by Lara Swann
He’s dressed in the similar elaborate style clothing that I saw from his family yester—actually, that’d be earlier today, right? God, time has been crazy. Red and gold colored doublet over stiff black pants, and a crisp white shirt underneath. It’s almost like some military dress, and while I’ve never particularly fantasized about men in uniform…I’m starting to think I could change my mind. I could definitely change my mind.
“Fuck me.”
Derek is looking me up and down with disbelief that’s quickly turning into something else…something else entirely. I feel my body buzz in response and I walk forward with a sweet smile.
“Think it’ll pass slightly better than dress de la train?” I ask casually.
As if my movement broke his stillness, he steps right up close to me, his hand rising to cup my head, fingers curling through my hair. I feel my breath catch in my chest, my head tilting up to him almost automatically.
“My god, Hanna…” He murmurs, his voice hot as he can’t seem to take his eyes off me. “You’ve always been pretty…but my god. Those blouses and buns and that prim and proper look…fuck, it doesn’t do you justice. Why don’t you wear this to class?”
I laugh, even though he doesn’t seem to realize the absurdity of that idea.
“I don’t think anyone wears evening dresses to class, Derek.” I point out. “And class has always been for studying. It’s much easier to do that without the distraction of sexy clothes or guys eyeing me up. Evening dresses…are for other places entirely.”
“I want to go to those places.” He says immediately, eyes hot on me. “I’ve clearly been going to the wrong parties all year.”
I smile slightly, even though it’s not like I’ve spent much time at any of those places myself.
Carly and I might dress up nicely and hit up a bar occasionally, just for cocktails and too-expensive small plates and to casually chat in a nice place that isn’t student housing, but…it’s not exactly a regular occurrence. And the rest of the time, I throw on something far more casual for a friend’s house party - which usually involves booze and games and philosophical life discussions, not so much seducing hot guys.
Still, I don’t tell him that.
“Maybe I’ll take you.” I say instead, and somehow my voice actually seems as alluring as I feel right now.
His mouth curves up in a smile, and all I can think about is having it press down against me - ravishing me, taking me, the slight stubble on his face rubbing against my soft skin and making me feel him.
“I’ll hold you to that, Princesca.” His eyes rake over me again. “Fuck, but you’re so beautiful.”
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I’ve never had anyone say it quite like that, before. The guys I’ve known, there’s always been games being played, and some bullshit about acting less interested than they are.
I’ve never understood why that’s supposed to work. Fuck it, I’ve always wanted passion and desire and intensity - if you don’t want me enough to chase a little…you’re sure as hell not going to be able to satisfy me.
It’s probably why my short-lived relationships have always bombed out so far - as soon as that mad-in-love passion starts faltering, it just seems to spiral downward until one or both of us wonder what the hell happened, and move on.
But with Derek, there don’t seem to be any games at all. He just says what he thinks, no filter. And I don’t think I’ve ever had anything strike me so hard, so quickly, as that simple comment. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.
Straight to my core, making me throb and want. Yeah, guys, that’s how you get a girl.
“Maybe not the evening dress…” He murmurs, his fingers warm against me. “But you should leave your hair down occasionally. It’s…you know, I’ve never seen you like this. Not at all.”
“It gets in my way.” I explain, but I’m murmuring too, and I’m finding it hard to take my eyes from his.
And I’m actually seriously starting to think about doing as he suggests. If only to catch a glimpse of that sort of look again.
“I’d love nothing more than for it to get in my way, Princesca.”
His fingers fan out as he speaks, slipping through the mass of curls and drawing my face closer to his.
My heart rises all the way to my throat, and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. And then I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can’t be held responsible. For whatever happens to my hair, my carefully applied makeup, my smooth dress. To the whole damn dinner, that I now wish more than ever we could avoid.
But he doesn’t. His hand drops down, and finds mine instead.
He brings it to his lips - his eyes holding mine the whole time, and my heart skips another beat. And then he brushes his mouth over the back, squeezing hard, with fire sparking from his eyes.
I’m starting to get the feeling that it’s what he does whenever he’s thinking about doing something…far more. And I try and kill that thought as soon as I have it, or that’s all I’m going to think about whenever I see that gesture.
I squeeze his hand briefly, and then step back. Trying desperately to wake up from the haze of lust that seems to have descended over us.
I take a few deep breaths, remind myself that I dressed up for dinner. Not for Derek. Not at all.
“So.” I finally say. “This Court Dinner.”
It takes him a moment, but he nods, tearing his eyes away from me.
“Yes. Um, that.”
“Did you…you were going to tell me some things, right?”
I’m barely forming coherent sentences.
Well done, Hanna.
And I know that sooner or later - probably sooner, from the way this feels - we’re going to have to do something about whatever is simmering here between us. We’re not going to be able to help it. Which means I need to think about it really damn soon. But not tonight. Tonight, there are other things to think about.
