The imperial palace glowed with a splendor that could only be seen at night.
Though few guests had been invited to the salon, every hall of the palace was alight, and in the places without chandeliers, crystal orbs and candles were set to cast their brilliance. It was a night into which no darkness dared intrude.
Empress Lillian sat before her mirror, sunk in listless thought.
She was nearing forty-five, and yet remained youthful and beautiful. The voluptuous figure that had once enthralled the Emperor was unchanged, and though a few wrinkles had begun to form, her face was still strikingly alluring.
But she could not remember the last time those sensual lips had curved into a smile. Perhaps not once since she had ascended to the throne as Empress.
As she spread rouge upon them with her own hand, she thought:
So fleeting are riches and glory.
In her youth, she had believed that wealth alone would bring happiness. When she had attained it, she thought noble rank and high station were necessary for freedom.
Yet now, as Empress, she could do nothing, and felt no joy.
The Emperor, with whom she had shared only fleeting nights of pleasure, could scarcely be called a husband. Her maids were all watchers sent from Schwaben, and her companions in society were arranged at Schwaben’s will.
Though said to rule the palace, every matter had to be carried out under Schwaben’s command. As for the nobility—rather than respect her, a dancer risen to the throne, they surely mocked her behind her back.
From the beginning she had entered the palace as Schwaben’s puppet, and there was no escaping it. Looking back, she realized the wealth and glory she had craved were only abstractions. She had never been an ambitious woman.
At least when Roella was young, life had been better. Her daughter had been hers alone—she could lavish her with love, receive it in turn, and busy herself with all the little efforts of raising her.
But now that Roella was grown, Lillian was once again alone.
At some point her daughter lost interest in her, their conversations dwindled. Once past the age of needing a mother’s hand, there was no place left for her in her upbringing.
And so, even her daughter began to feel like one more of the Schwaben entourage surrounding her.
That Roella had fallen in love with Ezekiel was, Lillian thought, at least fortunate. To marry not simply as a duke’s wife or one day Empress, but to marry the man she loved—that was a blessing.
But the loneliness could not be denied.
What weighed heaviest was that she had no one at all with whom to share such thoughts.
Still, I must do my part.
She forced her lips upward with her fingers, shaping them into a smile. Having sent invitations under her name, she could not fail to attend.
Besides, the gathering was one Roella had prepared for her. She wished, if possible, to enjoy it.
“Mother! Are you ready?”
As though she had heard her thoughts, Roella entered the powder room.
Turning to her, Lillian beheld her daughter in a crimson gown that suited her perfectly, blooming like a rose in full blossom.
“You are beautiful.”
At this, Roella did not demur. She laughed, lightly twirled, her full skirts swaying as she spun once. Lillian wanted to smile, but her lips, fixed by habit, refused to obey.
“You are beautiful as well tonight, Mother.”
“Thank you.”
Roella’s words were not empty. Her mother was still beautiful—today as much as ever. Yet Lillian answered as though it were mere formality.
“Let us go, then.”
“Was not Duke Ezekiel to come? You must have his escort.”
“He is waiting outside already!”
“Ah, I see.”
A sudden weight settled on Lillian, but she could not voice it.
Arm in arm, the two left the powder room. Ezekiel, waiting in the toilette chamber, bowed courteously.
“Have you been well, Your Majesty the Empress?”
“I fare always well. I am glad to see you unchanged, my lord.”
Ezekiel gave her only a faint smile. Lillian felt it press upon her like suffocation.
As petals scattered in a breeze, Roella stepped lightly toward him and linked her arm through his. Ezekiel said, without a change of expression:
“It is proper I escort the Empress, Roella.”
“Hee—”
Roella made a petulant sound, but Ezekiel unlinked her arm and held his out to Lillian. It was only right to escort the highest-ranked lady first.
For no reason her body trembled, but she forced herself to place her hand upon his arm.
The two stepped forward, and Roella, without further complaint, followed behind.
The bright lights lining the corridor reflected upon Ezekiel’s silver hair like a coronet of platinum. Roella gazed at him with rapture. To think she would one day be the one to set a crown upon his head thrilled her all the more.
In the salon, a subtle tension lingered. Everyone guessed why Princess Roella had invited the newly famed Lady Laila.
It was an honor to be received at a gathering attended by the Empress, but if the occasion was arranged to humiliate a lady, who could be at ease? And Lady Laila was no one’s enemy.
When Ezekiel entered, escorting the Empress, all sank to their knees. The rustle of silk whispered through the hall.
Lillian, guided by him, took her seat at the place of honor. Roella settled beside her, and the Empress asked in a low voice:
“What is that curtain?”
The salon, large for the small company, was half hidden behind sheer white muslin. Too central to be mere decoration, it divided the space, the guests seated in a ring leaving the middle open.
Roella smiled with assurance.
“It is a music salon, is it not? The curtain is for tonight’s performance.”
“Does such a thing require stagecraft?”
Ordinarily one invited a singer or a few musicians, or else guests themselves displayed their skill.
But Roella answered proudly:
“Tonight we shall have an opera piece. You have heard, have you not? Of Lady Laila.”
“So I believe.”
“She took especial care, knowing you would attend.”
Roella spoke with satisfaction. Lady Laila had volunteered her own participation in the opera without being asked.
Whatever others might say, Roella thought, at least the woman knew her place. So when she asked leave to set up a stage in the palace, Roella had agreed.
Around them guests murmured. No doubt it was of Lady Laila’s appearance on the stage.
This time Roella turned toward Ezekiel. He, looking languid, idly swirled the wine in his glass, not drinking, only bored.
“Ezekiel, are you so weary?”
“Perhaps.”
He half ignored her words.
Then all the lights were extinguished save for those at the salon’s center. More elaborate than she had expected, Roella was startled.
Presently, a red-haired actress stepped with graceful tread into the center of the hall, bowed before the company, then bent as though kneeling before the Empress herself, raised both hands, and cried:
“Pray hear me! My betrothed has been ensnared by another woman!”