go.
Anastasia made a graceful curtsy to Hubert. “Duke Vassili.”
He returned with a low bow. “Lady Farthington.”
Josey looked from one to the other. What’s gotten into – Oh!
She raised her eyebrows, and Anastasia’s smile deepened.
“Lord Chancellor,” Josey said. “I believe the Lady Anastasia is here unescorted. Would you do her the honor of a dance?”
A crimson stain spread across Hubert’s face. “Ah, Majesty. I should… I mean, I would if Your Majesty… That is to say-”
“Oh, it’s just a dance.” Josey grabbed his hand and placed it under Anastasia’s arm. “There. Off you go.”
A warm feeling glowed in Josey’s chest as she watched them walk onto the dance floor. Anastasia had been devastated by Markus’s death, so much so that Josey hadn’t had the heart to reveal all the cruelties she’d suffered at his hands. Now it appeared that ’Stasia was over the past.
While the couple danced, Josey felt she was being watched. Looking through the crowd, her gaze stopped on a man staring at her from across the ballroom. Her first impression was that he was quite handsome. Almost too handsome. Rings of inky black hair. Tanned skin. Dark eyes with long lashes. He smiled, and Josey couldn’t help smiling back. She wanted to know his name. She looked for Anastasia, who would probably know him on sight, social butterfly that she was, but she was still dancing with Hubert.
While Josey greeted people, looking everywhere except the direction of the handsome man across the room, a dry voice spoke behind her.
“Your Highness.”
Josey turned around to be confronted by Lady Philomena in a hideous, high-necked gray dress. The lady bobbed an inch or two, but her head never bowed. Her eyes were like small glass beads painted with a patina of disdain.
Josey waited for her to say something. Then, as the moment stretched into an uncomfortable silence, she felt the touch of other eyes upon them. Pretentious bitch. She’s making a scene, just staring at me.
Finally, when Josey couldn’t take it any longer, Lady Philomena spoke.
“That is an interesting gown,” she said. “It brings to mind the dress I bought for my maid last Yuletide.”
Josey gathered two handfuls of her skirt into her fists to keep from punching the lady in her aristocratic nose. She tried to think of a scathing reply, but Philomena glided away before anything came to her. Josey looked around to see who might have overheard, but everyone in the area was involved in their own conversations. Which meant, of course, that they all had heard. Hang that woman!
Moisture stung the corners of her eyes, but Josey held up her head as if nothing had happened. People did not meet her gaze as freely as before. Or perhaps that was her imagination. She fought the urge to look around for Anastasia, but she really needed her best friend.
Then a man sidled up to her. Lord Du’Quendel, dressed in a smart suit of black with silver trimming. A thick gold chain garnished with tourmalines was draped around his neck.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Allow me to say how honored I am to become your new Master of Luminaries.”
“Uh. Yes, Lord Du’Quendel. The honor is mine.”
“And may I introduce a new addition to your court.”
The nobleman turned to reveal a man standing behind him. Josey swallowed as she saw a smile of brilliant teeth set in a bronzed face. Inky black ringlets of hair. Oh heavens! It’s him!
She tripped over her own feet as she tried to stop and turn at the same time. The man moved with effortless grace to catch her with a grip as firm as stone, but gentler than she expected. She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes.
“Pardon me, Majesty.” His voice was like pure silk.
She extricated herself. “Thank you, sir.”
Lord Du’Quendel cleared his throat. “This is my cousin, Lieutenant Dimas Walthom of Your Majesty’s Light Horse.”
Josey had a hard time catching her breath. The room had become overly warm in the past few moments. “Are you enjoying the ball, Lieutenant?”
He leaned closer. “To be honest, Your Majesty, I am not much for this sort of thing. But here, in your presence, I cannot bear the thought of leaving.”
Josey’s feet didn’t want to move. Then an image insinuated itself into her thoughts, of her and Caim walking in the gardens a few weeks ago, surrounded by leafless trees. She blinked as the soldier said something.
“I’m sorry. I was somewhere else for a moment.”
His smile was easy. Practiced. “Wherever it was, I am glad you returned to me.”
Josey glanced away. Whatever she had felt a moment ago, it was gone now. She wished Anastasia would find her. Then Hubert was beside her, nodding to the two lords as he offered his arm. She took it with relief.
“We’re ready, Majesty,” he said.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She turned back to the other men. “Lord Du’Quendel. Lieutenant Walthom, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
The lieutenant bent his head, but his eyes never left her. “The pleasure was mine. Perhaps we shall speak another time.”
“Another time,” she said as Hubert led her away.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Your timing is impeccable-”
The bottom dropped out of Josey’s stomach as she realized where they were going. The musicians put down their instruments and departed the stage. It was time for her introduction. She’d had a few remarks prepared, but now she couldn’t remember a single word to save her life. Swallowing, she tried not to show the dread oozing up as Hubert escorted her through the crowd.
He climbed the stage first and helped her up. As Josey turned to the assembly, her stomach twisted to the point where she thought she might be ill. A servant appeared with a silver platter, and Hubert handed her a gold chalice. The people in the crowd held crystal glasses filled with wine.
Hubert raised his glass. “Lords and ladies of Nimea, good gentles, I present to you Empress Josephine.”
Josey forced herself to smile as she lifted her cup to the crowd. Looking out over their faces, seeing them watching her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She considered taking a sip of wine to stall for time, but thought it would appear rude. These were her people. They wanted to hear from her.
“Good people,” she began.
A shout from the other end of the room made a few heads turn. Hubert craned his neck to see.
Josey tried to go on with her speech. “We thank you, one and all, for attending-”
A loud crash startled her. Cold wine from her cup spilled down her gown. Hubert jumped down from the stage, leaving Josey alone. On the floor, everyone faced away toward the main doors. Wiping at her bodice with her hands, and only making the mess worse, Josey couldn’t see the source of the commotion. Then a shout rang out.
“Death to the usurper whore!”
A man ran through the crowd straight toward the stage. Josey froze. People backed away, and she didn’t blame them when she caught sight of the man. He had the look of a madman, with great bulging eyes that focused on her like a coursing hound on a hare. He was dressed in some type of uniform. It took her a moment to realize it was the livery of a palace servant.
Josey backed away, fearing the man was about to leap upon the stage to assault her, but he stopped at the foot of the platform.
There, raising his left fist into the air, he shouted aloud, “Long live the Church of the True Faith! And death to the usurp-”
His words were muffled under the press of several large guardsmen. Hubert reappeared. He blanched when he saw her.
“Majesty, are you…?”
Josey looked down at the stain spreading across her bosom. “It’s just wine.”
