Palace of Lies Read Online Free Page A

Cecilia’s nanny, who had also raised her, was just as ancient as the former knight Sir Stephen. “I would have thought the dance properly went like . . .”
    Cecilia began a shuffling imitation of the steps of the galliard. In place of the leap, she lifted her shoulders and grimaced and looked down at her feet as if she couldn’t understand why they hadn’t flown up from the floor.
    Cecilia had just as much of a talent as Lydia did for being comical, and she didn’t mind showing it. Two or three people standing nearby began to chuckle. Out on the dance floor, the six couples closest to us began dancing exactly as Cecilia had: just as stiffly, just as humorously. I was sure I’d see this version of the galliard in the court jester’s act soon—and probably in ballrooms the rest of my life.
    Do you not see how everything we do is watched and imitated? How nothing is private? I wanted to snarl at Cecilia. Do you not understand how completely this is the Palace of Mirrors?
    But scolding Cecilia would be like kicking a puppy. My only experience with dogs was one time when a maid smuggled a spaniel puppy into the palace, just to let me see. It was one of those rare moments in my childhood when someone tried to be kind. But the maid was caught, and Lord Throckmorton had . . .
    Never mind, I told myself, because it would not do for one of the thirteen princesses of Suala to be seen at a ball with tears welling in her eyes.
    I turned slightly, to block Cecilia’s view of the dance floor, and to check the nearest mirror to make sure my troubled thoughts left no outward sign or blemish in my expression.
    Cecilia jostled me just as she had at the coronation, just as she did so often at council meetings.
    â€œYes, silly, you still look absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful,” Cecilia teased. “Like always. And, no, you don’t have a single hair out of place, and neither your rouge nor your powder nor the balm on your lips has smudged . . . Don’t worry. You’re still perfect.”
    â€œIt is hard to glance anywhere in this palace without seeing a mirror,” I murmured, looking down.
    â€œPerhaps you all should banish mirrors at the next council meeting,” Cecilia suggested. “So that when I come back, I won’t have to see that my hair is perpetually mussed, and my crown is always crooked . . . and right now it looks like I’m even sweating—no, perspiring , I mean—”
    â€œAnd you still look stunning, no matter what,” Cecilia’s friend Harper said, coming up behind her. He handed her a crystal goblet of punch, and I understood that the only reason I’d had those few moments of talking to Cecilia alone was because he’d temporarily left her side to bring her something to drink.
    I liked Harper. The way Cecilia told the story of their misguided journey to the palace to rescue me, Harper deserved far more credit than she did for worrying about me from the very start. But somehow, standing alongside the twoof them tonight reminded me of an odd sort of math, where two plus one didn’t equal three, but stayed starkly separate: a couple and an outsider.
    Cecilia put her free arm around Harper and drew him close, so both of them were leaning toward me.
    â€œCan we tell you a secret?” Cecilia asked in a near-whisper. “We’re not going to announce anything as official as a betrothal yet, but… Harper and I are going to get married. Someday. Not too far into the future.”
    â€œIf she’ll have me,” Harper added, beaming. Clearly he was confident that she would.
    â€œCongratulations!” I said. “Felicitations!”
    I tried to smile sincerely. Shouldn’t I be happy for them? Not . . . feel lonelier?
    I told myself my problem was just that I could hear in my head how Lord Throckmorton would assess the situation: Harper’s just a boy, and