Ash Princess (Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(48)

My hands freeze at the buttons at the base of my neck. “What do you mean?”

“After lunch, he pulled me aside and asked me if there were any other entrances to your room,” Blaise says.

“He pulled you aside?” I ask, alarmed.

“My hood was drawn—he didn’t see my face,” Blaise assures me.

I pause. “Are there other entrances to my room?” I ask, glancing around.

“One,” Blaise says. “Ampelio told me about it. He was planning to use it to rescue you as soon as he could figure out a way to get past the harbor without notice.”

“Oh.” I feel a pang of longing. How different would my life have been if he’d found a way in? “Why would S?ren want to sneak into my room?” I ask before I can dwell too long on that thought.

Heron laughs, a sound so deep it practically shakes the walls. “He’s leaving tomorrow for who knows how long, and the two of you barely had a chance to speak at lunch. He had more to say to you, and I doubt he’s the sort to wait weeks or even months to say it.”

“Good,” I say, managing to undo the buttons at my neck. With the collar loose, I should be able to breathe again, but the prospect of seeing S?ren tonight makes it just as difficult as the dress had. Somehow I doubt he’ll only want to talk, but the idea of doing anything more ties my stomach in knots. I clear my throat and try to hide my discomfort. “I have more to say to him as well if I’m going to turn him against his father.”

I’m playing the game, I remind myself, and if a small part of me believes the lie, that only makes it more effective. So long as the larger part of me remembers what’s real. I’ll gather information. I’ll turn him against his father. And when the time is right, I’ll slit his throat and start a civil war. The idea makes me queasy, even if it was mine to begin with, but I hope the more I think it, the easier it will become.

“Hopefully, you’ll be doing more than just talking, of course,” Artemisia drawls, each word dripping in condescension. “You’re meant to be making him fall in love with you, and that takes more than just words.”

“I know that,” I say, keeping my voice carefully detached. She’s trying to rile me, and I’m not about to let her see how riled I am. I search through my wardrobe for something more appropriate. Something that looks casual enough, like I’m not expecting company, but still pretty. I settle for a simple chiton of turquoise blue tied at the waist with a wide gold sash. I undo the rest of the buttons on Cress’s dress and let it fall to the floor before pulling the chiton over my head and tying it into place. “You can look now.”

“I suppose Art’s right,” Blaise says, though he sounds uncomfortable. I hear him shifting behind the wall, the tap of his feet on the stone floor. “That is the goal, isn’t it?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s asking a genuine question, but before I can respond, Heron jumps in.

“Kissing him shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. He’s handsome enough, for a Kalovaxian,” he adds.

I shake my head. “It isn’t that. I’ll do what I have to. It’s just…” I’m embarrassed to say it out loud. “I suppose I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Whatever you’re doing seems to be working just fine,” Blaise answers.

“That’s words, though. That’s running and trusting that he’s going to give chase. I’ve never really thought about what to do when he catches me,” I admit.

Silence follows my confession, broken finally by Artemisia.

“Have you ever kissed a boy before?” she asks.

The question takes me off guard and makes my cheeks heat up.

“No,” I admit. “There hasn’t exactly been a wealth of opportunity. Apart from Crescentia—and now S?ren—the Kalovaxians rarely show me any kindness. Certainly no romantic interest.”

The Kaiser’s leering grin surfaces in my mind and I can hear the Kaiserin’s words echoing. I’ve seen him look at you….He isn’t exactly subtle, is he? But whatever that is, it isn’t remotely romantic. It’s something else that congeals in the pit of my stomach like rotten milk. I must look as queasy as I feel, because Heron laughs again.

“Come now, kissing the Prinz won’t be that bad, surely,” he says.

“I don’t know,” Artemisia adds tersely. “I wouldn’t want the first person I kissed to be the son of the man who ruined my country. I’d want to vomit, too.”

“He’s not,” Blaise says, his voice so quiet I don’t understand him at first.

“You can’t really be defending the Kaiser, Blaise,” I say, sinking onto my bed and flopping back to look at the canopied ceiling. “Artemisia’s summation is, if anything, frightfully kind.”

Blaise clears his throat. “No. I’m saying that it won’t be your first kiss.”

It takes a moment for the words to make sense and another for me to understand exactly what he’s talking about. It was so long ago all I really remember is the garden in full bloom, Blaise’s rounder, unscarred face, and curiosity. I prop myself up on my elbows and look in the direction of Blaise’s wall, wishing I could see his face now. It hardly seems fair that he can see mine. Is he blushing? His face used to get bright red when he was angry, but I don’t know if I ever saw him embarrassed.