The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  Julien promptly put a loop of it in his mouth.

  “I can’t promise he won’t drool all over it,” Amory said, concern all over his expressive face. He never had been able to hide what he felt, but he was far more adept at it than he had been when he first arrived at the palace. Amory reached to take the necklace away from his son despite Flavian’s permission, but Flavian shook his head.

  “It’s fine, Your Highness. Let Prince Julien play.”

  “I can wash it for you after he loses interest.”

  Flavian shrugged, seeming unconcerned with the prospect of baby drool on the necklace and far more comfortable with Julien out of his arms and back near his father on the blanket. Cathal could understand the latter, considering Flavian’s reluctance with the baby, but he would have thought Flavian would be more disturbed by the drool.

  “No matter, Your Highness. It belongs to Velia anyway.”

  Well, that would explain it. Cathal laughed even harder.

  TRUE TO his word, Amory didn’t stay with them long. After a little more conversation, he gathered up Julien and returned a rather damp necklace to Flavian before carrying his son off to find Philip. Cathal began laughing again at the look of disgust that came over Flavian’s face as he looked down at the necklace in his hand.

  Flavian turned the look on him, glaring narrow-eyed at Cathal. He tried to stifle his laughter, but he wasn’t going to manage it with Flavian looking at him like that, the drool-covered necklace in his hand. A strategic retreat was probably in his best interest. He handed his handkerchief to Flavian and left him to clean up and return to his drawing.

  Cathal wandered back into the crowd. He stopped to chat here and there as he made his way to where Philip stood with Amory, conversing with several others, including Etan and Adeline. Philip held his son, the baby prince resting his head on his father’s shoulder, blinking sleepy eyes.

  Cathal stepped up to Philip and Amory, greeting the princes formally. He knew Philip thought it silly for him to stand so much on ceremony—Etan gave only the barest nods to propriety, and Philip didn’t mind at all—but Cathal couldn’t bring himself to do away with them.

  “Did Julien and I traumatize Lady Flavia?” Amory asked. Cathal was glad to hear him use the name. Too many people were close enough to overhear. But then, Amory was clever as well as considerate. He wouldn’t endanger Flavian.

  Cathal chuckled, picturing the wide range of expressions that had graced Flavian’s face while in the baby prince’s presence. “Perhaps a bit. It doesn’t appear that she has much experience with children.”

  “Neither do you. How did my son traumatize Lady Flavia?” Philip asked.

  Amory smiled and recounted the story to his husband, who was appropriately amused. Cathal thought it spoke of something in Flavian, some kindness that he hid far beneath the surface, that he had indulged the child despite his obvious discomfort with the situation. Cathal didn’t think it was simply because Amory was a prince, and he could tell Amory didn’t believe so either just from the way Amory told the story.

  “Cathal, I need to speak with you.”

  Everything inside Cathal sank just from the tone of voice Father used for that one sentence. He’d been having such a pleasant afternoon.

  He turned to Father, aware that silence had fallen over the once laughing group. A rather disapproving silence. While Philip and Amory didn’t stand on ceremony with family and could have done without most of Cathal’s formality, it still was unbearably rude to walk up to a group including the crown prince and his consort and not acknowledge them. Philip had considerable patience and Amory even more, but Cathal could see it beginning to run out.

  “Father,” he said as he turned to face Father. “Aren’t you going to greet Their Highnesses?”

  “Yes, yes,” Father replied, his voice both impatient and dismissive as he greeted Philip and Amory. Father leveled a look at Cathal that clearly conveyed how displeased he was at receiving such a reminder from his son. “I need to speak with you, Cathal. Now.”

  Cathal acquiesced without another word. Father wasn’t going to be put off—Cathal knew that well enough—and Cathal refused to create a scene, even of the quiet, angry type Father could easily manage.

