unForgiven (The Birthright Series Book 2)

by Bridget E. Baker

  Mother shakes her head, a sly smile on her face. “He wasn’t.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Wait, they didn’t sell their sons?”

  “Oh, they did,” she says. “Mother had several dozen sons of monarchs trained within our family ranging from fifteen all the way up to nearly a hundred years of age. I didn’t like any of them.”

  “Wait, why was he covered with blood?”

  Mother licks her lips. “Balthasar and Althuselah were brothers, and they were actually fighting against Alamecha.”

  “Whoa, what?”

  “They were sons of Reshaka. She kept them and raised them to be her own warlords. They hadn’t taken over yet, obviously. They were only twenty-eight and twenty-six, but the sight of the two of them, mowing down Alamecha warriors...” Mother closes her eyes as if savoring a favorite memory. She’s more sadistic than I realized. “I should have hated them on sight, but they worked together so artfully, perfectly attuned. The two of them were a living work of art.”

  My mouth drops open. “You married someone who wasn’t raised in the family? What did your mother say?”

  Mother beams. “She’d never have allowed it. But she died when I was only twenty-two. I had entirely fallen for Althuselah by then, and Balthasar was the greatest supporter of our star-crossed love.”

  He left his family for her. I breathe in deeply, and sigh wistfully. “How did you know he was the one for you?”

  “I didn’t. I hoped he was and got lucky.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  “It was stupid.” Mother’s lips are pressed together.

  “Your love story spanned eight centuries. I think that’s evidence you’re wrong.”

  “Althuselah loved me back, and that alone was a miracle. I was a headstrong, mercurial mess back then. He could have been pursuing any sort of agenda, including one for his mother, or later his sister. There are long games, underlying political plays that are hatched in ways I couldn’t even contemplate at that early age. In fact, if he’d followed his orders, Alamecha would have been subsumed by Shamecha years ago.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  Mother brushes white dog hair from Duchess off her skirt. “It wasn’t.” She strides toward the door. “And now it’s time for us to attend our own party.”

  I stand up to follow her, but a tentative tap at my door halts me mid-step. None of my guards would knock like that.

  “Come in Chancery,” Mother says. I should have known.

  My sister pokes her head around the door. Her eyes are yet a different color today, burnt umber. Why can’t she pick one hue and keep it? She has darkened her skin too, to the color of rich, moist, lava-infused earth, offset by bright, shimmering, golden hair. Just like Mother said it would be, it’s up off her neck. Instead of a tight, smooth knot like mine, hers is a big, messy bun, with dozens of braids entwined in it. It looks breathtaking.

  She looks like she’s trying too hard, and I wonder whose eyes she’s trying to catch.

  It’ll probably work, because ridiculous or not, she’s utterly, flawlessly gorgeous. I hate her and her stupid copy-cat face. And somewhere, deep down, I wonder whether she wears our face better, and with more ease. I’d like to try darkening my eyes or skin, but with as often as she changes her appearance, I can’t ever change mine or no one could tell us apart. At least, not until one of us spoke or tapped pathetically on a door.

  I resume my movement toward the door, because I will not let her appearance change my course. Roman’s face comes into view behind Chancery, where he’s guarding my room. His eyes meet mine, and he glances pointedly at her hair and mimes his horror.

  I suppress a snort. Mother would be furious if she knew we were secretly laughing at Chancy, but Roman always gets me. Chancery’s hair couldn’t scream ‘look at me’ any louder. Why is Mother encouraging it?

  Oh, right. Because Mother never judges Chancery. Ever.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  It’s not wasted on me that Chancery’s dressed in gold brocade with a full, pin-tucked skirt, while I’m wearing silver so dark, it’s practically black. Her dress bells around her like a princess, while mine hugs my every curve from shoulder to mid-calf before flaring slightly, just enough that I can walk. She looks like light and airy goodness, and I look like the grim freaking reaper. We all have our roles to play.

  No use fighting mine.

