The Charm of Deception - Chapter 3

Itani pulled the door open to reveal one of the stable boys standing in the hall, holding two steaming buckets of water. She gestured into the room and thanked up as he dumped the buckets in the tub, then bowed and took his leave.

“You’re the best, Itani,” Rana said, relieved that it wasn’t Father.

“I know, miss,” Itani said with a wink. She gestured at the tub. “Go on.”

Rana carefully bent down to take her socks off, then grit her teeth and pulled her undershirt off. Itani gasped as she saw her side. “Miss!”

“It’s okay,” Rana said quickly, putting her hand on her side. She looked down a moment later and cringed when she saw that the bruise was already so large that her hand couldn’t cover it completely. The discoloration was crawling across her ribs and down towards her hip. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“You need to see the physicians,” Itani said.

“No!” Rana said, panicked. The physicians were among those who tattled the fastest to Father. If she went to them for help, it would be impossible to keep the accident a secret. “It’ll be fine.”

“That’s for them to decide.”

“Aldik already looked at it,” Rana said. “He said nothing is broken. I just need to let it rest.”

“Mm…” Itani clearly wasn’t pleased. “I suppose if Lord Munen didn’t think you needed to see the physicians…”

“Then I don’t,” Rana insisted, hurriedly undressing the rest of the way and climbing into the warm bath.

She bathed quickly, then petulantly allowed Itani to dress her. There were so many layers to the fine dresses she was forced to wear for formal events, and she didn’t have the patience for them. First there was her shift, then stockings that came all the way past her knee and tied uncomfortably on her thigh.

Then there was a petticoat, and the corset that all but doubled her over in pain once Itani cinched it in place today. A hip pad to lift her skirt. Another petticoat. A kerchief. A stomacher. The gown petticoat that came in absurd colors. The gown that came in a matching absurd color. Rana wanted to scream.

Instead she resigned herself to staring straight ahead and focusing on keeping her breathing even. The corset was agonizing, but Itani refused to even consider letting her skip it unless she consented to going to the physicians. Rana sighed and straightened her back, doing her best to keep it from digging into her side any more than it had to.

She sat stiffly as Itani tugged on her hair and cruelly tied it in place with ribbons and pins that jabbed her head. Rana barely managed to keep a glare off her face as Itani began dabbing powders and creams and lip color onto her face. An eternity later, she was pronounced ready.

Rana looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. This ritual always wasted so much time, and she didn’t like the way it made her look. Her lips were bright red, and her hair was unnaturally curled and tied in ringlets around her face, making her extraordinarily uncomfortable.

Every moment of every dance and every banquet was uncomfortable; not only did she have to tolerate the rich jerks of the invited countries, she also had to be shoved into a satin torture device when she did so. It was utterly terrible, and she didn’t understand why she had to endure it. If she were even half as bad as Father said she was, no one would even think of marrying her – so there was no one to impress.

“Time to go, miss,” Itani said.

Rana took a deep breath and nodded. As much as she hated the fact, Itani was right – it was time to go. She stood and straightened her shoulders, then braced herself for the hours of socializing that would drag on for ages. She walked downstairs to meet her family.

They walked in almost complete silence. Father would occasionally whisper something to Mama, but largely he just strutted ahead in an arrogant silence. He was an aging man, already past his fiftieth year. He was short but stocky, standing just taller than Rana was herself. He had gray hair that grew on the edges of his head, framing a shiny bald patch.

Rana hesitated as they reached top of the stairs leading down to the royal ballroom, quickly evaluating the people already present. It was crowded and bustling with activity. Father liked to be one of the last people to arrive, so that there would be an audience to notice their entrance.

He enjoyed mingling with wealthy nobles and royals, and balls and banquets were the perfect opportunity for him to work on growing his network. His chest puffed out with pride and he stepped forward towards the top stair, proudly flaunting Mama as she held his arm.