  He excused himself, bowing slightly to Philip and Amory and their son. He didn’t acknowledge the frustration in Philip’s eyes or the concern in Amory’s. They couldn’t do anything—well, Philip could have ordered him to stay, but it would have served no purpose. Father would say what he wanted now or later, and Father only got more worked up if left to stew longer. Cathal didn’t want anyone to have to deal with that, least of all himself.

  Chapter 12

  CATHAL FOLLOWED Father toward the cliffs, away from the majority of the picnic guests. They stopped near one of the blankets, but neither sat. Cathal looked at his father, forcing himself not to take more than one glance in Flavian’s direction. Whatever Father wanted to speak about was not a pleasant subject for a picnic.

  Father stared back at Cathal for long moments without speaking. He didn’t yell, but he wouldn’t yell in public, not unless it would gain him some strategic advantage, and that wasn’t likely when he dealt with his son. So Cathal didn’t expect much thundering, but that didn’t mean what he would get wouldn’t be worse. He had always hated Father’s cold silences and how much anger and disappointment he could pack into a quiet tone when he took his son to task.

  Finally, Father spoke, keeping his voice down and his expression bland, keeping up appearances. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “About what, Father?” Cathal had no idea what his father was referring to, but it could be almost anything. Father seemed to find quite a bit of Cathal’s life objectionable these days, no matter what Cathal did.

  “Don’t be obtuse. It isn’t an attractive or appropriate characteristic for a man of your station. I want to know what you think you’re doing behaving this way toward the woman you are to marry.”

  Despite the lash of his father’s words, Cathal considered playing dumb. And it was true that he didn’t know exactly what Father meant. Just because Cathal knew he should probably spend more time with Velia didn’t mean that was what Father was talking about. But he hesitated too long, and self-righteous triumph flickered in Father’s eyes.

  “You can’t deny it. You haven’t been treating Lady Velia well. You barely spend any time with her, but you should be keeping her happy to keep her relatives happy. This is the woman you are marrying.”

  He was quite aware he had to marry Velia. He didn’t need Father’s reminder. “I treat Lady Velia with every courtesy. I see to her comfort and try to ease her transition into life in Tournai as much as I can. And I attend every ridiculous, time-wasting party planned to introduce Lady Velia to the nobles of Tournai.”

  “And all of it such a chore for you, though I can’t see why. You spend the bare minimum of time with her while carrying on a shameless affair with her companion in front of her,” Father said.

  “Excuse me?” Cathal blinked in shock. “I am not carrying on an affair with Lady Flavia, and I insist you keep that idea to yourself. There’s no need to ruin anyone’s reputation for baseless speculation.”

  Father scoffed. “If you’re going to take someone to bed, Cathal—and plenty of men have affairs—do it with some discretion. Don’t be seen talking intimately in public, and don’t do it before your wedding to a woman who could make quite a bit of trouble for us based on her relations. I can’t believe she hasn’t already with the way you ignore her.”

  “I am not bedding Lady Flavia,” he said, words low and gritted through his teeth. “Nor am I ignoring Lady Velia. From everything I’ve seen, she is perfectly happy with the state of our relationship and the amount of time we spend together. I believe she’s found a kindred spirit in Her Highness.”

  “And I believe you’re deluded if you think any of that is true. You have to pay attention to the woman. I won’t have her complaining to the emperor and ru
ining everything I’ve put in place.” Father stepped closer and dropped his voice even lower. “I worked hard to give you this opportunity and make this marriage happen for the good of our family and Tournai. You will not throw away all I have done for you and given to you on whatever whim is in your head at this moment. And I have no idea what that might be or why you’re acting this way. But you will do your duty despite your lack of ambition to further yourself.”

  Father shook his head when Cathal opened his mouth to reply. “No. I will not hear another word about this. You will go and dance attendance on Lady Velia until she feels as though she is the only woman in the world to you, and the luckiest to be marrying you. You will talk with her and dance with her and flirt with her, and soon you will marry her. That is all I want to see from you. That is all I want you to do.”

