The Artist’s Masquerade Page 12

  He didn’t want their pity.

  And they would pity him, because they had married for love and were so happy with each other and their son. A son it was obvious they’d wanted, not because of a duty to produce an heir for the throne, but because they wanted a child. And neither of them believed he should have to enter into a marriage arranged without his consent. A marriage to someone he not only did not choose himself but had never met before the betrothal.

  And laid out plainly, starkly, it didn’t seem so appealing to him either.

  He always knew he would have to marry for the good of the family and the dukedom, but when he reached the age of majority without Father arranging a betrothal—surprising, since Father seemed the type to betroth his children in the cradle, but perhaps that was the influence of Philip’s parents, and their decision not to arrange a marriage for Philip—he’d begun to believe he would at least have a say in whom he married, even if the marriage would be to a lady of position that would augment his own family’s. If he had met her and liked her, if he had chosen her, fulfilling his duty wouldn’t have been as much of a burden. But Father hadn’t trusted him enough to allow him that, hadn’t even respected him enough to tell him beforehand. Father did know well enough that Cathal understood his responsibility and what the consequences of refusing such a betrothal would be.

  Philip thought he was going to dissolve the betrothal. How Philip thought that would happen, Cathal had no idea. He shuddered to contemplate the consequences of breaking a betrothal contract with the emperor of Ardunn, and he knew Philip was as aware of them as he was. Cathal’s marriage was going forward as planned. No matter how Cathal felt about it.

  Or how he might be beginning to feel about a certain man from Ardunn.

  FLAVIAN KEPT close to his suite as much as possible for the next couple of days. He was far more shaken by what had happened than he wanted to admit, and when Velia asked if he was all right, he just claimed to be feeling a little poorly. It wasn’t even a lie. He’d barely slept in days, and fatigue and headaches nagged at him.

  He didn’t touch his sketchbook. The temptation to draw another portrait, a portrait of Cathal this time, was almost too much. But he couldn’t. Just because the drawing of the princes had calmed some of his fears didn’t mean another portrait wouldn’t show him something he didn’t want to see. So he buried the book under clothing in his dressing room until the feeling eased.

  And he stayed in the suite, except when Velia told him he had to go somewhere with her, until his hands stopped shaking and he stopped believing that guards would burst into the room and drag him away to prison for spying he wasn’t doing, or back to Ardunn where he wouldn’t be able to escape again.

  But neither of those things happened, and as time passed Flavian finally began to believe they wouldn’t. He began to believe everything might still work out, that Prince Philip would let him disappear into a new life someday soon. That he’d be able to walk away from Cathal when he did.

  Even if he couldn’t forget about that kiss or the way Cathal looked with his shirt nearly transparent and stuck to his surprisingly muscular chest. He couldn’t forget how he’d been forced to tell Cathal his story either.

  Thoughts of Cathal finally drove him out of the suite, the four walls far too confining. He made for the gardens. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he certainly didn’t want to see Cathal. Luck was with him, and he slipped into the garden without encountering him. By then Flavian knew the parts of the garden that were most likely to contain people, and he avoided them, finding a quiet little corner for himself where he could sketch in peace and solitude.

  But his solitude didn’t last. Not long after he’d settled down to sketch, he heard the scrape of footsteps along the path. He looked up, ready to lash out at whoever disturbed him, and was confronted with Prince Philip.

  “Your Highness.” Flavian scrambled to his feet, juggling his sketchbook and pencils and stepping on his skirts. He realized he was outdoors an instant before he bowed and changed it into an awkward curtsy.

  “Lady Flavia.” There was amusement in the prince’s hazel eyes, the kind that invited Flavian to share the joke, which soothed Flavian’s annoyance. “I’d hoped you might walk with me, and we can have that conversation about Ardunn I mentioned a few days ago.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. Of course.” As if he could refuse the crown prince even if the man phrased it as a request.

  “Good. Shall we walk? We’ll keep to areas where I know we won’t be overheard,” the prince said, quieter, addressing a concern Flavian hadn’t had a chance to voice.

  Flavian forced himself not to say anything when the prince offered him his arm. He had a feeling the prince knew what Flavian felt, how tired Flavian was of pretending, even as Flavian took his arm. Prince Philip was being thoughtful, carrying on the pretense, and didn’t deserve Flavian’s ire.

  “So, tell me about Ardunn,” the prince said as they walked.

  “What would you like to know, Your Highness?”

  “You mentioned some of the laws have changed. Can you tell me about them?”

  Flavian was quiet for a moment, remembering his home in Ardunn, his family’s lands tucked into the foothills of the western mountains. He was surprised that he missed the place, but not enough to go back and live under the emperor’s rule. “A lot has changed, but all of it comes down to control. The emperor wants complete control of the lands and people of Ardunn. Each noble family must provide one son to the army and one daughter to the emperor’s court, to be used as the emperor sees fit.”

