Gears of Brass

by Jordan Elizabeth

  Hawn opened his eyes, their coloring as blue as her bedding. “Morning.” His husky voice sent shivers over her flesh.

  “I slept so well,” she purred. She had to look irresistible with her short ebony curls fanning over her tasseled pillows and her lips swollen, flushed. She’d bitten them until they stung before she’d stretched.

  He sat up, the sheets crumpling around his waist, and brushed his waist-long brown hair away from his face. “I need to leave before the servants arrive.”

  No one stirred besides them in her bedroom, with its three windows and two fireplaces. They’d left the tapestry curtains tied back around her four-poster bed.

  “They won’t enter until I allow them, and you can always slip out through my parlor.” She nuzzled the stubble beneath his chin. “No one cares who I welcome into my bed. I’m not a child.” She bounced, so he could see her bosom.

  Hawn pushed back the blankets and padded from the bed to the embroidered chair near her table. With his back turned, he stepped into his slacks and buttoned the front of his black blouse.

  “Your father shouldn’t know.” He stuck his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

  Sheina rolled her eyes. “My father doesn’t care in the least. Hawn, stay with me. I can order your favorite breakfast.”

  “I need to get to work.”

  She burrowed into her pillows to fight off the chill in the air. They’d been too busy last night to keep the fires banked, and the servants knew enough to avoid her when she tied a ribbon around her brass knob in the hallway.

  “I wish you didn’t have to wear all black,” she drawled. “You’d look stunning in vermilion.”

  “I’m a royal hunter. This is my uniform.” He tied his hair into a queue, stepped into his boots, and jogged back to the bed. “You know I’d rather stay with you.”

  She jutted her lower lip into a pout. “We could, you know. Your captain wouldn’t question my orders.”

  “I have tasks that need to be completed.”

  She waved at the nearest window, through which she could see the snow resting on the tower rooftop. “We could ride through the fields.”

  He kissed her forehead before hurrying toward her parlor. “Good day, princess. I shall see you soon.”

  “You came from her,” Amra shrieked. “Hawn, how could you? You spent the entire night with her!”

  The royal huntsman flinched. “She asked me to and I couldn’t refuse her. If she wanted it, I would be turned out from court.” Snow crunched beneath his heels.

  “But the entire night?” Tears blossomed in Amra’s dark eyes.

  “Darling.” He cupped Amra’s shoulders to draw her to him, but she stiffened. “You know I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  “And that’s why she demanded you become her sex slave.”

  “I’m not…” He swore under his breath. What else was he, when he had to rush to Sheina’s side whenever she beckoned, when he had to please her above all else?

  Amra folded her arms, snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes. How beautiful she looked in her velvet cape lined with rabbit fur. He could imagine his hands closing around her waist, teasing her through her corset, playing with the choker fastened around her throat; gorgeous Amra with her olive skin and straight, blonde hair.

  Sheina never had much color to her, other than her curly hair and whenever she blushed. The rest of the time, she could’ve been as lifeless as snow.

  “I need you with me, not with her,” Amra whispered.

  “Darling, you’re married.” The words caught in his throat. “The king would murder me if he found us together.”

  She trembled. “I never wanted to marry him. You and I were betrothed. I should have never been one of Sheina’s ladies-in-waiting. He wouldn’t have seen me if I’d stayed at home in the country.”

  “Then we wouldn’t have met each other.” He brushed his thumb over her lips before lowering his head. Her breath still smelled of hot cocoa from breakfast, and he could almost taste it.

  “What is this?” Princess Sheina’s shriek cut across the courtyard. Hawn jerked away and Amra squeaked.

  Sheina stood in her leather coat with the brass buttons fastened to her throat—shocking, considering she usually wore as little as possible. At least more color had come to her pallid face.

  “What are you doing?” Sheina stormed forward, her hands clenched into fists. “Hawn, were you… you weren’t kissing her, were you?” Her brow wrinkled into a frown. “Amra, did you order him to kiss you?”

  Amra gulped. “No, princess. We… I…”

  Hawn could’ve screamed himself. The king had made Amra his queen, but she still acted as if Sheina were more important.

  “Why would you do that?” The princess rounded on him.

