*
“That one’s being difficult,” said Channary, bobbing her foot to the fast-paced orchestral piece and pulling a glossy red cherry between her teeth. Leaning over the railing, she tossed the stem over the balcony edge, letting it flutter down to the ballroom floor and become lost in the kaleidoscope of gowns and elaborate hairstyles.
Beside her, Levana did not lean or jog her foot or even attempt to discern which suitor her sister was referring to. Her attention was fixed on Evret, stone-still and imposing beside the ballroom staircase, in an identical uniform to every other guard, and yet looking somehow more like royalty than hired brawn.
His expression was composed and stern. He had not glanced at her once since the ball had begun.
“Oh, I see,” said Channary, flicking her eyelashes in Levana’s direction, then down at Evret. “Now that you have your own toy to play with, you won’t bother listening to me rant about mine?”
“He isn’t a toy.”
“No? A puppet, then.”
Levana clenched her fists at her sides. “He isn’t a puppet, either.”
Channary smirked. Turning away from the railing, she beckoned toward one of the servants. At their side in a moment, the servant dropped to one knee and held a tray up above his head so that Channary could inspect his offerings. A dozen cordial glasses were set into a spiral upon the tray, each containing a different colored beverage. Channary selected one that was bright orange and syrupy thick. “Stay there, in case I want another,” she said, turning back to her sister. “If he isn’t a toy or a puppet, then why in the name of Cyprus Blackburn have you spent the past month dressed up like his simpleton wife?”
Heat flooded Levana’s cheeks, but her glamour didn’t flicker. Always cool, always composed, always cheerful and delicate and lovely. That was how she remembered Solstice Hayle, from their brief interactions. That was how she would have everyone see her now.
“The poor woman died in childbirth,” said Levana. “I’m paying homage.”
“You are playing with his head.” A sly grin crept over Channary’s face. “Which would make me rather proud if you’d set your sights a bit higher. A palace guard, honestly. Once you’re done with him, perhaps you can make eyes at one of the gardeners.”
Levana cut her gaze toward her sister. “You’re quite the hypocrite. Just how many palace guards have kept you company over the years?”
“Oh, countless.” Channary took a sip from her drink, and her cunning smile lingered when she lowered it and inspected the poppy-colored contents again. She gave it a discerning sniff. “But never at the detriment of having fun elsewhere. Ideally, a lady will have three toys at once. One to romance her, one to bed her, and one to adorn her with very expensive jewelry.”
Levana’s eye began to twitch. “You have never had Evret.”
Laughing heartily, Channary set the barely touched drink back on the tray and selected an aquamarine choice dusted with something white and shimmery on top. The servant did not move. “That’s true. Though I’m sure he would be much less problematic than Constable Dubrovsky.” She sighed. “The minx.”
Dubrovsky? Levana squinted down into the flurry of dancers. It took a while, but finally she spotted the constable dancing with a young gentleman whose name escaped her. One of the family heirs, she was sure.
“Perhaps the difficulty is in his personal preferences.”
Channary flicked her fingers. “I’ve come to learn that he isn’t particular. Except, evidently, he is not interested in his queen. I can’t understand it. I’ve been throwing hints at him since last sunset.”
Glancing down, Levana saw that the servant’s arm was beginning to shake. The drinks in his cordial glasses were vibrating. She selected a beverage that looked like melted chocolate. “You may go.”
Channary snatched up a daffodil-yellow liqueur before the servant could escape, holding both drinks in her hand as she leaned over the balcony rail. She trained her focus on the constable again. Not in a swoony or dreamy way, but as if she were analyzing a war strategy.
“If you want him so much,” said Levana, “why don’t you just brainwash him into wanting you? It would be much simpler.”
“You say that as if you have experience in such matters.”
Gut tightening, Levana couldn’t keep her attention from darting to Evret again. Stoic, statuesque Evret. Did his eyes ever follow her around a room like hers followed him? Did he ever sneak glimpses of her when she wasn’t looking? If so, she had yet to catch him in it, not once since their first kiss in her chambers.
“Manipulating your prey is an easy way to cheat at the game,” said Channary. She dipped her tongue into the blue glass, coating it with silvery powder, and swallowed. Her expression became surprisingly pleased. “But I don’t want to win that way. I will win when I go into Lunar history as the most desirable queen to ever walk these hallways.”
