Indeed, her own dear Mama had believed this precept so strongly she had gone to the fateful ball where she had self-immolated, despite the fact that her Heat Cycle was at its zenith and her maids had begged her to stay in her quarters and lie in the ice bath instead. Rissa could do no less, herself, she thought.
But Sir James was staring down at her with a forbidding look on his dark face.
“You shouldn’t dance because you’ve already overheated once tonight,” he pointed out. “I could smell you burning, Princess—a scent like burnt sugar. It isn’t safe to overexert yourself.”
He had very strong features, Rissa thought—well-molded and handsome to be sure, but when he looked at her sternly like that, it was quite intimidating.
It was a good thing she didn’t intend to let herself be intimidated.
She lifted her chin, staring right back into his metallic blue eyes.
“Sir James, forgive me for saying so, but you have only been here for an hour and you do not know me or my Cycle. I will be the judge of what is safe and what is not where it regards my personal situation.”
His frown deepened.
“You must allow me to do my job. I’m here to protect you until you find a mate and get Joined with him so that he may ‘slake your Heat.’”
Her cheeks burned at his words—how could he speak so openly of the mysterious process that would interrupt and tame her Cycle? All the other servants and Nobles only spoke of it in whispers—none of them were so blatant!
But again, Rissa refused to be intimidated.
“And how do you expect me to find a husband to…to help me, if I am not allowed to dance with the eligible men of the Court?” she demanded. “Besides, you were only sent here to protect me from assassins!”
“No, my orders were to protect you from all danger and that includes overheating!” he growled.
“And what do you know about my Heat Cycle?” Rissa flared. “How do you presume to know what makes me overheat?”
To say the truth, she hardly knew herself. Sometimes, it was true, that physical overexertion seemed to play a part in making the fire in her blood rise. But other times, there seemed to be no external reason at all. For instance, why had her Heat peaked when Sir James had sworn his vow to protect her? Why had her heart started pounding and why had her cheeks and then all the rest of her gotten so hot when he kissed her hand and looked into her eyes?
Rissa was still trying to understand it herself. But she wasn’t about to allow a male who had just come to Court an hour before dictate her actions for her.
If I let him boss me around, I’ll be no better off than I was with Lady Mildew as my chaperone and Companion! she told herself. So she held her ground and refused to drop her gaze. No matter how foreboding the big Kindred looked as he stared down at her with those flashing blue eyes of his, she would not budge, she told herself.
“Fine,” he said at last, frowning at her. “You make a valid point—I am not well informed about your Heat Cycle. But if I see or smell you overheating, I will step in, Princess. I am here to protect you from danger—danger which comes from outside but also from within.”
That seemed to be the best concession she would get, so Rissa decided to take it.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him again. “I’ve been dancing at Court balls since my Coming Out ceremony five years ago.”
But of course, her Heat Cycle hadn’t yet started at that time. In fact, it had only gotten really bad in the past month or so, Rissa admitted to herself. Still, that didn’t mean she could afford not to dance. The Court would whisper dreadfully if she sat on the sidelines and refused to participate.
Sir James said nothing, but only frowned at her again.
“Come on.” Rissa tugged on his arm, which felt like iron beneath her touch. “We must go. If we stay out here too long together, there will be talk—even if you are an emotionless robot. You look too much like a man for people not to start gossip if we’re not careful.”
“I don’t care what anyone says as long as you’re safe,” the big Kindred informed her. “But you are probably right—it’s past time for us to enter the ball. Just know that I will be watching you every moment, Princess, to be certain of your safety.”
“Er…thank you.” Rissa inclined her head, not sure how to feel about his words. She had thought she would gain more freedom when she traded Lady Mildew for the Kindred guard. Now she wondered if she might, indeed, have a great deal less.
But there was not time to speak about it now. They must enter the Grand Ballroom with their heads held high. No one must know that she had mixed feelings about her new guard and Companion.
She must simply do her duty and dance.
7
The Ballroom was entirely too hot and crowded, in James’ estimation. He also didn’t like the fact that there were seven visible exits that he could immediately count in the form of archways and doorways. The whole area was unsafe and difficult—if not impossible—to secure since he was only one male working alone.
Just have to stay right by her side, he told himself grimly, as he followed the Princess through the crush of bodies that milled around the dance floor.
But that proved difficult once she nodded to the musicians sitting in the corner and they began to play and the dancing started.
James frowned as he watched a young nobleman ask Princess Ka’rissa to dance. She nodded gracefully and they squared off opposite each other, standing in a long line of other dancers of both sexes. Then the music began and the dancers began moving in an intricate pattern, Back and forth, to and fro, up and down the long line they went. James stood back and kept his eyes on the Princess, though he was also trying to watch for threats at the same time.
In order to facilitate the process, he extended his ocular scanner, using his enhanced right eye to scope out the room and his left to watch Ka’rissa. He could hear people murmuring around him, but he paid no attention to their chatter.
“Look at his eye and arm, he really is a robot,” one girl whispered to her friend.