  If they’d been in her bedroom, he would’ve kissed her quiet, and gagged inside, but he would never do that in front of Amra.

  “You still love her,” Sheina gaped. “You love her over me.” She jabbed her finger into Amra’s chest so hard his true love stumbled backward. “You’re the worst stepmother I could’ve imagined.”

  Why did Sheina have to be a princess? Hawn would’ve loved to give her the tongue-lashing her father and governess had neglected.

  “I can’t bear to be in the same building as the two of you disgusting, vulgar fiends.” She tossed her hands into the air. “I’m leaving. You must be pleased to have driven me off.”

  “You have nowhere to go,” Amra stated.

  “Ha!” The princess jabbed her again. “I’ll live at my mother’s cottage.”

  “That’s still within the castle grounds.” Somehow, Amra kept her voice even. She only ever seemed to get flustered around him.

  He yearned to embrace her, caress her hair, kiss the worry off her forehead.

  “It’s far enough away from you two!” Servants and soldiers would come soon if Sheina kept up her antics, but there would be no proof of their love, other than her insinuations, and the court should’ve been inured to her irrational ranting.

  “Your father will miss you,” Amra said.

  “He has my siblings. What am I to him? You both clearly have enough to worry about without me afoot.”

  By the time the king returned from his travels, or heard about her fit, she would be back at the castle and out of the dilapidated cottage her late mother had used as a summer retreat.

  Sheina swiped her finger over the window and wrinkled her nose. A streak showed in the grime coating the glass. “Why hasn’t my mother’s cottage been taken care of? Did the king order it forgotten about just because my mother passed away before her timely end?”

  The workman behind her, Professor Something-or-Other, chuckled. “Honestly, princess, I don’t think anyone wanted to use the cottage. This was solely the late queen’s getaway.”

  “And now it’s mine.” She whirled around and folded her arms. “I want this in tiptop shape immediately. I need every surface spotless and every convenience updated. Is that understood?”

  He pushed his top hat further up his forehead. He had to be around her age, eighteen—would he know enough about transforming the ancient cottage into something usable?

  “It better all be done well.” She brushed past him to inspect more than the foyer. Beyond that filthy room, she found the kitchen, complete with stove and a working sink, and past that the main room. A deer’s head with cobwebs on the antlers glared at her through obsidian eyes. Sheets clothed the settees and chairs, and a screen stood in front of the hearth.

  He followed her upstairs, jotting notes on a pad of paper with his stylus.

  She’d never taken a studious man to her bed before. They always seemed too stuck up, too old, but this one didn’t have gray hair or a straggly beard that appeared unwashed. She narrowed her eyes at the strong line of his jaw, at his thick nose… yes, he didn’t look that bad.

  She could see how good he tasted once he finished his job.

  The steps creaked beneath the heels of her b
rown lace-up boots. Sheina lifted her yellow silk skirt around her shins to avoid sweeping it through the dust and mouse-droppings. “I’ll need a cat to clear out these rodents.”

  “One cat just for Princess Sheina.” Did the professor poke fun at her? If he did, he’d never get to know her pleasures. She puffed out her chest, so he’d get a better look at her bosom, on the off chance he hadn’t already noticed.

  The second floor consisted of two bedrooms and a library. She’d forgotten how much her mother loved literature.

  “I’ll need a full staff of servants,” she added. “I can’t be expected to look after everything by myself when I’m all the way out here.”

  His black moustache lifted at the corner when he smirked. “I have an idea of what you need.”

  “Clockwork dwarves?” Sheina snapped. “You think I need clockwork dwarves?”

  The five little men faced her outside the cottage’s front door, the snow reaching their knees, whereas it barely came up her shins. Their brass bodies glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Their inventor stood behind them, wearing his usual top hat and the ends of his moustache curled upward toward his blue eyes.

  “My father uses dwarves as jesters. I need real servants.” He did poke fun at her then, thinking she could use such ridiculous things.

  He rested his hand on the closest dwarf’s sleek head. “These will be far better. They don’t require food and you can close them into the closet at night. They’ll never bother you with complaints. They can even mouse.”

  “They can mouse? What, will they grow tails?”

