“May I?” He touches the edge of the material and waits for my permission to lift it.
For some reason, my heart sinks. I’ve been enjoying our conversation. Now I wish it’d go on a little longer. It’s nice to have someone besides Hettie to talk to, especially someone who believes in Jipper.
We haven’t even talked about my father’s treasure yet. Every suitor brings up the gold before asking to see my face.
Some flaws can be overlooked if there’s enough money to be had.
I exhale. It’s better to get this over with now than to fool myself into thinking he’ll last the day, so I nod, signaling he has permission to remove my veil.
He gingerly lifts it over my head.
I turn away. I have no desire to see his face, the way his lips will recede into a mask that mirrors my father’s face the day he turned me to gold. The thought of it stings, recalling wounds that haven’t fully healed, ones that reopen each time someone new arrives at the palace.
But it’s not a look of disgust that sends my heartbeat spinning; it’s his touch. He pulls my cheek back toward him and slides the rose behind my ear.
My hand goes to the spot where he’d made contact. “You’re not afraid?” My mind is reeling. Everyone is afraid. I can’t even remember the last time another person touched me without my gloves or veil getting in the way.
His eyebrows pull together. “You’re not the first person I’ve met who’s had to suffer because of someone else’s curse.”
“What do you mean?” I don’t know anyone else—besides my father—who’s been cursed. Of course, there are speculations that over the years Dionysus and his love of chaos have cursed many people by trapping them with twisted words and intricate facades. But I’ve only ever heard the rumors people tell about me. Like that I turn back into a statue at night. Or that if you look into my eyes, you’ll turn to gold. Or that I leave golden footprints where I walk. My third suitor actually insisted on walking behind me to see if that one was true.
Duke Wystlinos looks away. All hints of his earlier laughter have disappeared from his face. He bows his head, watching his feet. Thick locks of hair fall forward and eclipse his eyes.
“Just as your father reportedly asked Dionysus for the ability to turn things to gold, and Dionysus twisted his words so everything he touched turned to gold, my father had his own wish granted by the god,” he says slowly, carefully. “He wished for a pile of money so large he’d never see the top of it. And what’d he receive? He was buried by riches. I wasn’t fast enough to dig him out because, for every coin I removed, another one slid down from the top of that unending pile. My father got exactly what he wished for. He never saw the top of that pile. Only the bottom.” His voice cracks, but he hides his emotion well.
“I’m not scared of your skin,” he continues, “because you’re still the same person. What your father did to you doesn’t change who you are. You aren’t your father’s mistakes. You aren’t your father’s curse. Your legacy rests with you.” He resumes his place at my side and continues walking. “At least, that’s what I tell myself.”
I wish I had words to comfort him, but it’s been so long since anyone used any on me that I have none ready to supply.
The duke walks onward in silence, and as he does, his shoulders slowly straighten. He’s picking himself back up, putting the wall that’s been supporting him for so long back into place. I’ve done it a thousand times myself.
“I had no idea,” I reply, moving to walk beside him once more. I’d heard his father died after falling from a horse he was trying to break. But I understand better than anyone why you’d want to cover it up.
“That’s why I had to come here,” he says, meeting my gaze once more. “I had to find someone else who’d understand. I had to find you.” He looks younger somehow, his eyes more desperate.
I don’t even know what to say. He came looking for me?
“I’m sure your other suitors brought you lavish presents equal to your station and beauty, but I prefer simpler, more meaningful gifts.” He hesitates. “I was thinking perhaps I could take you on a tour of my ship.” His dazzling smile is back.
The entire garden could have turned to gold around me, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed because I’m so focused on his eyes, the way one eyebrow rests slightly higher than the other as his face tightens with expectation. Hope brews behind his eyes, making them glint in the morning light.
No one’s ever smiled at me like that.
“Thank you.” For the first time, I don’t retreat into myself. I don’t fear that if he looks into my eyes, he’ll see the part of me that I’ve always held back. Because he’d only be seeing the reflection of his own pain, a pain he understands.
I make a mental reminder to thank Uncle Pheus. I didn’t give him enough credit. Maybe he’d known that Duke Wystlinos wasn’t just a man the kingdom needs, but a man I need.
And since Uncle Pheus already seems to like him, maybe he would let us go sailing someday. We could even find Jipper. I imagine standing at the bow of a ship and feeling the sea breeze rush over my unveiled face. When my reverie breaks, I realize where we are in the garden.
My stomach drops, and my hand clenches around the duke’s arm as I suck in a breath.
We’re about to turn the corner into the courtyard with the swan fountain.
Even now, the swans loom large in my mind. Three swans with their wings spread wide and thrown back form the top of the fountain. Water shoots out of their open beaks.
I used to love swans.
I pull back, my feet faltering.
Duke Wystlinos stops immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“That part of the garden isn’t very pretty,” I stammer, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. Bile creeps up my throat. If I think about it too hard, I swear I can detect a metallic taste. I swallow it back down and take a deep breath. “Let’s go this way.” I tug him back down the opposite path.
“Of course,” he says with an easy grin. He loops his arm back through mine, eyeing the visible wing of one of the statues. “Don’t like swans?”
I shake my head, but the tension doesn’t release. I can’t concentrate as Duke Wystlinos recounts the time he got chased by a one-legged swan as a child.
We emerge from behind a tall hedge. Before us, stairs lead up to the terrace. The palace windows gleam in the sunlight, and the building’s tall towers cast long shadows across the thick stones that cover each wall.
As we near the end of the garden, the duke pauses and takes my hands in his. “Is it too much to ask to extend our walk a little longer?” he says.
I squint. His smile is soft and welcoming, and I want to say yes. But a headache has been spreading since we almost entered the courtyard with the swan fountain, and all I want to do is lie down and close my eyes.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” I say. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a headache at the moment.” I press my hand against my temple as a burst of pain radiates outward. It pulses behind my eyes. I try to focus my thoughts, but they only slip farther away.
Duke Wystlinos grasps my elbow. “Are you all right?”
“I think I’ve just been in the sun too long.” I take a few blurry steps toward a fountain topped with mermaids perched upon shells. Each one has an arm raised in one of the cardinal directions. Below them, fish jut out of the fountain’s base and spit out steady streams of water. A wide stone ledge encircles the fountain, and I press forward toward the ledge. If I can simply rest a moment, I’m sure I’ll be fine.