The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 29

The celebration is still in full swing when I return to the ballroom. Music threatens to pull me into the dance like a marionette on strings as I cut my way through the crowd. My head on a swivel, I search for The Queen. The throng of courtiers parts in its ebb and flow of merrymaking to reveal her ascending the steps to the dais to sit on her throne.

I wend a circuitous route to the front of the room and drop to a reverent knee at the foot of her throne. Tendrils of mist from her skirts creep down the dais steps and wreath my ankles with ice-cold fingers.

"Your majesty—" I begin, but The Queen cuts me off with a raised hand.

"I thought I told you we don't do that here." When she speaks, the music fades away and a deafening quiet falls over the assembly. All eyes turn to the dais, but I dare not stand.

"I know, but it is with greatest humility that I come to you with this request." I drop my other knee so I'm fully kneeling before her.

Her face lights up with curiosity and she settles her back against the wooden throne as she prepares herself for what I have to say. "Well then. Continue on."

I press my shaking hands to the tops of my legs to still myself. "I come before you to make a bargain."

The Queen's pupils flare, the only sign of interest on her lovely, stoic face.

At her silence, I press on. "I cannot leave Destan Bordelon here at your court. France needs him..." I need him. I choke on the thought and fumble over my words. The Queen leans forward as if she heard the words I left unspoken and I check my features to make sure I don't wear my desperation in plain view on my face. "I understand you've not found a painter whose skill can capture you in a portrait." Guilt knots my insides at using Morel's ill-received portrait of the Queen to my advantage. "I will create a portrait worthy of your grandeur, but I need something in return."

My heart knocks against my breastbone as my instincts beg me to stop. I'm inching dangerously close to impudence, the very thing Morel warned me could get me killed in a court filled with self-important immortals. The Queen has never seen my work, but I hope and pray the boldness of my offer is enough to tempt her to bargain with me.

The Queen stands from her throne and examines me with an emotion that looks close to intrigue, but not far enough from scheming. "Interesting... the master painter's apprentice thinks she has the skills to create a portrait that her master cannot — a portrait worthy of exchange for the life of another."

"I'm no longer his apprentice," I say.

"That does not signify. Now I must know: what is Destan to you?" she asks with a barbed grin.

If she means to throw me off with her abrupt change of tack, she is unsuccessful. "He is an ally."

"An ally... who is mated to you?"

Gasps of shock rise from the crowd as if our exchange is a drama staged for their entertainment, and perhaps it is. Perhaps us mortals are just playthings — an amusement unfolding before her guests with real-life consequences. I hold my expression in check.

My stomach knots as I realize what I must do. What I must admit. To myself. To the Queen. To the entire assembly of immortals hungry for divertissement. To raise the stakes of the game she's playing even if it means revealing a weakness. I pause and wait for the room to grow near-silent with breaths held in pregnant anticipation. "I love him." The words, strong and clear, echo off the stone walls. My heart pounds in my ears as I finally put words to the feeling that has grown stronger with each passing moment I have spent in Destan's company.

"Florette!" a panicked voice calls out behind me and I glance over my shoulder.

The crowd has parted for Destan who stares at me, his eyes wide with panic, and lips parted in stunned awe. I should have known he would follow me. This isn't how I wanted to tell him, but it is a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the chance at keeping us together.