sword and met Philip in the center of the room. This time he forced himself to focus on their practice bout, clearing his mind of his worries and a pair of mesmerizing cerulean eyes with some difficulty. He enjoyed these practices with Philip. Sometimes they were joined by Etan or Amory, but he preferred it with just Philip. They were far more evenly matched, and their bouts always turned competitive. Only he had been distracted earlier—he hadn’t cared, barely noticed really, that Philip was beating him rather handily.

  Not this time. Philip wouldn’t beat him easily this time. Philip grinned fiercely, and Cathal knew that his own expression had to match his cousin’s. It was better, it was what Cathal needed—to let his worries go and lose himself in hard, physical exertion. And the joy of competition.

  The match took longer than the first, but Cathal was left triumphant at the end, a feeling probably out of proportion for the accomplishment, but one he’d relished since childhood. Beating Philip at anything was enjoyable, and he knew Philip felt the same about him. They were both grinning at each other madly at the end of it, and Cathal laughed as he went for more water.

  They were silent as they caught their breaths and toweled off. The silence became so comfortable that when Philip spoke, Cathal actually jumped.

  “That was better, much more normal.” Philip’s gaze was sharp, but he still smiled. “But you really are distracted. Is there something wrong?”

  “No. Everything is fine.”

  Philip didn’t look convinced, which his next words confirmed. “Is it?”

  “Yes,” he insisted. “I think I would know.”

  “Normally, I’d think you would, but this time I’m not so sure.” Philip kept him pinned with an intense stare. “I worry about you and this marriage.”

  “It’s fine.” Cathal drank more water, trying to appear as if everything was fine. Nothing could be said about the impending marriage anyway.

  “I don’t think it is. I’ve been concerned about this marriage from the beginning for many reasons, not the least of which is how it affects you. Now I watch you, and you’re displaying less interest in your betrothed than in her companion.”

  Cathal froze, but after a moment he spoke, each word careful. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Cathal.” Philip stared at him, both patient and… disappointed, maybe. “I can see it. I’m not judging or disapproving. I’m just saying I can see it.”

  “I… yes, fine, yes. You’re right.” He gave in quickly, unable to hold up under the force of Philip’s stare. Or maybe he just wanted to tell Philip, needed to tell him, and should have sooner. He sank down to sit on one of the benches lining the room. “I am interested. There is something… though I don’t know what or why.”

  “Have you and Lady Flavia…?”

  “No, no. Well, there was a kiss, but I shouldn’t have.” He raked his fingers through his sweaty hair and looked up at Philip. “I didn’t choose this betrothal, but I’m still betrothed. I shouldn’t have let that kiss happen.”

  “Did she want you to kiss her? Does she feel the same?”

  Cathal dropped his head to his hands. Philip was missing some important information, which was entirely Cathal’s fault. “There’s something else you need to know. Flavia… isn’t Flavia. She—he is actually a man. Flavian.”

  Silence stretched out for a long moment. Cathal finally looked up to find Philip staring at him. Philip recovered admirably fast from the revelation. Cathal could see the prince come into Philip’s eyes. “Are you telling me there is a man from Ardunn disguised as a woman here in the palace? And you didn’t tell me this immediately?”

  He should have. Philip should have been the first person told and not because of his own confusion, but because Ardunn was trying to infiltrate Tournai with spies and anyone coming to the country in disguise, let alone into the palace itself, was suspect. “I found out yesterday, and I found out why. We don’t have to worry about Flavian.”

  Philip’s expression didn’t soften. He was the prince, not Cathal’s cousin and friend at the moment, and Cathal couldn’t blame him for that, confronted as he was with a potential threat to his country. “Tell me.”

  So Cathal did. He felt a pang of uncertainty at revealing all that Flavian had told him, especially the way Flavian had told it, as if it took such effort to say it. Cathal was almost certain Flavian hadn’t told him everything either, but he was also certain, for some reason, that what Flavian hadn’t told him didn’t affect Philip’s concerns. But Philip needed to know, for Philip and Tournai and for Flavian.

  Philip was quiet for a long time after Cathal finished speaking, his eyes unfocused. Finally, he looked at Cathal again. “You used a truth potion on him.”

  “I wanted to believe him, but I had to be sure. He answered every question.”

  Philip nodded, more thoughtful than anything else.

  “Philip, I believe him. He isn’t a threat to Tournai.”

