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.
She waited until the glamour had fully pieced together. These visions were what she was good at. The ability to make her glamour so real that she had no use of her true skin anymore.
Confident once more, she glided down to the base of the ramp. A few heads swiveled toward her as she floated among the dancers. She did not head straight for Evret, but rather curtsied and smiled at the nobles who sent her curious glances, making a slow but steady trail through the ballroom.
Even so, she was almost close enough to touch him before his absent gaze locked on to hers. For a moment he seemed to peer right through her. Then there was bewilderment, as his dark eyes scooped down her body before latching on to her face again.
Then, a strange mixture. Desire, she was sure of it—but also, perhaps, fear?
She did not know what to make of that.
“Sir Hayle,” she said, and in that moment, she made the lightning choice to even improve upon her voice. Like a lullaby, she thought. I will speak like whimsical birdsong. “I would like to take a stroll by the lake. Will you accompany me?”
He wrestled with the request for all of two heartbeats, before dropping his head in a silent nod.
His station commanded that he follow at a respectful distance behind her as they traversed through the palace corridors and emerged onto the stone portico that divided the palace from the gardens and lakeshore. Artemisia Lake glinted in the darkness, reflecting the lights of the palace back up to the sky, along with an entire ocean’s worth of stars. Levana had often imagined that she could dive into the water and find herself floating in space.
“When I was a child, I believed there would come a time when I would enjoy these parties,” she said, trusting that Evret was listening although he walked some paces behind her. “But now I can see that they will never grow any less tiresome. Political dalliances, all under the guise of innocent amusement.”
She smiled to herself, pleased with how wise and mature her words sounded. She felt more self-assured with her improved glamour than she had in months. Maybe her whole life.
“I would much rather be out here, enjoying such a pristine evening.” She turned back. Evret lingered a dozen paces away, his face cast in shadow. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Princess.” The word sent a shiver down her spine, for it was full of everything she’d seen in his eyes in the ballroom. Bewilderment and desire and fear.