“I think perhaps like this?” I say, working out something resembling a bow, with the ends puffed out to look like the loops, before loosening the knot and trying again. I fiddle with it for several minutes before tilting my head to the side and deciding I’ve done a worthy enough job. “What do you think?” I ask, gesturing to a small vanity mirror affixed to the wall. The knot is perhaps not traditional, but it’s simple and has a nice symmetry, if I do say so myself. “I can call the bots to redo it,” I offer when he scrutinizes the white linen for longer than seems strictly necessary.
“No, no, I think this is fine.” He straightens and meets my eyes for a moment, then looks away, seeming to dislike—or perhaps disapprove of—what he finds there. “Honestly, having your bots do it creeps me out. Ironing clothes is one thing, dressing me is something else. I haven’t needed help dressing since I was a child, and certainly not from a machine.”
That provokes a laugh. “You, sir, are clearly accustomed to clothing that’s even possible to don without help. I’ve had to have bots dressing me since I began wearing full gowns. I find bots far more comfortable than humans, having now experienced both.”
“I guess,” Saber says, slicking his hair back with a comb and a bit of water and attempting, once again, to pull it back with a ribbon.
I appreciate the effort, but he’s going to need another few centimeters before that becomes even remotely feasible.
“Will I do?”
I seize the opportunity to scrutinize him from head to toe. He does look quite fine, but more importantly, he looks like he belongs. “Stunning,” I say, allowing myself a moment of honesty.
But he apparently takes my praise for sarcasm and shoots me an exasperated look.
“I mean it.” I consider laying a hand on his arm but lose my nerve. “You’ve done a commendable job blending in. Everyone has accepted you as my secretary without so much as a second glance.”
“Except your beloved fiancé, who thinks I’m your lover.”
I’m certain I fail to keep the annoyance from my eyes. “He thinks nothing of the sort. Not truly. He merely likes to torture me.”
“Torture you?” He laughs. “Is that what that was?”
My cheeks are hot and surely bright red as I try to shove away the memory of Saber standing there, just watching the King paw at me. “What would you call it? I’m doing this, all of this, to get away from him.”
“So I gather. I don’t know why you agreed to marry him in the first place—even breaking up with a King has to be easier than all this.”
“If only that were true,” I say softly, before clearing my throat.
“I don’t…I don’t understand this thing you guys do,” Saber says, waving his hand vaguely. “I mean, I get why you live here. Free rent! And even why the first group of you lived like this. I mean, that Kevin Wyndham guy? Apparently he was crazy.”
“Eccentric is a more appropriate word,” I retort, a bit offended. “He loved the culture he created. Adored it.”
“Whatever. But after he died, why not go back to normal?”
“Normal is in the eye of the beholder, to borrow the phrase.” I fight the urge to put my hands on my hips and lecture him. “No matter how a child is raised, they think theirs is the normal life. The fact that I was brought up in silk and satin skirts, had a miniature pony cart to get about, and lived in the shadow of one of the greatest castles in all of Europe meant nothing to me.”
“You have to know you’re different, though.”
I chuckle. “It isn’t that we don’t know the rest of the world exists—with Paris not fifteen kilometers distant, we could hardly have simply not noticed—it’s just that as a whole we aren’t very interested in the rest of the world. Sonoman-Versailles is home. Our customs are home.”
“It’s just so…engrained. Everyone here seems to really think it’s great to live here. Like this. Doesn’t it feel fake?”
“It’s not fake,” I say with a wry smile now. “It’s art. We live our art.” I swallow hard and look up at the gilded walls. “You may doubt my words, but I’ll miss it dreadfully.”
“Not me,” Saber says, though his tone isn’t quite so scornful.
Nonetheless, a change of topic is in order before I make myself maudlin. “Tonight is the Grand Couvert, a big dinner, essentially. I’ve arranged for you to sit with a friend of mine, Lord Aaron. I imagine you’ll get along famously. Mostly you’ll be collecting money from those in attendance who’re due. Watch for some of the older ladies—they’re liable to tuck bills right into your breeches.”
Saber opens his mouth, and then claps it shut. I don’t give him time to recover before I sweep from the room, knowing he’ll follow in my wake.
His Highness insists on perpetuating the farce that he and I are lovesick fools, and I can hardly contend the point in front of an audience. So I paste on a grin as he pops small bits of cheese and fruit into my mouth, and simper again as he feeds me spoonfuls of dessert. I hesitate when he tips his glass of champagne toward me, then decide that getting as much alcohol into my system as I can might make the night go faster.