“Ah. Yes.” He says again, his usual expressive language broken up as his eyes seem to dart back to me every few minutes. Like he still can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
It gives me a deep satisfaction, but it’s really not helping us here.
It’s a kind of intensity - a kind of addiction - that creeps right under my skin and has me responding to him, even though I don’t want to.
But we do the right thing. We sit opposite each other, on different couches.
He starts talking about the court, and who they are, and what tonight will be like.
Or at least, he tries to. He’s a little distracted. I’m a little distracted.
I’m not sure I really take anything in, beyond the way he smiles when he speaks, his eyes crinkling. The warm, almost musical accent of his voice. The deep laugh. The way his gaze lingers on me the whole time, and I itch to shift closer to him.
An hour or so later, we’re out of time, and I’m not sure that I’ve really absorbed anything that he’s saying. I should feel nervous as hell about that, but instead my stomach is buzzing from the way he’s looking at me. From simply being alone with him.
Fuck.
I’ve never been this distracted by a guy. Ever. And maybe it’s just a combination of the exhaustion and adrenaline, but…ugh.
Did my hormones really have to kick in now?
Chapter Eight
Hanna
I try to remember what Derek tried - a little haphazardly - to tell me about the dinner as we walk down the corridor.
Being back out in the castle has woken me up a little, at least. I mean, I’m still leaning a little too close to Derek as we walk, and I’m still thinking all sorts of things I shouldn’t.
But at least I’m aware of something other than his warm eyes running down my body and promising all the things that I know he wants to do to me.
I think tonight should go alright. From his reaction, I’m dressed a hell of a lot better for it - and from what he’s said, it sounds an awful lot like one of my grandmother’s dinner parties.
The purpose of this is for Derek - and by extension the King and Queen - to show me off and convince the rest of the court to start considering me as a candidate for being a Princesca of their country.
So, no pressure.
As we get closer to the large receiving hall that I came in through earlier - where the dinner is apparently being held - I start to get nervous again. Even though Derek assures me that it doesn’t actually matter whether anyone approves…I can’t help feeling otherwise. And I want to give this my best shot, at least.
There’s no one around in the corridors as we arrive at the front of the room, and I squeeze Derek’s arm.
“Are we late?” I murmur, wondering if we’ve done this wrong already.
He shrugs. “We’re meant to arrive after everyone else - so that they can watch as we enter.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Great. Just what I want. A grand entrance with everyone watching me.
I try to shut up the irritating voice that reminds me that everyone is going to be judging me, watching for any fault, and I draw myself up next to Derek.
I’m his Princesca, I remind myself. Even if it’s fake and I’m so totally not a Princess. I can pretend for tonight, at least.
And then sleep and beaches and castles and a good book…
The doors open and the banging of one of the long wooden poles makes me jump out of my little fantasy, and brings my gaze firmly to the center of the room ahead again. It bangs three times, again, and then I hear the announcement.
“The Prince Frederick Augustus de Salducco, and his Princesca-attenciano, Hanna Cook.”
Oh, they’re adding my name now. Maybe they didn’t know what it was before? Or do I have a little more status because of this dinner? I should ask Derek…
But I don’t get a chance before we’re moving forward, and I keep my eyes firmly on the middle distance so that all the groups of people looking at us are out of focus. The anxiety I thought I’d dealt with earlier seems to have redoubled and it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of another. As I look at the room, not the people, I notice the thrones have been moved from the dias, and instead it’s set out with a large dining table and chairs. Where we’ll end up for dinner after the initial socializing, I guess.
Then we’re inside, and as Derek turns and smiles at various people without particularly heading in any one direction, the muted conversation seems to start up again. No doubt they’re all talking about us, but I can pretend they’re not, and that’s good enough for me.
“Okay?” Derek murmurs beside me, his right hand coming up to squeeze mine where it rests against his left arm.
“Yeah.” I say, though I don’t feel it. “I’m fine.”
He nods. I don’t think he believes me, but I guess neither of us are quite fine right now. Even though I would have thought he’d be used to all this. I fiddle with the cluster of jewels on my ring finger, feeling it start to slip as sweat builds under it. That’s not a problem I usually have, but then…this isn’t a usual situation either.
A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne, and we both take a glass.
Just one, Hanna. Make this last all night.
I know better than to drink champagne with that cursed headache still hovering at the back of my head. I’m too tired, and I’ve never been the best at holding my alcohol anyway. Champagne goes straight to my head.
Derek turns towards me, his eyes still warm, and I can feel the remnants of the way he was looking at me earlier as he tilts his glass towards me.
“Cheers.” He murmurs. “Before all the chaos descends.”
I give him a little smile of my own, and for one brief moment everything around me disappears.
“Cheers.” I clink my glass against his, then take a very small sip.
“Oh my god.” I gasp, taking another sip as the flavor bursts across my tongue. I stare at Derek. “I think this is the best champagne I’ve ever tasted.”