  As usual, Mother’s dress reflects both of ours, silver at the bottom on one side and gold on the other, the two blending together in a swirl up and around her hips, and then separating again in the bodice, with a gold strap on the opposite side of the gold at the hemline, and silver on the other. Mother’s dresses are always jaw-dropping, and this one’s no different. One day she’s going to invite me to help her design it. One day I’ll attend the party she and Chancery have before each of our events. But not this time and probably not the next.

  I certainly won’t ever ask to be included. I’m not that pathetic.

  Mother walks through the door and I follow her closely, letting Chancery trail after us both, as she should. Third in line, and don’t forget it. We pause before entering the celebration in the anteroom behind Mother’s throne. She enters first, as always, and I follow after, flanked by the head of my guards, Edam, and his first lieutenant, Roman.

  I don’t have a date, but neither does Chancery. That’s something. As usual, Frederick steps up to take Mother’s arm and leads her to stand in front of her throne.

  “I’m delighted to be here with all of you,” she says. “On the eve of a new year, we always gather as a family, to welcome those who matter most. And I’m the luckiest of mothers, to have not one, not two or three or even five daughters here.” She waves her arm down a line of women in front of us, all of them smiling in a way that looks just like her. “I have eleven daughters who were able to make it tonight. My oldest, Magdelina, hasn’t come to visit in nearly a decade. I’m especially pleased to welcome in the New Year with her. But I’m delighted to see Margerite, Avina, Falin, Annekah, Danika, Rivena, Alora, Inara, and of course, Judica and Chancery.”

  Mother sits down on her throne. “As delighted as I am to celebrate tonight with my family near, I’d also like to acknowledge how many friends have made an effort to be present. We have allies from all five families in attendance, including Alamecha’s ambassadors from each. With the wide variety of guests, and in celebration of the peace we’re currently enjoying in the world, I’d like to suggest we embrace a rather human tradition among us.”

  Mother gestures for Chancery and me to take our seats on either side of her.

  “As your Empress, I’m not ordering you to kiss someone at midnight.” She glances sideways at me. “But I’m going to strongly encourage it.”

  Murmurs erupt all around us.

  “Too many of you are putting off marriage and family. If we want Alamecha to remain strong, we need to be focused on what matters. To that end, I’ve opened the rooftop balcony and set up an oceanside dance floor as well. This party will expand to cover three separate locales. Each will feature its own ambiance and music, from live bands to orchestras, to popular music of our day. This main ballroom will focus on classic Victorian ballroom dances like waltzes, quadrilles, and reels. The balcony will include Latin music, featuring salsa, mambo, merengue, and bachata. And finally, a popular human DJ, Christopher Comstock, will be mixing music for dancing out by the beach. I’m sure between those options, all of you will find a location where you’ll be comfortable mixing and mingling with the evians assembled to celebrate.”

  No one can top Mother for doing the unexpected. She didn’t even prepare me for this one. Which is how I watch, dumbstruck, as Chancery stands up and squeezes Mother’s hand before bouncing down the steps and out the door toward the beach. Lark joins her near the door, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “I told you it was an amazing surprise,” Chancery says a little too loudly.

  “Let’s go,” Lark practically s
queals.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Edam’s eyes follow Chancery the entire time, resting on the door once she’s gone. Is he interested in her? Or does he just want to dance to modern music for once? The idea of him wanting to flee me to be with her rubs me the wrong way, but it’s not like I can control his feelings.

  “You don’t need to stay with me all night,” I say. “You can certainly assign someone else to work in your place.”

  Edam’s eyes dart to mine guiltily. “I would never—”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh please. Just go.” I raise my voice. “Fesian, do you mind guarding me tonight?”

  Another of Edam’s lieutenants, tall, bulky, with hawk-like features, Fesian gambols over to my side. “It would be my pleasure.” His eyes run across my face like he’s eyeing a prize. Oh, no. He thinks I called him over to kiss me at midnight. Do not blush, Judica. Don’t do it.

  Roman clears his throat. “He worked last night, Your Highness. Might Nightingale be a better call?”

