I fought him with all my might, but it was useless. He let me fight out my fury, holding me above the ground, waiting until I’d had enough of thrashing against the air. Finally, when I was tearful and hoarse, I gave up and was carried back to my chambers like a helpless, doomed lamb.
Late the next day, Maria managed to convince the guards, well, more like bribed them with gold coins she’d borrowed from the Queen’s chamber, to allow us to walk on the grounds. I also apologized and promised them I would not run again. We were supervised, of course.
Six guards encircled us all the time, sometimes twenty yards away, sometimes closer. But always close enough to take me if I gave them a reason.
Maria and I made our way through the camellia garden, and I forced myself not to think about that night when Maksim had led me down this very path. It wasn’t the same now anyway; the petals that littered the ground were no longer fresh and silky. Now, they were withered, brown around the edges, crisp after spending a week in the sun and elements. I stared at my feet as we walked and thought about how fitting that was. A week ago, everything was fresh and new and beautiful. Now, it was all withered and dead.
We took a seat by the fountain at the far end of the camellias. I felt lucky that neither Maria nor I were nervous babblers. I had never been one for small talk, and the stress of the week had made me even less agreeable to keeping up appearances.
“Uh oh,” Maria muttered, sighing heavily beside me while she trailed her finger through the water in the fountain.
I glanced around and saw one of the court girls heading our way. Some of them were alright, though none were my friends. This one, though, was the most gleefully nasty of all. I always remembered her name—Vanya. Usually I wasn’t very good at remembering names, but hers I always remembered. Just like I always remembered the names of pretty but deadly poisonous mushrooms.
“Hello,” she said, smiling and approaching the stone bench where we sat. “May I?” She didn’t wait for permission, but took the seat anyway.
Maria crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, scowling at the petals at our feet. She disliked Vanya just as much as I did, and she was even less skilled at hiding her feelings than me.
“How are you?” Vanya asked me, placing her hand on my forearm. Her fingernails were nibbled down to the nubs, and I found myself eyeing one of her hangnails and hoping it hurt. A lot.
“I’m just fine. How about you?” I replied, trying to keep the same edge of patronizing sweetness in my voice that she had.
“Oh, I’m fine. But I hear there’s soon going to be another auction. I don’t look forward to hearing about those, I can tell you.”
Here we go. Stupid Vanya thought she was being so clever, but I was way ahead of her. In the time since I’d come to this kingdom, I’d heard the rumors about the fleshmarket auctions. I wanted no part of this conversation. “What do you want, Vanya?”
She pressed her hand to her chest in mock-surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”
I glared at her, but she kept up the ruse, even pursing her over-colored lips.
“Alright,” I said, rising to go, with Maria mimicking me. “Have a nice afternoon.”
Vanya had the nerve to actually grab my arm, which I yanked away from her. And now her pretend innocence fell away, replaced with a reptilian anger.
“They say your Prince Maksim is the one who organizes the auctions,” she hissed. “It’s him who buys up the juiciest young things.”
“Shut your mouth.”
She shook her head, defiant and horrible.
Leaning in close, she waggled her finger in my face and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself. I can’t believe you have the guts to even show yourself in public. You’ve been plowed by a nasty man and that makes you nasty, too. Shame, shame, shame!”
That word, shame, it set me off like a match to a barrel of oil. I was on top of her in an instant, pinching her pasty cheeks and pulling her hair. Dimly, I heard the guards roar, not in anger but in what sounded like encouragement. The way men did when spontaneous brawls broke out—that bloodthirsty joy of a good old-fashioned fight. A catfight, no less. The only thing that would make them happier would be if we were covered in oil.
Vanya was heavier than me, but I was stronger and I made short work of yanking her off the bench and shoving her into the fountain. She splashed and spluttered, getting tangled in her petticoats and finery. I yanked up my own skirt and stepped into the water, drawing a roar of excitement from the gathered guards. I ignored them.