  Cathal fought down the sudden heat of anger. It was always what Father wanted to see from him, what Father wanted him to do and the way he wanted Cathal to do it. No consideration for what Cathal wanted or that he was a grown man with the ability to make his own decisions. Father made him feel like a misbehaving child being scolded. And Cathal was tired of feeling that way, frustrated with Father for making him feel that way.

  “Father, I am doing what you want me to do. I am marrying Lady Velia, a marriage you arranged without consulting or even telling me beforehand,” Cathal said, keeping a tight rein on his tone. “I am doing what you want. I am doing my duty to you. But I’ll do it in whatever way I please. You should trust my good sense in knowing what must be done and knowing my duty. Because if I didn’t know those things, I wouldn’t be doing what you want at all.”

  Before Father could say another word, Cathal turned and strode back toward the rest of the party. He was more than a little off balance from the conversation, at least partly because of his own outburst. He had shocked himself with those words, and probably only caused more trouble with his father, but there was no taking them back. He schooled his expression to eliminate all traces of what he was feeling and rejoined the party.

  THE NEXT day, Cathal strolled through the palace gardens with Velia. He was trying hard not to feel the walk was a capitulation to his father, but he couldn’t ignore Velia out of resentment either. Whatever Father thought, Cathal knew his duty to country and family, and he would fulfill it to the best of his ability.

  Velia wasn’t bad company. Her ability to carry a conversation was smooth and practiced, and she could be witty and clever and flirtatious without crossing a line that she shouldn’t as a betrothed woman. Between those abilities and Elodie’s support, it was no wonder she was becoming quite popular at court. But he rather wished everything she did or said was a little less practiced. He still had no idea what was behind the perfect image she projected, and he’d like to. He’d like to know who he was marrying.

  But whatever he said, he could not get Velia to let go of even some of the pretenses that had presumably been engrained in her for her whole life. He was beginning to wonder if all there was to Velia was the image of perfect lady, a prospective duchess. He had a hard time believing anyone could be so one-dimensional, or maybe he just didn’t want to believe it. He had to live his life with her—it would be much easier to do so with some measure of content if they could at least be friends of some sort. But if Velia showed him nothing of herself, he couldn’t see how that would ever happen.

  Father heartily approved of her, more as each day went by. Before she arrived, Father had been pleased with the advantageousness of the match and the benefits he saw for Tournai and its ruling house. After Father met Velia, saw her for himself, he was even more pleased.

  Still, Cathal tried. He valiantly tried to push the conversation into areas that might give him some knowledge of Velia as a person. He asked about her life in Ardunn, her family, her childhood. Velia responded with witty anecdotes about court life in Ardunn, obviously designed to be light and amusing. And they were—Cathal would have been quite amused if he weren’t looking for something more.

  He bit back a sigh when another of his questions was met with light, tinkling laughter and a quip about a ball at the emperor’s court. As Velia continued speaking, Cathal let himself look around. They strolled into an area centered around a large fountain with marble sculptures of mythical beasts. Flowers were planted in geometric beds, the orderly arrangement balanced by a riot of color.

  And Flavian sat sketching on a bench. He must not have heard them, because he didn’t look up. Cathal steered himself and Velia on a path that would keep them far from Flavian. It seemed wrong to interrupt Flavian when the man had obviously come out to the garden to escape as much as he could from the part he had to play. Cathal didn’t want to force him to take up that role again.

  He did watch Flavian, hopefully unobtrusively. He didn’t want Velia to think he was staring at her companion even if he couldn’t seem to keep himself from looking. And even as he looked, he wished he could stop himself, wished he couldn’t stop himself from staring at Velia instead. His life would be so much less complicated if that were true.

  But he only wanted to watch Flavian. Who sat on a bench, skirt of the dress he wore rumpled around him. He hunched over, balancing his sketchbook on his knee as he drew. Just looking at him made Cathal’s back twinge in sympathy.

