Chapter 24
Nine Hours of Enchantment Remain
He wasn’t dressed in jeans and a scarf this time. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of the portrait hanging above Mada Vittora’s mantel; he was wearing a frost-gray suit with threads as fine as spider’s silk. A crown of golden briars circled his head, the points catching the hallway lights as though he’d managed to ensnare little pieces of the stars themselves. And those eyes that had seemed to follow her as she had cleaned—?not flat chips of paint now but the blue-gray shade of the sea where it dropped into unknowable depths. Impossible to capture with a paintbrush.
His hair, though, was still the slightest bit mussed.
Cricket lowered her face so that the lace veil hid her features and nudged Anouk, who quickly did the same. “Your Majesty,” Anouk whispered.
She clutched the broom close to her chest. Cricket, never an adept actress, halfheartedly fanned the feather duster over the doorway as though sweeping for cobwebs, but the way it flopped in her hand made it clear she’d never used one before. Anouk thought it impossible that the prince wouldn’t notice such a glaring detail, but he only brushed a wrinkle out of his suit distractedly.
“We’ve guests,” he said offhandedly. “A witch’s boy and his associate. Fetch a tray of tea and éclairs and bring it to the east salon.”
Another second passed before Anouk moved. She loosened her grip on the broom, her palms slippery with sweat. Cricket fanned the duster too hard and sneezed.
The prince leaned closer. “Be certain there’s a sharp knife on the tray.” He paused. “For the éclairs. They can be difficult to slice.”
It took every ounce of Anouk’s concentration not to shoot a look at Cricket.
A sharp knife?
She dared
the slightest peek at the prince from beneath the veil, and for a second, he met her eyes. A dangerous thrill went through her. She should have looked away to keep her identity safe, but for this one instant, though it was incredibly foolish, some part of her wanted him to see beyond her apron. She yearned for him to recognize her, to tell her once more that she was made for greater things.
And for the briefest second, she thought he did recognize her. But then he looked away, bored and distracted, and the moment was gone. “You understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “A sharp knife.”
His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he left, reverberating off the glass cases. She didn’t dare breathe until he had disappeared around the corner.
Cricket touched her shoulder and she jumped.
“That was close. I was afraid he’d recognize us, even with our veils.”
Anouk folded up her lace veil. “All men like him ever see are aprons. I could be Mada Vittora risen from the dead, but if I had a mop in my hand he’d still just ask for tea.”
Her voice was bitter.
Bitter because it was true. She’d had it in her head ever since the night of the party that the handsome prince was different, that he judged the worth of a person not by his or her clothes but by something deeper. And to admit that he was just like all the others—?the witches and the Royals whose gazes skimmed over her like she was a forgotten old lamp—?sharpened her anger.
“He asked for a knife,” she said. “What do you think that means? It’s not for éclairs, I can promise you that.”
Cricket’s fingers involuntarily went to the folds of her uniform as she checked her own blades. “It means their top witch is dead and they want answers from her witch’s boy. And that they aren’t going to waste the energy to use magic when knives will do.”
Anouk drew in a sharp breath. “You think they’re going to torture Viggo?”
“I hope so.”
The thought sat with Anouk uneasily, like she’d eaten too much sticky icing. Viggo and Hunter Black had just walked into a room full of the most dangerous magic casters in Paris—?no, she’d sent them into the room—?and the handful of defensive skills between the two of them would mean nothing against the Royals’ tricks and whispers.
Cricket thrust the feather duster accusingly in Anouk’s general direction. “You look dangerously close to caring.”
“Well . . .”
“Incroyable. We needed Viggo to get us into Castle Ides, and here we are. Let Rennar carve him up into a ham, for all I care, and serve him with pineapple at Christmas.”
“And Hunter Black? I gave him my word that the five of us would stick together. And besides, Viggo is here only because I’m here. I’m responsible for him. I can’t leave him to be tortured.”