At her words the guard stalked closer, armor echoing across the exquisite foyer.
It took everything Tella had to keep from raising her voice. Instead she forced her lips to tremble and her eyes to turn watery. “Please, I have nowhere else to go,” she begged, hoping the woman had a heart somewhere beneath her starched dress. “Just find my sister and let me stay with her.”
The matron’s lips pinched, appraising Donatella in all her pathetic splendor. “I can’t let you stay here, but perhaps there’s a free cot or nest in the servants’ quarters.”
The guard shadowing her snickered.
Tella’s heart sank even further. A nest in the servants’ quarters?
“Excuse me.” The low voice rumbled directly behind her, a rough brush against the back of Tella’s neck.
Her stomach dipped and tied a knot.
Only one person’s voice did that to Tella.
Casually Dante came up to her side. A silhouette of sharp raven-wing black, from his perfect dark suit to the ink tattooing his hands. The only light came from the shimmer in his amused eyes. “Having a problem with your room?”
“Not at all.” Tella willed her cheeks not to flush with embarrassment, hoping he’d not overheard the conversation. “There’s just a tiny mix-up, but it’s been resolved.”
“What a relief. I thought I heard her say she was putting you in the servants’ quarters.”
“That’s only if there’s room,” the matron said.
Tella could have turned mortified-green and sunk into the lapis floor, but to her shock Dante, who usually enjoyed laughing at her, didn’t so much as tilt the corner of his mouth in diversion. Instead he turned the full force of his brutal gaze on the matron. “Do you know who this young lady is?”
“I beg your pardon,” said the matron, “who are you?”
“I oversee all of Legend’s performers.” Dante’s voice was full of more arrogance than usual. The type of tone that made it impossible for Tella to discern if he was speaking the truth or making up a lie. “You do not want to put her in the servants’ quarters.”
“Why is that?” asked the matron.
“She’s engaged to the heir to the throne of the Meridian Empire.”
The woman’s brows drew together warily. Tella’s might have done the same, but she instantly covered her surprise with the sort of haughty expression she imagined a royal heir’s fiancée might wear.
Of course, Tella didn’t even know who the current heir was. Elantine had no children, and her heirs were killed off faster than the news could travel to Tella’s former home on Trisda. But Tella didn’t care who her fake fiancé was, as long as it kept her from sleeping in a nest.
Unfortunately, the matron still looked skeptical. “I didn’t know His Highness had a new fiancée.”
“It’s a secret,” Dante responded flawlessly. “I believe he’s planning on announcing the engagement at his next party. So I’d recommend not saying anything. I’m sure you’ve heard what his temper is like.”
The woman went stiff. Then her eyes darted from Dante to Tella. Clearly she didn’t trust either of them, but her fear of the heir’s temper must have outweighed her good judgment.
“I’ll check again to see if there’s another room available,” she said. “We’re full for the celebration, but perhaps someone we expected hasn’t arrived.”
The moment she left, Dante turned back to Tella, leaning close so that no eavesdropping servants could hear. “Don’t rush to thank me.”
Tella supposed she did owe him a bit of gratitude. Yet the exchange coated her with the thick sensation that Dante was doing her the opposite of a favor. “I can’t figure out if you’ve just saved me or landed me in an even more unfortunate situation.”
“I found you a room, didn’t I?”
“You’ve also given me a bad-tempered fiancé.”
One corner of his full mouth lifted. “Would you rather have pretended to be my fiancée? I considered saying that, but I didn’t think that would be the best choice since—what was it you said to your sister?” He tapped a finger against his smooth chin. “Ah yes, when we kissed it was terrible, one of the worst, definitely not something you would wish to repeat.”
Tella felt the color drain from her face. God’s blood! Dante was absolutely shameless. “You were spying!”
“I didn’t need to. You were loud.”
Tella should have said she hadn’t meant it—he had to have known she hadn’t meant it—but the last thing she wanted was to boost Dante’s pride. “So this is revenge?”
He leaned even closer. Tella couldn’t discern if the humor had left his gaze or if it had just shifted into something deeper and darker and a little more dangerous. His warm fingers intentionally skimmed the length of her collarbone. Her breathing hitched. Yet she didn’t pull away, even as his eyes became nearly level with hers, coming so close she could feel the sweep of his lashes.
“Let’s just say we’re even now.” His lips moved to the corner of her mouth.
Then, right before making contact, he pulled away. “I wouldn’t wish to repeat something so unpleasant for you.”
Without another word, Dante strutted off, his wide shoulders shaking, as if he were laughing.
Tella burned. After what Dante had just done, they were far from even.
The matron returned several rapid heartbeats later, with a smile tighter than fresh stitches. “It seems we have an available suite in Elantine’s golden tower.”
Tella swallowed a gasp. Maybe Dante had done her a favor after all.
Next to the city’s numerous ruins, Elantine’s golden tower was the oldest structure in the Empire. Rumored to have walls made of pure gold and all sorts of secret passages for monarchs to sneak out of, many believed it wasn’t just a replica of Tower Lost from the Decks of Destiny but that it was the actual tower, with dormant magic hidden inside it.
“Guests are not normally allowed in the tower,” the matron said as she led Tella from the sapphire wing into a glass courtyard, where fancifully dressed clusters of people meandered under opalescent arches and crystal trees with silver leaves. Unfamiliar with palace culture, having grown up on an unrespected conquered isle, Tella wondered if they were part of Elantine’s court, or if these were some other guests that the matron had mentioned.
“You’re not to have any visitors,” the matron continued. “Not even your fiancé is welcome inside your room.”
Tella might have said she’d never dream of letting a boy enter her room, but it was probably best not to pile too many lies on top of each other or they might all come tumbling down.
At the end of the courtyard there was only one set of doors to the golden tower, so grandiose and heavy it took three sentries to pull each one open.
Tella didn’t realize the guard from the carriage house still followed her until he was stopped as Tella and the matron were both let through. Either word of Tella’s engagement had traveled swiftly through the palace, or this head matron was as important as she thought herself. Tella hoped for the latter, knowing as soon as the real heir discovered her ruse, she’d certainly be exposed and kicked out of the palace—or worse. Until then she’d decided to enjoy the charade.
Contrary to the stories, the inside of the tower wasn’t golden; it was old. Even the air smelled archaic, full of forgotten stories and bygone words. On the lower level there were aged stone pillars formed of chipped columns, and decorative capitals carved to look like two-faced women, all lit by crackling black torches that smelled of incense and spells.
From there, the matron shepherded her up floor after creaking floor, each one as old as the first. The door they finally stopped in front of looked so aged, one touch and Tella imagined it might fall off the hinges.
No wonder guests never stayed in here.
“A guard will be posted outside your door at all times.” The matron rang the bell around her neck, summoning a sentry in striking white metal armor. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you as the heir’s fiancée!”