  Cathal doubted that Flavian would be sitting as he was if he weren’t constrained by his costume. He could almost see Flavian in clothes that were actually his, with a leg bent up on the bench and his sketchbook propped against it. Or perhaps he would sit on the ground, leaning against the bench. However Flavian sat, it wouldn’t be in an awkward, unnatural position that made Cathal wince.

  “Oh, there’s Flavia,” Velia said. He almost jumped at the name. He hoped Velia hadn’t said anything in the last few moments that he would have had to respond to.

  “Yes. Practicing her drawing, it looks like,” he said, keeping his voice mild, politely interested but no more than that. It seemed to work.

  “Oh, yes. Well, we don’t have to interrupt her.”

  He forced his face to remain as bland as his voice, but he was a little confused at Velia’s quick statement. “She seems quite absorbed. She must enjoy drawing. I believe she had her sketchbook at the picnic yesterday as well.”

  “Yes, she did. Reading, drawing. She’s a solitary creature. She always has been.”

  He glanced at Flavian. Cathal wondered if what Velia said was true or if it was part of the deception, meant to keep people away from Flavian. Flavian was prickly enough at times to make Cathal think he might prefer solitude, but he didn’t know Flavian well enough yet to be certain. And he shouldn’t be thinking of getting to know him better.

  Velia continued to walk, her face serene. And nothing in her expression to show that she knew Cathal was in on the secret. Could Flavian have not told her that Cathal knew? What about Philip and Amory knowing? He had no idea why Flavian wouldn’t tell her, but nor would he say something to her. Flavian might have his reasons for not letting her know.

  “Well, then, let’s not disturb her.”

  Velia smiled at him sweetly, and he turned their steps toward a path leading them away from where Flavian sat. Cathal took one last look at Flavian before they moved out of sight. He wanted to see the look of peace and wonder on Flavian’s face that he had glimpsed yesterday. He wanted that feeling for Flavian. He had to think of a way of giving it to him.

  “WHY ARE we here?” Flavian asked, his voice echoing in the empty corridor despite how quietly he’d spoken. Everything seemed loud since they had left the noise of the party behind and began walking through these dimly lit corridors. He tried to quiet the tap of the heels of his shoes against the marble floor, but he couldn’t silence his footsteps. Unlike Cathal, who walked with nearly noiseless steps at Flavian’s side. Irrationally, it annoyed Flavian.

  “You weren’t enjoying the party. I thought you might prefer something else.”

  He hadn’t been enjoying the party, but he thought he’d bee
n faking it fairly well. Mostly because he’d tried to fade into the background so no one would notice him. “Why does your cousin have to throw so many parties anyway?”

  “She says she wants Velia to meet everyone. I think Elodie just likes having an excuse to throw parties,” Cathal said as he ushered Flavian down another corridor to the right.

  “I think your cousin has introduced Velia to everyone in the country by now.”

  Cathal laughed shortly, the sound echoing in the corridor. “If Elodie had her way, there would be many more events. Philip has reined her in quite a bit.”

  Flavian shuddered at that thought. Princess Elodie seemed to have something planned for Velia, and by extension, Flavian, every day. What might she have done without Prince Philip’s intervention?

  “So where are you taking me?” Flavian asked. He should have asked before they left the party. “You really shouldn’t have left. Velia is your betrothed, and with the party being for her, someone is bound to notice that you’re gone.”

  Cathal shrugged and stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway. “We’re here.”

  Well, apparently, Cathal was not going to talk about shirking his social duties tonight. All right. “And where is here?”

  Cathal opened the door and ushered him into a room lit only by the wash of moonlight streaming through the room’s many windows. “I’ll light some candles.”

  While Cathal did so, Flavian took a few steps farther into the unusual room and looked around. He had never been in the room before—not surprising, since the palace was large. The room was circular with tall windows that looked out on the garden, silvery in the moonlight, around almost the entire circumference. A circular carpet that must have been made specifically for the space covered the floor, and a few chairs, benches, and small tables clustered in the center, arranged in groupings for ease of conversation.