“Now announcing Lord and Lady Leikos Elstan,” the announcer shouted over the cacophony in the room. He belatedly noticed Rana and her little sister Fania a step behind their parents and added, “And their daughters.”

Rana rolled her eyes and walked past the scrawny man, being careful to keep the pain off her face. She couldn’t afford to grimace on the walk down the stairs. As Father always said, a person’s entrance was the most important aspect of the night.

She kept her back straight and plastered a fake smile on her face as she stiffly followed Father down the stairs. Fania was to her right, following Mama. She was only twelve but was already everything a lady should be.

As Rana glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Fania was poised and elegant as they strode down the stairs. Her golden hair was perfect, gowns carefully arranged, makeup just right for the flickering lights of the torches overhead. The daughter Father actually wanted.

The staircase was a prominent feature in the room, well-lit and near the center. The thrones of the royal family were at the base, on the right from Rana’s current perspective. Behind them was a large dance floor with a band standing next to the wall. To her left and behind were the drinks and foods. Straight ahead was the balcony where she, Jaerek, and Wyl usually hid from the rest of the nobles.

As they reached the foot of the stairs, Father strode forward with Mama. He bowed low and she respectfully curtsied, before Father addressed the king. “Thank you for extending your grace to my family, your majesty.”

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” the king replied, sounding almost-bored. Father and the king frequently spent time with one another, and this formality was nothing but show for everyone else in attendance.

To the king’s left was an empty chair where the queen used to sit, before she passed away. It’d been nearly ten years since her death, but he insisted on keeping her throne next to him. To the king’s right sat Jaerek, and his little sister Astana. Father bowed slightly to each of the royal children then led Mama into the throng of people.

Rana and Fania quickly stepped forward and curtsied. “Thank you, your grace.”

Rana moved forward until she was in front of Jaerek. He smirked at her. This was always the worst part of any formal event, having to pretend that she actually cared that he was royal. She forced herself to curtsy, as expected.

“Lower,” Jaerek whispered.

She snorted and looked up, seeing the mischief in his eyes. She glanced towards the king, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Make me.”

They exchanged a quick grin, then Rana moved past. She and Fania both hesitated as they were past the thrones, out of the center of attention. Fania was only a year younger than Astana and spent nearly every waking moment with her. She was just as impatient for Astana to be finished with her duty of greeting the guest as Rana was for Jaerek.

“Come on, Fae,” Rana said. “Let’s get some pastries.”

“Sounds good,” Fae said, grinning.

Typically, she didn’t like to spend time with Rana— at least not in public. Rana never seemed to know how she should behave in the company of her betters, or even to know who her betters were at all. She treated Itani the same that she did Prince Jaerek and couldn’t understand why not everyone did.

People were people, in Rana’s mind. It didn’t matter what country they were from, or what their social status – she didn’t see how royal blood entitled anyone to respect, much less wealth and power. And yet, it seemed it did. Father wasn’t royal, but he’d built a reputation for himself from his proximity with the king – and he expected Rana and Fae to act like noble girls, regardless.

The girls made their way to the table together and quickly snatched several pastries, before retreating a few meters away to eat their prize. Rana silently surveyed the crowd for familiar faces. She saw the Atraian princess, pouting at having been dragged to the dance. Rana imagined they would get along, if she wasn’t so scary.

Her uncles and cousins were nearby but pretending she didn’t exist. The princess was about the same age as Rana but had already been an assassin for many years. There were numerous rumors about how the princess got her ability, but no one quite knew which one to believe. The only thing that was certain was that she was lethal and had a short temper. Rana didn’t risk a friendship.

Rana saw a few Algnesian noble boys with their fathers, trying to act mature as they stood and were bored to death with the dull conversations that dominated events like this. There were some loud-mouthed dukes from Lytias. A few nervous-looking girls from one of the peripheral countries were huddled together in the corner.

Rana smiled when she saw Wyl standing in the corner next to the balcony, beckoning her over. She glanced at her sister. “See you.”