“He must be—look at all those metal parts!” the friend whispered back.
“And did you see how he jumped right over the guards’ heads? Like he had springs in his feet!”
“I wonder how strong he really is? The way he twisted their pain spears together made me shiver! And then he lifted the Princess and held her in one arm, though she is not light.” This was said with a mean-sounding giggle.
“Do you think he’ll hurt her?” the friend returned. “I mean, he’s meant to be her Constant Companion and chaperone now, isn’t he? So doesn’t that mean he’ll be bathing her? But how could something so horribly strong be gentle enough to handle the Princess without injuring her?”
“Is that even right, him bathing her? He’s a male and she’s unmarried—won’t it ruin her reputation?”
“But he’s not a male—not really. He’s a robot. Just because he doesn’t look like our kind of robot doesn’t mean a thing.” The girl giggled. “Might as well have our Butler-droid back at the country mansion give you a bath. It would mean as much, I’m sure.”
The giggling girls moved on, but James frowned at their conversation. He was glad, at least, that Princess Ka’rissa’s reputation seemed to be intact, because a female’s good social standing was obviously very important here at the High Court. But it was disturbing to think that anyone might believe he would hurt her because of his enhanced physical strength.
He wondered, suddenly if Ka’rissa was worried about the same thing. Did she fear to have him take care of her? To be honest, he hadn’t known that bathing and dressing her was part of his duties when he had accepted this assignment, but he didn’t mind in the least. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe and that included being with her every minute of the day and night and taking care of her in whatever way she required.
He was so distracted by the question, that he nearly missed the end of the first dance and the beginning of t
he second. This dance wasn’t another line-formation, however—it appeared to be one where the males and females partnered together as couples.
As he watched, a male about twenty years older than Ka’rissa came up to her and made a low, sweeping bow. He had long, drooping, brown mustaches—two of them. They didn’t meet in the middle, under his nose—that area was clean shaven. Instead, the odd facial hair started at the upper corners of his mouth and drooped down to below his chin where each one ended in a stylized curl. An elaborately styled brown wig that matched his facial hair exactly sat on his head. His frock coat was of sky-blue velvet and the buckles on his high-heeled shoes gleamed golden in the light from the chandeliers.
But it wasn’t the male’s style of dress that caught James’s eye—it was the smirking way he addressed the Princess as he bowed and asked for her hand. James also didn’t miss the look of distaste that flitted briefly over Ka’rissa’s pretty face before she nodded and allowed the male to lead her to the dance floor.
Frowning, he watched carefully as they spun around and around, the male holding Ka’rissa much closer than the other dancers were holding each other, at least in his estimation. She didn’t look comfortable in the male’s arms, he thought, studying how stiffly she held herself. But she kept her chin high and danced regally, a tight smile fixed on her face the entire time.
Though she appeared to be safe—if rather uncomfortable—James felt the urge to go and take her away from the other male. He shouldn’t be holding her so tightly, damn it! And he didn’t like the sight of her in another male’s arms.
Suddenly he realized what he was thinking—was he actually getting possessive of the little female? And why did he not like the sight of her with another male? Was this what the humans called “jealousy?”
Don’t be ridiculous—you’re not jealous. You’re just concerned for her safety, that’s all, he told himself uneasily. You’re not having emotions—you’re doing your job!
But still, he had to clench his hands into fists and force himself not to go and take the Princess away from the other male.
The strange sensations—James refused to call them emotions—made watching Ka’rissa dance extremely difficult, but there was nothing he could do but endure them as she spun around and around the dance floor.
8
Rissa was finding the second dance to be extremely difficult. That was probably because her dance partner was none other than Lord Grabbington, the Duke of Elersham.
“Ah, my dear Princess,” he had purred, when he first approached her, making a sweeping bow. “How good it is to see you again! Might I have this dance?”
Rissa had smiled tightly, wishing that anyone else at all in the whole ballroom might have asked for her hand. But there was no helping it—she was stuck.
“Indeed, Sir, I would be most honored,” she’d replied woodenly. And then the Duke had taken her in his arms—much too tightly—and pulled her into the dance.
“You’re looking lovely tonight, if I may say so, my dear,” he’d murmured in her ear, his breath redolent of sickly-sweet Port and wet cigarillos. “And you’re shining so brightly too.” He had nodded down at her breasts, where the lights from her glowing points were visible through her white gown.
Rissa didn’t know what to say to such a blatant statement, so she remained silent. This hadn’t stopped the Duke from continuing the conversation himself, however.
“I read in the latest issue of Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs that your Heat Cycle is becoming quite advanced,” he remarked, grinning at her. “I dare say the old Steward must be looking for the right suitor for you, then?”
“Indeed, Sir, I believe he is,” Rissa answered woodenly. How rude of him to remark on her Heat Cycle, she thought indignantly! Something which ought to remain private.
“Then it seems I have come back into town at just the right time,” Duke Grabbington said, smirking at her. “As your lovely hand is now finally available to be won.”