  “I want to believe you. There was a time when I would have implicitly trusted your instincts and your methods, but….”

  “But.” Cathal thrust his fingers through his hair again, his frustration all at himself not at Philip. “I ruined it.”


  “You’ve been working hard to fix it.”

  “I’ve been trying. You don’t know how sorry I am for what I did.”

  “Why did you do it? I never thought you had a problem with my preference for men.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t. That was never it.” Cathal sighed. “It wasn’t that you prefer men. It was that you decided to marry one and not a woman like we’re supposed to. My whole life I was told that I had to marry and produce heirs to provide for the dukedom and Tournai. Being with a man wasn’t part of that, couldn’t be part of that. And you were, and everything I thought for years, everything I built my life around, crashed down around me.”

  It was more than Cathal had meant to say, but maybe it was time. Time for Philip to know and probably Etan too. They would understand. They would have understood years ago, but they never talked about these things.

  “That’s why?” Philip finally asked, his gaze far more compassionate than Cathal deserved. “Why you left?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low.

  “Because you’re attracted to men too, but you didn’t think you could be with one because of who you are?” Philip’s question was voiced just as quietly.

  “I’m my father’s heir.”

  “You’re Umber’s heir, yes, and his driving force has always been duty to the dukedom, the royal family, and Tournai. Believe me, I know.”

  Philip would, the way Cathal’s father had pressured him after Philip came to the throne. “I know, but you also understand that he’s right. As his heir, I need to be concerned with producing an heir of my own.”

  “I understand that he’s too rigid in his thinking. You are not the only one who could produce an heir for the dukedom. You have brothers. Vrai enjoys women enough that he shouldn’t have a problem doing so.” Philip grinned, a teasing light coming to his eyes. “But you enjoyed women too. Many of them.”

  “I still like women. I find them beautiful and attractive. I just think the same of men.” For some reason, Cathal had to make Philip understand.

  “I believe you, Cathal. I was just teasing.” Philip suddenly looked serious. “And I feel better knowing you haven’t made yourself completely miserable for years by denying everything you wanted and trying to make yourself want something else. You love who you love, Cathal.”

  “I never said anything about love.” The protest was immediate and vehement. Attraction certainly, but he wasn’t in love with anyone and never had been.

  “Say caring then. Connection? Feelings of some kind, because if this was just desire, you would have put it aside like you have every other attraction to a man before this. I’m sure there were some.”

  “Of course there were.” Fleeting, momentary attractions put aside without another thought. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does, because I want you happy. I want you to have more than a life of duty and responsibility. I want you to have love.” Philip gripped Cathal’s arm, his gaze boring into Cathal. “I hate that you’ve closed yourself off to so many possibilities.”

  “I could have fallen in love with a woman at any time. I could have found one I wanted to marry.” He hadn’t, but that only meant he hadn’t met the right one, or maybe there wasn’t a right one. Maybe he just knew deep down that his marriage wasn’t going to be based on love. He was always destined for a marriage to benefit the family.

  “Yes, you could have, but you could have fallen in love with a man too if you were open to the possibility of it.” Philip didn’t say that Cathal might be falling in love with a man now, and for that, Cathal was grateful.

  “It doesn’t matter now because I’m marrying Velia.” He made his tone firm. Philip of all people had to understand the importance of honoring a marriage contract made with the emperor of Ardunn. Even if Philip hadn’t negotiated the contract himself.

  Philip watching him closely. “But you don’t love her. You don’t even like her the way you like… Flavian, was it?”

  Cathal nodded, confirming that Philip had gotten the name right. “She’s a beautiful, accomplished woman.” Philip watched him in that way he had that never failed to make Cathal talk, and it didn’t at the moment, but every word was grudging. “And, no, I’m not interested in her the way I am in him. But there’s a marriage contract in place. I can’t do anything about that if even I wanted to.”

  “Do you? Want to do something about it?” Philip elaborated when Cathal just stared at him. “If you didn’t have to marry Lady Velia, would you want to?”

  Frustration bubbled up out of the seething mass of confusion and indecision inside Cathal. “What’s the point of this? I have to marry her. Father negotiated the contract with the emperor of Ardunn.”