  “Yes,” I say desperately. “She would. Is she—”

  “She was on the schedule for tonight,” Roman says. “But as it’s a special occasion. . .”

  Edam took her place in the lineup as head of my guard, a position always held by Balthasar’s second-in-command.

  “It’s not like anyone is on high alert tonight,” I say. “Please, go.”

  I glance around and realize there’s been a mass exodus of almost everyone under the age of one hundred. But it’s too late for me to high-tail it out of here now. Plus, Margerite is approaching. I haven’t talked to her in a very long time. Unfortunately, by the time she’s done catching up with me, I’m stuck. I’m certainly not about to follow Chancery out to the beach like a human-wannabe.

  It’s not like this is a big surprise. I mean, I’ve been planning on dancing waltzes all day. Beyond that, I’ve danced waltzes on New Year’s Eve for years and years. It’s expected.

  I hate it.

  “Would you do me the honor of this dance, Your Highness?” Roman asks. Something about his tone is different somehow, richer or deeper, maybe.

  I look up into his eyes, and my heart skips a beat. It was only one single beat. Surely no one noticed.

  But Roman smiles like he did.

  “Uh, sure.”

  When he takes my hand in his, my heart sprints like I’m running a race. What’s going on? Is something wrong with me?

  “I absolutely, positively adore. . .” Roman leads me over to the middle of the dance floor. “This song. Don’t you?”

  Work, ears, work. What in the world is the band playing? Who the heck cares, anyway? “It’s Skater’s Waltz?”

  “Exactly,” he says. “I don’t miss the typical third-beat lilt that most Viennese waltzes use.”

  I lift one eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly learning melodics.”

  Roman laughs, a rich, full sound that puts a twinkle in his eyes, and a warm undertone in his cheeks. “Nothing so dire, I assure you. I appreciate music and atmosphere, that’s all.”

  And somehow, the night doesn’t seem so terrible anymore. His arm around my waist settles something in my chest I didn’t realize was fraught. Yet, simultaneously, my fingers and toes buzz in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’m aware of his every shift, his breath on my face, his hand in mine. When the Skater’s Waltz ends, I realize I don’t like it after all.

  It’s far too short.

  “Would you care to dance another?” Roman asks.

  My heart swells inside of my chest, but another voice answers him before I have the chance. “I’m sure she can dance again in a moment, but I need a word with my daughter. I’m sure you understand.”

  Roman drops my hand and steps away, bowing deeply. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  I follow Mother quickly back to her seat and drop into mine beside her.

  Her voice is barely audible. “Not him.”

  My mouth rivals the Sahara for lack of moisture. I can barely force myself to swallow. “What do you mean?”

  “Was I unclear?” Mother lifts her nose and sniffs.

  I open my mouth and then close it again. “No, I suppose not. You don’t want me to kiss Roman, but I’m not sure why you’d even think I want to.”

  She lifts her eyebrows. “You don’t?”

  I shake my head. “No, of course not.”

  “I must have been mistaken, then.”

  Mother is never mistaken. I close my eyes. “Why?”

  “Why what?” she asks softly, so softly.

  “You bought him from Adika to be part of my honor guard.” Which makes him one of my options.

  “I buy lots of racehorses, but I only put my money behind the ones who turn out. It’s all a gamble until then. You know already that he’s tenth generation,” Mother says. “I bought him because not to buy any sixth family’s children would be an insult. None of the other options are tenth generation. He’s beneath you, Chancery, and beyond that, he’s underwhelming in every single way.”

  A kick to the stomach wouldn’t have shocked me more. “He’s underwhelming?”

  “This isn’t the time or place.” Mother inclines her head at the ambassador from Shenoah, who is now eyeing us askance. “But there are certainly men who are more deserving of your attention.”

  “Like who?” I want to take the question back, but it’s too late.

  “Fiorem, for one, or Charles. Or Edam. My top choice would certainly be Edam.”

  Chancery’s top choice too, by the looks of things. “Because Balthasar likes him?” I can’t help my frown.