“The most undiscerning queen, anyway. Don’t you ever want to just … fall in love?”
“Love. What a child you are.” With no apparent premeditation, Channary downed both of her drinks in two successive gulps. She balked at the combined taste, then started to laugh. “Love!” she screamed out into the dance floor, so loud that a few of the musicians startled and the music blustered momentarily before picking up again. “Love is a conquest! Love is a war!” A few people down below had stopped dancing to gawk at their mad queen. Levana shrank away from her. “Here is what I think of love!”
Channary threw her empty glasses down into the throngs, as hard as she could. One of them shattered on the polished floor. The other hit Constable Dubrovsky’s partner in the eye. He yelped and held up his hands, too late.
A spiteful giggle rose up inside Channary and was just as quickly smothered by a dainty hand pressed over her mouth. “Oops!” she chirped, then laughed in earnest and pushed herself away from the railing. Aghast, Levana trailed after her. They ignored the guests who dropped into bows and curtsies as they passed. The queen looked positively fanatical with her laughter.
“And you think that’s going to endear your constable to you?” said Levana, abandoning her own untouched drink on a sideboard. “Assaulting his dance partners?”
“It can’t be any more absurd than your tactic.” Channary rounded on her, bringing them to a sudden stop on the winding ramp that swirled around the ballroom, connecting the main floor to the first balcony. “Do you really think that by changing your glamour to look like his dead wife and manipulating him a couple of times a day, you’re going to make him fall in love with you?”
Levana bristled. “I don’t need to do anything. He’s already in love with me. And I love him. But I suppose you wouldn’t understand.”
Smirking, Channary ducked her head closer and lowered her voice. “If you truly believe that he loves you, then why manipulate him at all? Why not let him keep his own emotions, unmolested? In fact, why not show him what you truly look like?” She snorted. “Or are you too afraid he’ll run screaming from the room if you do that?”
Rage burst inside Levana’s head. She was suddenly trembling—and even her glamour was showing the anger. It had been a long time since she’d lost such control.
Breathing slowly, she forced herself to relax. Her sister insulted others so that she could lift herself up in comparison. She was to be pitied, if anything.
“He is still in mourning,” Levana said, pacing her words. “Because I love him, I am trying to make this transition as easy on him as possible.”
Eyes twinkling, Channary listed her head to one side. “Oh, yes. We can all see how easy you’re making this transition for him.”
Levana lifted her chin. “I don’t care what you think. I’m going to marry him. When he’s ready, I’m going to marry him.”
Channary raised a hand and patted Levana on the cheek. Though it was a gentle touch, Levana still recoiled from the gesture. “Then you are an even bigger idiot than I realized, baby sister.” Dropping her hand, she strategically lowered the straps of her dress and strolled past Levana toward the dance floor.
Levana shut her eyes, trying to drown out the music that crashed and rolled against her, the mocking laughter of the guests, her sister’s taunting words. Channary didn’t understand. Levana wasn’t only trying to replace Evret’s dead wife, she was going to show him that she was the better choice to begin with. She would be more loving, more dedicated, more enigmatic. She would make him forget that he had ever had another lover at all.
But her stomach was still in chains when she opened her eyes and glanced toward the dance floor. At all the beautiful girls and beautiful boys in their beautiful clothes and their beautiful glamours. Perhaps it was not enough to take on the glamour of Evret’s wife. Not if she was going to be better than her in every way.
She slinked backward, drawing away from the twirling, writhing crowd, until her back collided with a wall. A tapestry swayed against her shoulder. A glowing orb over her head gave a faint halo to the few couples that were loitering on the ramp.
She thought of Solstice, the woman he had loved so very much.
Levana decided that her hair would be just a bit glossier, and added a hint of red on a whim—for contrast, for allure. Her eyes would be larger, with more depth of color. Her lashes thicker and her complexion shimmering and flawless. Her bust would be a little fuller and her waist a little trimmer and her lips would be a little … no, not a little. Her lips would be strikingly, vividly red.
When Evret looked at her, he would see perfection.
When any man looked at her, he would see perfection.
Maybe her sister was right. Maybe she truly was hideous. But so long as she could deceive everyone, what did it matter? She would make even that constable want her if she chose to.