  His older brother, sent to the army at age eighteen, had been made an officer, and his older sister had gone to court when she was younger than that, ostensibly to be lovely and adorn the emperor’s court. But everyone knew the ladies sent to court were little more than glorified whores at the emperor’s command. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t run sooner—he’d needed to stay and see his younger sisters settled, not given to the same fate.

  He continued. “Men don’t reach their majority until the age of thirty now, so their affairs can be controlled by their fathers and by the emperor as long as possible. All betrothals among the nobility must be approved by the emperor.”

  “And relationships between men are illegal, Cathal told me.”

  “Yes. Even a demonstrated preference for men can get a man imprisoned.” Some families protected their sons. His was too concerned with currying favor with the emperor. His father hadn’t given Flavian up, but he was certainly hoping an army career would beat the preference out of him. “It’s all about control, controlling marriages, the production of children. And two men together won’t produce more soldiers for the empire.”

  He said it without flinching, without giving in to the pain he still felt echoes of when he thought of life in Ardunn. Of the fear and anxiety. But again, it seemed Prince Philip knew, or suspected at least, how much it affected Flavian, and they walked in a silence that was far more comfortable than Flavian ever anticipated it could be.

  Finally, Prince Philip spoke, asking him more about Ardunn, his questions skirting subjects that could be painful. Flavian answered as best he could and let the anger at the emperor’s conquest and subjugation burn away the lingering remnants of his upset.

  “Philip!”

  Flavian and the prince turned. Etan strode up the path toward them, long strides eating up the distance between them quickly.

  “Yes, Etan?” the prince asked when his cousin neared them.

  “The ambassador has arrived. He’s in the red receiving room,” Etan said.

  “Thank you.” Prince Philip turned to Flavian. “Thank you for speaking with me today.”

  “It was my pleasure, Your Highness. I hope I was helpful,” Flavian answered, mildly surprised the prince had bothered thanking him.

  “You were. And we will get you out of this and into your new life as soon as possible.” With that assurance, the prince turned and strode off, leaving Flavian stamme
ring his thanks at his back.

  “Do you know your way back from here?” Etan asked.

  Flavian glanced around, realizing they had walked fairly far in the larger, more open area of the garden. He didn’t know how to get back, but he could see the palace so he was sure he could find his way.

  “I’ll walk back with you if you like.” Etan offered him an arm. Flavian couldn’t hold back a scowl this time, but he took it. “Getting a bit tired of the pretense?”

  “Very much so. The end of this cannot come quickly enough. I want to look like myself again, wear my own clothes again. Live my own life again.” Or for the first time. It would be the first time he would have complete control over his life. He couldn’t wait.

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you wear the gowns well. I never would have guessed who you really are.”

  “Hmph. I guess that’s good.” It was good. And still. “I’m rather tired of wearing them. Nothing wrong with wearing gowns if you want to. I just don’t.”

  “I wouldn’t either. Even if I did, I’d probably look ridiculous.”

  Flavian looked Etan up and down. He was so like Cathal in features and body type. It was easy to tell they were brothers. “You definitely would.”

  He was lucky that Etan laughed.

  Chapter 10

  FLAVIAN LIKED the city of Jumelle. He had made the determination after less time spent in the city than he would have liked. If everything had gone to plan, he would have been in his own lodgings in Jumelle by now, exploring the city on his own and painting.

  Instead, he’d had a tour of the city from Cathal, along with Velia and her uncle and aunt. Cathal had taken them around in an open carriage, showing them sites of historical significance and aesthetic appeal in the city. It had been a pleasant afternoon. Cathal had been charming—serious but still witty and courtly in a way that seemed to delight all women, and that Flavian had to guard himself against. Especially since he knew just how brilliantly Cathal could kiss.

  But today, he had been forced to join Velia, the princess, and two of Cathal’s sisters on a shopping trip into Jumelle. Princess Elodie and Velia shared a passion for clothing that they were happy to indulge with each other. He liked clothes well enough but not while dressed like a woman. He had no desire to look at lengths of fabric and lace and ribbon and endlessly discuss gown designs.

  What truly annoyed Flavian was that they were being ferried around by carriage and he wanted to walk. He wanted to explore the city on foot, to be part of the bustling crowd that filled the streets of the merchant district. He had never seen a city like Jumelle. The people, the architecture, the goods available for purchase—everything was so varied, the busy port drawing goods and people seemingly from everywhere. The crowd was filled with a diversity of people that made his artist’s hands itch for paint and brush—hair dark and light and blazing red, skin tones from pale to coppery to dark and all manner of dress and ornament. So different from where he grew up. It was as if everyone in the world passed through Jumelle, and some of them stayed, putting their own stamp on the city.

  He hadn’t expected that diversity, coming from an area so lacking in it, but he liked it, liked what it brought to the city. The eclectic art and architecture, the range of foods and goods, the vibrancy in the air. He couldn’t wait to explore it all. Only he had to, because he was still stuck in his ridiculous disguise, which was somehow still fooling people—he had no idea how.