Rana dodged all of the boring old men and annoying, lace covered ladies as she made her way to the balcony. She grinned again when she reached him, then silently walked out onto the balcony with him. They glanced around to be sure no one followed them before they spoke.

“How’s your side?” he asked casually, being sure to keep his voice low.

“Eh,” Rana said, forcing herself not to flinch as she shrugged.

“That good, huh?” He paused a moment, looking at her abdomen, then frowned. “They got you into the corset anyhow?”

“It was corset or physicians.”

“Ah,” Wyl answered. He knew how treacherous the physicians were. It would not make her life pleasant, if she admitted to the tattletales what they’d been doing when she got injured. He didn’t blame her for taking the corset, but he didn’t envy her either. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. Rana took a deep breath of the fresh air. All of the women at dances smelled like stale roses, and the air inside the castle was stifling. She awkwardly leaned against the banister, doing her best to keep from putting pressure on her side, and talked to Wyl for a long while.

An eternity later, Jaerek finally joined them. By the time he got to the balcony, he looked slightly disheveled and completely annoyed. Rana lifted an eyebrow. “What happened to you?”

“Crown prince, meet my great great great grandmother’s niece’s cousin’s daughter,” Jaerek said mockingly, raising his voice as he sneered. “Give me attention, I’m a sniveling little twat.”

Wyl and Rana laughed. Jaerek rolled his eyes, but grudgingly joined in the laughter. None of them enjoyed the formality of the court. Wyl and Jaerek both endured more of it, as they were the crown princes of their countries, but Rana got it nearly as badly with her father’s status as head advisor.

They talked for a while about all of the ridiculous happenings that they’d experienced during dances in the past, and how they’d change the system once they were older and actually in control of their countries. Wyl vowed he’d never have another Latian dance as long as he lived, once he was king.

Eventually, their conversation turned to Niap. There was much unrest between their Algnes and Niap, and everyone wondered whether the disagreement would turn into a war before the end. They were throwing a temper tantrum at Father refusing a marriage arrangement between their crown prince and Rana.

Niap wasn’t a large enough country for King Thracker to need an alliance, and the dowry offered wasn’t enough to entice Father to sell Rana to them. She was pleased that he’d declined. Father wanted to wait to collect any other offers that might come for her hand, before he picked a suitor. She just didn’t want to be married.

It seemed like a dreadful thought. Being married to a man she’d likely only meet once or twice before the wedding. Being forced to accompany him to royal balls and banquets for the rest of her life. She’d much rather simply grow up and slip out of the public eye. Or at least marry someone she actually cared about.

The older she got, the less the thought of marrying Jaerek disgusted her. He was growing into an attractive young man and had been her best friend since before she even knew what a best friend was. She wasn’t sure that she was in love with him, but she certainly loved him. And she trusted him. And that was more than could be said for any of her other options.

Their conversation turned to what would happen if Niap was foolish enough to wage war with Algnes – quickly devolving into a debate about combat strategies. It was a topic that fascinated all three of them. Rana adored reading books about military coups and learned all she could about war play in secret.

“I think we have a large enough army we could take them straight-on,” Jaerek said.

“A flank would clearly be better,” Rana argued, using gestures to explain her plan. “If you have them busy fighting here, and then bam, you hit them here, they’ll lose their coordination. Men will panic, ranks will break—”

“And an undisciplined army will fall,” a deep, heavily-accented voice behind her completed.

Rana whirled around to find the owner of the strange voice. She moved too quickly. Her hand shot up to her side before she could stop it, and she held it there a moment as she gaped at the massive man who stood in front of her.

He seemed to be twice her size, with arms as thick as both her legs combined. His hair was blond like hers, but cropped short to his head, and his penetrating eyes were an icy blue. He looked to be in his late thirties, and had a deep, gravelly voice with an accent she didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” Rana asked, frowning slightly.

She didn’t see Father, until he sprang forward to slap her. Rana was too distracted by the man to even bother glaring at Father as he began lecturing. “For shame! You do not disrespect royalty!”