He chuckles, seeming genuinely pleased as he looks down at me.
“Yeah, Aldoran champagne is something of a specialty. There was a period where British-French relations were a little strained, but the Brits didn’t want to give up their finer things - so they started trying to encourage us to grow it. It’s where half of our wine industry comes from, actually. The best of French champagne still beats us hands down, but…if you’re looking for mid-range…it doesn’t get better than Aldoran.”
“I’ve never had anything close to the best champagne.” I say, amused.
Sometimes my friends and I splash out for Prosecco for a birthday party, but that’s about it.
“That’s why you like this.” He winks at me, and I take another sip without even thinking about it.
God, this stuff could be addictive.
Okay. Now slow down.
That semi-helpful voice reminds me, and I force myself to take it easy just as we’re approached by another couple.
Right. You’re not here to drink champagne, Hanna. You’re here to be a Princesca.
They start talking to Derek in Aldoran and I hesitate as I try to work out how I should greet them. Did Derek tell me that? I don’t think he did.
I quickly recall the welcome ceremony this morning. His mother and grandmother kissed me on the cheek, so that sounds right, doesn’t it?
Derek turns to me before I get any longer to think about it, and says in English.
“And this is my Princesca-attenciano, Hanna Cook. Hanna, this is my Uncle Harrison and Aunt Louisa.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” I say.
Then I step in to kiss them both on the cheek. It feels a little stilted and awkward, but then I don’t usually do this kind of thing, so that could be why. I step back and try to work out whether that was right, but their expressions are impossible to read. Just stern, blank and austere. Unchanged.
They nod stiffly at me, and we make a little polite, meaningless conversation in English before they say something to Derek in Aldoran and move away again. According to Derek, everyone here can speak English very well - a lot of the country can in fact - courtesy of British rule for several hundred years. But as a matter of pride, they prefer Aldoran - and, though he didn’t say it, I guess it’s easier for them to comment on me in a language I don’t understand.
I don’t exactly appreciate that point, but I’m doing my best to overlook the fact it seems rude to me, and try to see the positives - at least it means I’m not expected to contribute to half the discussion.
I look over to Derek, wanting to ask if I did that right, and what they said at the end there - but before I can, we’re joined by another group of people.
And so it continues.
With me trying to do the right thing, guessing what that might be and trying to summon my limited social graces from some place deep inside me. We move between groups of people, who all seem the same to me - unsmiling, with stiff postures and not one thing of significance to say.
“I can’t tell whether I’m doing this right.” I mutter to him, in a brief gap between people. “Everyone’s expression seems completely unreadable.”
I hear him chuckle, and he brings me in slightly closer to explain. “Another inheritance from the British - stiff upper lip and all that. Aldoran people tend to be pretty reserved, and closed off.”
I frown, considering. That definitely fits with what I’m seeing, but I never would have guessed it from knowing Derek. He’s about the least reserved person I’ve ever known.
“But you’re not—”
We’re interrupted by another woman coming up to us, and I have to bite back my frustration a
t not being able to finish the slightest conversation with Derek.
After the third or fourth group, at least, some of my anxiety starts to ease. I might not be setting the world on fire here, but I don’t seem to be bombing out completely.
The champagne probably doesn’t hurt, either.
In fact, I’m starting to feel a little buzzed from the whole thing - not just the champagne. While Derek and I can’t really talk to each other here - and, indeed, apart from holding his arm, we barely even touch - I can still feel his gaze on me. When he gets bored with a conversation and his eyes start to drift down what I’m wearing instead. Or when we have a brief gap between talking to people and he’s sneaking looks in my direction.
It’s flattering as all hell, and I get hot little shivers running down my back from his gaze. I can feel it all over my skin, and it’s definitely making me feel good.
Sexy. Hot. Powerful.
The buzz just under my skin as we smile and talk and make nice with his ‘court’. That seems to be coming easier now, too. Or I’m just making it work, even if I’m still not getting much of a response from anyone. Practicing every social skill I know - smiling, bubbling with enthusiasm about whatever they start talking about, laughing easily at things I think are attempts at jokes.
It’s probably the best I’ve ever been at an event like this. Usually I just like to hide out in the corner and talk to one or two people, ideally people I already know.
But here, I’m actually making conversation. With strangers. And I don’t feel like I need to run away in the next few minutes.
Maybe it’s Derek beside me, or maybe it’s that second glass of champagne, but…I think this dinner might actually be working. I arrived straight off a train, sure, but this makes up for it, I’m sure.
I actually start feeling quite pleased with myself about it.
There’s even a moment where I see Derek’s father in the middle of the room, and I feel confident enough to disentangle myself from the conversation about olives that Derek is having with a steward, or minister, or someone, and leave the safety of his arm for a few moments. I deliberately insulted the King earlier - I knew it was wrong at the time, just a stupid moment of irritation, and I’ve wanted to make up for it almost as soon as I said it.