  And in his disguise, out with the princess and Velia, he couldn’t stroll the streets and browse the markets. Instead, there was a carriage with servants to attend them and guards to see to the princess’s safety. Even without the princess, Flavian would only draw attention to himself if he went out on his own. He didn’t need Prince Philip thinking he was trying to escape either, not when the prince wasn’t ready to let Flavian leave the palace. He didn’t want to anger the prince and possibly dissuade him from letting Flavian go without telling Velia’s uncle.

  “Come along, Flavia.” Velia’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned as Velia followed the other women from the carriage. He scrambled to follow, tripping over his gown a bit as he stumbled to the door. At least there was no one left in the carriage to see yet another example of his lack of grace.

  He let a servant take his hand and help him down from the carriage. It was still strange, but he had to admit he needed the help while wearing a gown. Yet another reason he hoped the masquerade would come to an end sooner rather than later.

  He pasted a pleasant expression on his face, bracing himself to pretend interest in more gown designs. His mouth dropped open when he saw a bookshop.

  “You looked surprised.” Velia hooked her arm through his as they followed the princess and Cathal’s sisters into the shop.

  “Every shop we’ve been to today has had something to do with gowns or shoes or perfume. I was expecting more of the same.”

  “Poor dear,” Velia said, with more amusement than sympathy. “I thought a bookshop would be a nice stop.”

  “You did?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. You don’t read.”

  Insult washed over Velia’s face, but it faded away as she surveyed the inside of the shop. “I do too read.”

  “Well, I know you can, but you generally don’t choose to.” Reading was perhaps too solitary, too sedate, a pastime for Velia, who preferred talking and activity.

  “I do, sometimes. I plan to look for a new book today, in fact.” Velia smiled at him briefly. “Besides, I thought you would enjoy it. You do enjoy reading, and I’ve been told this shop also sells high quality sketch paper and books. I thought you might need new supplies by now.”

  That was actually very thoughtful of Velia, and he took back the resentful things he’d thought about her on the shopping excursion. “Thank you. That was kind of you.”

  Her smile brightened. “Go and find your sketchbooks.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked as she turned away.

  “Oh, I might look for a book about Tournai. If I’m to live here, I should know a bit more of the history,” she said and, with an airy wave of her hand, disappeared into the shop.

  Dense history books seemed even less like Velia, but she did have a point. He had borrowed a couple of books about Tournai from the palace library for the same reason. Now he would search out the sketchbooks. If Velia was correct, he would certainly purchase one. He hadn’t been able to bring many supplies with him and he’d nearly gone through all the paper he’d managed to carry from Ardunn.

  The shop was larger than it appeared from the outside, and he soon found himself lost among shelves and tables of books as he searched for sketchbooks. He wouldn’t have been concerned—there were worse places to be lost than a bookshop, especially after a day of browsing through ladies’ clothing—but he couldn’t see Velia’s patience lasting longer than it took her to find whatever book she was looking for. Probably best to find a clerk and ask where the sketchbooks were.

  Once he did, he was led immediately to an alcove lined with shelves of sketchbooks. Different sizes and binding materials, different types and weights of paper. He grinned. He wanted all of them. A bit like a child in a sweet shop perhaps, and if it had been him as a child, he probably would have just thrown himself into the sweets and come out sticky and sick to his stomach from the sugar. He’d learned slightly more restraint as he’d grown up.

  So he examined his options, weighing what he needed against what he wanted and what it all cost. None of that stopped him from admiring the fancy leather-bound books and stroking hands over fabric bindings and fine pages. He still restrained himself and chose only two to purchase—one large and one smaller.

  “Do you draw, then, Lady Flavia?”

  He jumped at the unexpected voice from behind him. He’d been alone the whole time in this corner of the shop.

  “I’m sorry for startling you,” Ottilie said, stepping up next to him.

  “It’s
all right, Lady Ottilie. I just didn’t see you there.” Flavian managed a smile for the girl. She was pretty, though not a raving beauty, and shared her brother’s coloring. She wasn’t married as her older sister was, but Flavian thought she was about the age for that to happen. Perhaps her father was planning something for her. He’d arranged quite the marriage for Cathal, but from what Flavian had heard, Isaline’s marriage was an excellent one if not as ambitious as Cathal’s. “And, yes, I do enjoy drawing. Do you, Lady Ottilie?”

  “I had lessons, and I enjoy it well enough, but I’m not very good at it.” She smiled. “Prince Amory buys his sketchbooks from here.”

  “Oh?” That was probably how Velia heard of the place, then. If the prince bought his sketchbooks at this bookshop, Princess Elodie would certainly know and could tell Velia.

  “Yes, he’s been coming here for years, long before he married Cousin Philip. But I think he has them sent more often now. It’s difficult for him to go out into the city the way he used to.”

  “I’m sure it would be.” He felt for the prince some. Flavian wasn’t particularly happy having his own movements restricted, even temporarily.

  “Elodie doesn’t come into Jumelle to shop often either. She usually sends for dressmakers to come to the palace and shops to send her a selection of things to look through. I think she just wanted to show Lady Velia more of the city. And you of course,” she added, quick and apologetic.