Rissa had to suppress a shudder at the thought of having the Duke as her future husband—not that she thought it was truly a possibility. Surely the Steward wouldn’t even consider giving her to such a man!
Duke Grabbington didn’t have the best reputation. Not that it mattered in everyday life, since he was a man and could do whatever he liked, she thought resentfully. But surely his dreadful ways would count against him if he wished to court the future Queen. Why, it was rumored that none of the maids wished to wait on him at night because of the way he came after them. Also, he had been paying court to Prunella Ascott just before she was mysteriously taken ill and had to leave Court, never to return again. The rumor was that she was now ruined.
Poor Prunella hadn’t been very pretty, but she did have a rather large inheritance of fifty thousand. Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs had speculated that the Duke—who was known to be a degenerate gambler—had been interested in her for exactly that reason. But shortly after that particular issue of the Crumbs had come out, Prunella had removed to the country and never returned.
Rissa still wondered what had happened to the hapless girl. Had Duke Grabbington kissed her and put a baby in her? But the thought didn’t bear thinking of, especially as she looked at his moist, red lips under those drooping mustaches. They hung from either side of his mouth right down to his chin, like limp, furry tails.
“It’s a lovely night for dancing, wouldn’t you agree, Your Highness?” he asked, as he whirled her around the dance floor. He was still holding her rather more tightly than was proper and Rissa wished again she could have refused him when he asked for a dance.
Unfortunately, social protocol held that the Princess must dance with whomever asked her. From the lowliest Lord with only a single field and a few tenants to his name, to the richest Earl or Duke, she was expected to entertain them all. After she ascended to the throne, she could be more picky in her choice of partners. But for now, as she was still only the Princess, she must follow the social customs which dictated that all Lords and Ladies were equal—at least on the dance floor.
“Er, it is a nice night for dancing,” she agreed, having nothing else to say. At least they were no longer talking of her Heat Cycle. She was glad that the dance was coming to an end—it was awkward making small talk with a male she disliked so very much.
“Which is why I wish to engage you for the next three dances,” the Duke said smoothly, smiling that moist red smile at her, his mustaches twitching like wagging tails.
“The next three?” Rissa didn’t know what to say. It was rude of him to take up so much of her evening. But it would be considered even ruder for her to turn him down! She looked around, wondering if she could find some excuse to rid herself of him. He had his arm wrapped so tightly around her waist she could barely breathe and his breath smelled even more strongly of the aforementioned Port and wet cigarillos.
Suddenly, just as the dance was ending, James was at her side.
“Your pardon, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. “But you’re looking rather overheated. I believe it would be wise of you to sit out the next dance.”
“The Princess has already agreed to dance the next three dances with me,” Duke Grabbington snapped, glaring up at the big Kindred.
“Nevertheless, her welfare must come before your desire to dance with her,” James said firmly.
“Who are you to say she must not dance?” the Duke demanded. “You’re not even dressed properly for this ball! Where is your waistcoat, man? And why are you wearing boots instead of properly buckled shoes?” He turned one hose-clad calf, displaying his own shoes with their golden buckles and three-inch heels.
The big Kindred frowned down at him, but kept his voice calm and even.
“You must not have been present in the Reception Hall earlier. I am the Princess’s new bodyguard and Constant Companion. I am here to watch over her and keep her safe. And since she has already become overheated once tonight, I must insist that she sits out the next dance.”
&
nbsp; If she’d had any other partner, Rissa might have gotten upset about her new guard’s high-handedness. But she was more than glad to have an excuse to leave the grabby Duke behind.
“I’m afraid I really must listen to my guard and Companion,” she said, giving Duke Grabbington a sweetly apologetic look. “Forgive me, but I must not become overheated.”
“Ah yes, your Heat Cycle again.” Duke Grabbington nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his head that made his wig bounce. “Very well, then. I shall return when you are refreshed, my Lady.”
He gave another sweeping bow and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Rissa to sag with relief against her new guard’s arm.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, looking up at the big Kindred as he led her from the dance floor to some chairs at the side of the room. “That was…a most unpleasant dance.”
“I take it you didn’t like your partner?” he inquired blandly, raising an eyebrow. He handed her a cup of cool punch and she took a swallow gratefully before answering his question.
“No, I’m afraid not.” She shook her head decisively. “And then he wanted to engage me for the next three dances—imagine!” She shuddered dramatically.
“Is it usual to dance so many dances with the same partner?” James asked. “Forgive me, I am trying to understand the social customs of your people,” he added.
“Of course you are—you only just got here, didn’t you?” Rissa said. “But to answer your question, no—it’s considered quite impolite to ask a lady for more than one dance at a time unless you’re engaged to her.” She shivered. “Which I shall certainly never be to Duke Grabbington—though he may wish it.”
James frowned.
“What makes you say that? Did he make some sort of proposition to you as you danced?”
Rissa made a face.
“He alluded to the fact that my, er, Cycle is in full swing and that the Steward is looking for suitors for me.”
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