Several hours later I was freshened up and standing outside Pierre's chambers. I wiped my hands on the folds of my skirt, willing myself to unclench them. I considered if I should turn back. Return to my room, take the advice I hadn't let Sabine give me.

But even as I considered it, I found myself unable to step away. I could hear music coming from within, a gentle violin playing a slow, enchanting melody. I straightened and took in a steadying breath.

I had already come this far, and it would be rude to leave now. Just one afternoon with the prince couldn't be that harmful.

I knocked.

Almost instantly, a tall lanky gentleman flung open the door, offering me a low bow as he ushered me in.

"Your Highness, the Prince awaits you."

Prince Pierre's parlor was the opposite of mine. If mine had been the soft and bright colors of Roserian summer day, his was all the darkness and shadows of a Garnetti winter night.

Dark ebony walls stood tall around me, gold flourishes surrounding glittering garnets. The ceiling was curved, depicting a night sky, stars shimmering in the ceiling where diamonds had been dusted upon it. Curved black furniture sat with golden metal frames. Black velvet touched nearly every surface. In the middle of the room sat a settee, is cushions lined with golden tassels. Resting upon it was Pierre.

The prince was stretched out languidly; one long leg bent so his heeled foot sat upon the floor, head tilted back over the armrest, so his long neck was exposed as a servant fed him ripe fruit. He did not wear the same bodice and jacket as the night before; this time favouring a loose white blouse with the ties at the neck undone, exposing a triangle of his golden skin.

At my arrival Pierre's hooded gaze flickered to me, allowing the servant to finish feeding him, his neck bobbing as he swallowed. My memory flashed to the day before when I had glimpsed him kissing a lover in this very room.

I curtsied. "Good afternoon, Pierre. Sorry that I am late."

Pierre smiled, slowly straightening as he got to his feet. He walked over to me, taking my hand. He did not wear his lipstick today, his features clean of any cosmetics, but he was just as dazzling. His dark hair was slightly mussed, the tips of his hair curling around his ears. He linked his fingers with mine as he walked me back to where he had been sitting.

"Late? Not at all. I only just woke up. The others will not be joining us quite yet."

I looked at him in shock. "You have only just woken? It is well past lunch."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "I had a late night last evening, as I do most days. It's not unusual that I sleep right through supper."

I frowned at him. "That has to be unhealthy."

He waved off the servant who held the bowl of fruit, gesturing for him to put it on the table before us. He picked up a grape, tossing it into his mouth. "I prefer the evenings. Besides, I don't have to put up with my father this way."

A violin player was standing atop a small dais, which acted as a small a stage in the room. It was clear that it was a place meant for entertaining. I saw a short glass half filled with a clear liquid on the table in front of us.

Pierre followed my gaze, a sly smirk lifting his lips. "Spirits brewed up north. A bit of an acquired taste, but it's stronger than wine." He reached out to take the glass, and I caught its strong, stinging scent. "A good antiseptic too, I hear."

A few people back in the court at home had been said to drink them. I had always avoided the stuff. I wrinkled my nose as he lifted the glass, taking a sip.

"Is that safe to drink?"

Pierre licked his lips, holding the glass out to me. "Depends on what you consider safe. It hasn't killed me yet."

I lifted a hand, politely declining.

"I think I can do without."

Pierre shrugged, taking another sip before placing the nearly empty glass on the table. Was this how he usually started the day after waking up? I can't say I was surprised, but I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Pierre followed a lifestyle lacking the same strict rules I had always imposed on myself. I had known that coming here I would be challenging those rules, but as I observed him it occurred to me that by staying here with him I was making a choice.

A choice I only had a few more moments to consider.

He leaned closer to me, waving over a servant. "Very well then, but I can't leave you empty-handed. Some wine?"

Before I could refuse, a servant was already handing me a glass. I took it politely, trying to conceal my frown. It probably wasn't a good idea to drink too much.

"Have a drink," Pierre encouraged. "Live a little, Princess. I want you to relax." He leaned forward, the faint scent of the spirit he was drinking combined with the floral scent of his cologne, and I realized how close he was. All he had to do was reach out to brush my arm. Closer than what would be proper, me being his brother's betrothed.

I arranged my skirts, every one of my muscles taunt and tense. My choice wavered inside me before I pushed it away. Choosing to ignore it. Maybe Pierre was right. I needed to settle my nerves. Just one glass should be fine.

I took a sip of the wine.

"There we go." Pierre smiled. "Now, music? Any preference. I am not familiar with any Roserian composers, but Moulin here is quite the talent." He indicated the violin player, a man not much older than me, who had his eyes closed as he finished off the melody. He opened his eyes to look at us, and I saw his eyes were glassy, not quite focused. He smiled widely at us. "I'm sure he can perform whatever it is that you prefer."

As I took in Moulin's dark powdered hair and the lines of his black uniform, I realized he was also the man that Pierre had been kissing. My cheeks grew hot, recalling the incident. Pierre's curved lips pulled up on one corner as he regarded me. I wondered if he was recalling the same moment.

"He is quite skilled. I enjoyed what he just played."

Pierre stretched his arm out over the back of the seat, peering at me through half-closed eyes. He finished off his glass of spirit, letting out a hiss before he leaned forward. I could feel his breath on my face. I had another, much longer gulp of my wine, trying to avoid looking at him.

"He has many other talents," he whispered. "I'm sure he would love to see what you think of those, Ophelia."

I went completely still, meeting Moulin's unfocused gaze. He smiled, bringing his bow up to his instrument. I was certain my face nearly matched my wine.