  “I know, and you’ll forgive me if I say that I don’t care what your father did.” The sharpness, the hardness, in Philip’s tone had Cathal flinching back. “He overstepped his bounds and negotiated a contract with a conquest-mad man we know would dearly love to make our country part of his empire. Your father is lucky I haven’t brought him up on charges of treason. I still don’t know what was actually promised in that contract, because I can’t believe it was only what I’ve seen.”

  Shock was like a dousing in cold water. “Philip!”

  “If he were anyone else who did this, you and I would have had a conversation about it long ago, and he would have been interrogated far more thoroughly on the matter. And you know that.”

  Cathal sighed, but he couldn’t disagree. “I do.”

  “Good. We’ll talk more about that later. Now answer my question. Do you want this marriage?”

  Cathal had no idea what to say. His feelings for Flavian were… well, he wasn’t sure exactly what they were. Only that they existed, and he was having trouble putting them aside, however much he wanted to. But he had to marry Velia.

  Philip’s expression changed, softened, as if he understood the thoughts fighting in Cathal’s mind, and maybe he did. “Put aside Flavian and what you think you have to do to please Umber. Would you want to marry this particular woman now?”

  “No.” He was so shocked he had actually said it, it was like a punch to the stomach. He gasped, unsure he could actually drag in enough air for a moment. “But—”

  “Don’t.” Philip squeezed Cathal’s shoulder, grounding him. “Don’t say anything yet. I’m not saying we can get you out of it, but I’m not saying we can’t either. I still don’t like how this was done.”

  “He would disown me.”

  “Your father? I doubt he would disown you for not marrying Velia, especially if I’m the one unwinding it.” Philip stared at him steadily, hazel eyes serious but not without compassion. “I don’t know what he would do if he found out about you and Flavian.”

  “There isn’t any me and Flavian.”

  “There’s something between the two of you. You owe it to yourself to figure out what it is. You can’t live for duty alone.”

  Cathal laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Etan said the same thing.”

  Philip’s eyes darkened with sympathy—despite Etan’s reluctance to talk to Amory or Philip, Philip plainly knew of Etan’s feelings—but he smiled. “Etan is a smart man.”

  This time there was real humor in his laugh. “I suppose.”

  Philip grinned, but a rap on the closed door interrupted before he could say whatever he was thinking. Very few people would interrupt them in this room, and Philip didn’t hesitate to call out, “Enter.”

  FLAVIAN DIDN’T know why he was following Prince Amory. Since Cathal had found out about him the day before, Flavian hadn’t left the suite he shared with Velia. Torn between waiting there to see what Cathal would do and gathering his things to run in the middle of the night, he’d become paralyzed. He hadn’t even told Velia.

  When Prince Amory appeared at his door that morning, Flavian had been speechless. He’d expected Cathal again, or maybe a contingent of royal guards to haul him to prison, or at the very least to a ship back to A
rdunn, not a smiling prince. And certainly not that Prince Amory knew nothing about Flavian being a man.

  So Flavian told him. There was no reason not to—Cathal was too dutiful not to tell Prince Philip and what Prince Philip knew, Flavian assumed Prince Amory would know not long after. And from what he had seen last night in his drawing, he thought maybe the risk was one to take. He sat there, in the suite’s pretty sitting room, wearing a lace-trimmed gown, and told Prince Amory the whole story.

  Well, he left out the torrid kiss that led to Cathal discovering his real identity. Flavian hadn’t been able to get it out of his head, despite his strongest efforts to do so—heat still suffused his body when he remembered the feel of Cathal’s muscular frame against his own. He had to forcefully turn his thoughts from it again as he spoke to Prince Amory. He shouldn’t think of it at all, but he didn’t want to forget what had been the most incredible kiss of his life.

  Prince Amory took Flavian’s revelations surprisingly well, after the initial shock. He listened. He asked a few questions, but mostly he listened and seemed to take in every bit of what Flavian said. Emotions flitted across Amory’s face—surprise, compassion, anger, shock, understanding—in rapid succession as Flavian told his story. In the face of it, Flavian found himself saying more than he should have. More of how he felt than he wanted to share.

  But Prince Amory took everything with genuine understanding and kindness. It was lovely and refreshing and everything Flavian had seen in his drawing the night before. The man would be eaten alive at the emperor’s court. Flavian wasn’t sure how he wasn’t at Prince Philip’s court, except that maybe Prince Amory was too genuine and Prince Philip too protective, and both too smart, to let that happen.