  “He’s a warrior,” Mother says. “He’s a shining star, burning a path across Alamecha, carving a place for himself. You deserve a partner who brings something to the table, someone you can rely on to protect you from all the threats that will come after you.”

  I fear Mother’s warrior prince already fancies her other daughter, but if Mother wants me to choose him, then I’ll make it happen. I close my eyes and search for things about Roman that bother me to make it easier to shun him. I’ll need to immediately put some distance between us. But I can’t think of anything. I do think about his hand at my waist, his eyes on mine, and his voice in my ear.

  I shake my head. “Well, I’d better head out to the beachside dance floor, then.” My voice sounds tinny to my ears. “I think all three of the men you mentioned are out there.”

  Mother’s grin is sly, like a cat with a mouse in its paws. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  I do not stomp down the stairs. I don’t race past Roman or Nightingale toward the exit, either.

  “Is everything alright?” Roman catches up to ask.

  I plaster a smile on my face when I realize he can tell how I’m feeling. I’ve allowed Roman to draw too close to me. He can read me too clearly. Even Mother never knows when I’m upset, but thanks to that miscalculation, it’s going to hurt to pry him loose. It must be done, however painful, because I’m nothing like my father. Mother said he was overly emotional, too passionate about people and things. She said he went down when he should have gone up, he grew hot when he should have been cold.

  But I always do precisely what she asks of me, no matter how difficult. No matter how painful. Always.

  Which is why I casually slide across the veranda toward the dance floor set up a few dozen paces from the exit of the palace. I brace myself to see Edam mooning over insipid Chancery and her stupid ever-changing skin, hair, and eyes. I don’t answer Roman’s thoughtful inquiry. I don’t react to Nightingale’s shared glance with him. None of that is any of my concern.

  Edam’s leaning against one of the tables around the edge of the dance floor. Music pulses through the wooden squares, shaking the chairs, the tables, and guiding the mass of bodies throbbing in unison. I pause for a second, transfixed. Even Edam taps his foot, his hip shifting in time with the bass of the song.

  This is a definitely a song I’ve never heard in my life. Roman stands one pace
behind me, and I’m acutely aware of his presence. Too aware. “Nightingale, Roman, go and dance. That’s an order. I’m not in danger here, surrounded by family and other guards. Enjoy your evening for once.”

  Tiny wrinkles form between Roman’s eyebrows, and his eyes cloud for a moment, but then they’re gone, and I wonder whether I imagined it. He’s my oldest friend. He probably didn’t feel anything other than sorry for me earlier. I’m such an idiot.

  I tear my eyes away from his high cheekbones, his startlingly white teeth and full lips and force myself to look at Edam. He’s already staring at something. I follow his gaze . . . to my twin. Of course. I clench my fists, but I force myself to take a calming breath and analyze what I’m seeing. She and Lark are dancing with their hands in the air, their hips swaying, their mouths moving with the lyrics.

  How can they possibly know this song? When would they have time to hear anything like this?

  “Would you care to dance with me?” Roman’s voice comes from only a few inches behind me.

  Nightingale may have disappeared amidst the chaotic mess, but Roman’s going to be harder to lose.

  “I’ve never heard it before,” I say, “but it’s oddly compelling.”

  “It is.”

  When I turn to face him, he’s looking right at me, and I can’t help but wonder whether he wasn’t talking about the music. I may need to be more direct, on all fronts. I brace myself and spit the words out, hoping against hope they won’t hurt his feelings. But a part of me hopes they do. “Roman, it’s almost midnight, and I’ve got Mother’s edict to think about.”

  His grin is pure pleasure. It almost kills me.

  I clear my throat. There’s no going back, not from this. “So can you buzz off? I think you’re scaring him away.”

  Roman’s face blanks immediately and he swallows hard. “Totally. Of course. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were safe, but I can do that from a distance.”

  He melts into the crowd so quickly that my head practically spins. Gone. He’s gone. He’ll probably never look at me the way he did tonight ever again, but I can’t think about that right now. I can’t. I have work to do if I want to make Mother happy.