"Prince Pierre!" I started, starting to stand. "You must be drunk to—"

Pierre let out a boisterous laugh, leaning back away from me. "I'm sorry, but teasing you is absolutely delightful. I will do my best to behave myself."

I took a deep breath, studying Pierre before I relaxed and sat back down on the settee. I was so out of my element... but wasn't that why I had come here? For something different? Pierre was so different from Jourdon, his eyes following me, something dark and mischievous filling his eyes. Forbidden or not, Pierre made no secret of his appreciation for me.

And I... didn't mind that. The way his gaze made me feel. I wasn't sure I had ever felt this way before. Flushed and giddy and like I wanted stare into his eyes...

I found that my wine had somehow disappeared. A servant moved over to refill before I had the mind to refuse.

"I'll excuse you this once. I must admit, you are very bold, Pierre."

He tilted his head. He was also on his second glass of the clear spirit. "I am," he said, unrepentant. "But it makes things more interesting, no?"

"I suppose." Despite myself, I was enjoying the wine, some of the tension leaving my body. "I am used to things as they are at home, so it takes some adjusting. It is all so different."

Pierre nodded. "I can only imagine. I have heard of the beauty of Rosailles, but I am sure it has had as much difficulty parting with you as you do it." Before I could move away, Pierre had taken one of the errant red curls framing my face into his hand. He caressed it through his long fingers, and I caught his gaze. There was a softness to his eyes now, Moulin's violin playing another slow, haunting song. The way Pierre looked at me was as intoxicating as the wine. "I don't know why anyone would part with you, to be quite honest."

His words hit a mark, piercing right through my heart. I had to look away, his eyes suddenly seeing too much. How had he done that? Looked right through me to the center of my heart. It was like we had not known each other just a day, but a life time. My emotions swirled inside me, the ugly ones I always tried to ignore. Bitterness rose up like acid in my throat.

"Yes, well the duty of a Princess is to her queen, and this arrangement is good for both nations."

"Perhaps you are right." Pierre's tone indicated he wasn't completely convinced. He was still sitting much closer than I expected, but I was less bothered. "But," Pierre continued, "do you really believe it is all just for the greater good?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged flippantly. "Oh never mind, just the thoughts of a person who has had a few too many drinks." His enchanting smile returned. A moment later there was another knock at the door, and he let out a long exaggerated sigh. "How disappointing. I was hoping to have you all to myself for a bit longer."

The courtiers came in and were introduced in turn as Lucinde and Ourson of Morganite, who wore jewelry made up of a crystallized stone with a soft pink hue on their fingers and ears. After them came another man, Remi of Topaz, and a woman who wore a dress almost completely made up of golden fabric: Yolanthe of Citrine. More people came in after that, Pierre's chambers filled with ladies and men conversing, peeling laughter breaking out across the room. Musicians came to join Moulin, and I found it harder and harder to keep track of the names Pierre said to me, my mind blurring the faces together as the afternoon progressed.

I noticed that a group of men were stealing away from the main parlor. Through the door as it opened, I saw a room set with dark walls and red silk, a few other courtiers draped over the furniture, looking half asleep. But I was quickly distracted from the sight as music flourished, people jumping in to talk to me and the Prince at every turn. I held tightly to Pierre's arm to keep myself steady as we conversed with a pair of twin girls bearing gleaming violet-coloured stones in their falsely darkened hair.

I wasn't surprised when the tables were cleared off and cards were laid out. We sat and laughed and I smiled. I'd had many glasses of wine now, so many I had lost count. Josephe, the courtier that first introduced herself the night before sat beside me, and I watched her play, politely declining. I had never gambled before, but as I watched coins and rings fill the center of the table and listened to the cheers and groans as people won and lost, I started to wonder if it might be fun. Beside me, Pierre lounged, sitting far too close, but I had stopped caring. Around the room drinks were shared, secret kisses passed behind decorative fans, the scent of wine mixing with the soft lavender of Pierre's many candles.

Pierre's fingers brushed the exposed skin of my neck. I shivered turning to him. He had changed over to wine, his lips stained red, plump like the berries I had spied him eating earlier.

"You look much more relaxed, I hope you are enjoying yourself." He waved over a servant, who was quick to supply me with a fresh glass of wine.

"Oh yes," I replied grinning at him, unabashed. "Everyone is lovely. And this wine is divine. I never knew drinking in the middle of the day would be this fun." I let out a giggle, placing a hand over my mouth in surprise. I met Pierre's eyes, their dark depths swimming with mirth. I smiled into my hand, unable to look away.

Perhaps the wine was a little too good.

He chuckled, breaking our eye contact to look me up and down, his laugh turning into a frown. "I am pleased. But perhaps it is time I send you back." He said reaching out to take my new wine glass, tipping it back before I could protest. He grinned at me mischievously, the warmth of his body spreading through me from the small points of contact we made.

He nodded to one of his servants by the door. "Would you see to Princess Ophelia? I think she needs a rest before dinner."

Disappointment filled me—at what I was not sure. Pierre appeared to share my reluctance, brushing his cool fingers against my arm.

"Please don't take offense, sweet Ophelia. It pains me to part with you so early. But dinner is soon, and I would like you to have some time to prepare." He reached out to hook a finger under my chin, tilting it up to meet his eyes. "But there is tomorrow, and the day after that. Assuming you will continue to visit me." He leaned forward, lowering his voice as he whispered into my ear, "Besides, I much prefer having you to myself."

I blushed, pulling back quickly.

"Pierre!" I said, my voice a harsh whisper.

He grinned, his gaze glimmering with mischief. "I will see you tomorrow, Ophelia."

It was not untilafter I left his room that I realized I had never agreed to come to see himagain, and yet, he had known my answer.