  Mirth danced over his face again as though everything she said amused him. “Princess Sheina, they can catch a mouse faster than a cat, and they can take it far off into the woods to release it, rather than killing it.”

  She folded her arms as the wind crept through her stole, and she glanced toward her father’s castle in the distance, where her ex-lover and that ex-best friend canoodled. “Fine. Have them clean.”

  Maybe she should sleep with the professor, just to rile Hawn.

  “You won’t thank me for inventing them for you?”

  Sheina lifted her eyebrows. “Thank you.” Sarcasm soaked into the snow. “I can’t wait to see how they do during sex.”

  His joshing exterior turned into one of ice. “Princess Sheina, these are workers, not sex toys.”

  She slid closer to him and lifted her bosom until the small of her back ached. “How am I to take care of those needs, then?”

  His body stiffened. “Ask one of the palace healers for a concoction.”

  Stupid man, how could he not want her? “Well, little dwarves, get to work. I want my cottage spotless.” As she turned to lead them inside, she felt his gaze hot against her back. “Can I help you with something else, Mister…” Which inventor was he? “Mr. Stuhlman.” They hated being called “Mister.”

  “Professor Stuhlman.” He removed his hat, so he could bow to her. “Please let me know if I can be of other assistance to you.”

  “You mean other than for the love making?” She sighed when he didn’t laugh.

  He had done his best, and perhaps the dwarves wouldn’t be that bad. They wouldn’t complain or gossip her secrets in the kitchen. “Thank you.”

  “Do you always wear yellow?”

  She stroked her velvet skirt, this one the color of a sunflower. “It is my favorite color, along with blue.” She tapped her cobalt, corseted bodice. “I want to be as joyous as the summer.” Everyone loved summertime.

  “I’ll be back to check on them.” He kissed her knuckles before heading to the castle, a skip in his step and a whistle on his lips. That top hat did make him look dandy.

  Plus, he had kissed her. Maybe wooing him would work. She’d make sure they did more than just talk the next time he visited.

  Sheina sipped her pomegranate tea as she gazed out the kitchen window at the snow-drenched lilac bushes. Dwarf One rolled around the hardwood floor—the inventor had placed wheels on their feet so they rolled, rather than walked—preparing her lunch of buttered rolls with salmon slices.

  The dwarves, using their extendable arms, had cleaned floor to ceiling. At night she turned them off, except for Dwarf Five, who stood guard at the front door with a hatchet she’d found in the living room wood box. She had yet to see a mouse. They went to the castle for supplies, so that she didn’t have to, so long as she sent them with a note. Perhaps the inventor would be able to create voice boxes for them.

  A knock sounded at the front door. She took a final sip of the sugared tea before rising.

  “That must be the professor,” she said to Dwarf One, who continued preparing lunch. As she reached the foyer, Dwarf Three opened the door.

  The wretch, Amra, stood there in her rabbit-fur coat with the matching cap and muff.

  “What do you want?” Sheina stiffened. “I didn’t invite you here.”

  Amra licked her lips. As queen, she would have to learn to apply scarlet paint to them, the way Sheina did. How could her father like that idiot when she didn’t even wear cosmetics? “I brought you some apples. Your father wanted an apple pie for dinner, so the cooks thawed a bushel. I know how much you love fruit.” Sheina held out a wicker basket covered in a checkered cloth.

  “I don’t want handouts like a beggar.” Sheina clenched her fists.

  Dwarf Three lifted its metal arms and took the basket. Stupid clockwork dwarf.

  “Are these Professor Stuhlman’s latest invention? They’re incredible.” Amra hesitated before she patted the mechanical man’s shoulder.

  “Thank you.” The words humbled her tongue. Why should she give thanks? Professor Stuhlman had invented them, not her.

  Amra smiled, her hands back in her muff, and turned away. Dwarf Three closed the door and set the basket of apples on the foyer table. Sheina lifted one out as she stormed back into the kitchen. Amra didn’t want Sheina to tell the king about her little fling, that was all. Amra wasn’t really kind.

  Sheina slumped into the kitchen chair and bit into her apple. Juice slicked over her lower lip. With Sheina out of the way, Amra could do whatever she pleased at the castle.

  A hunk of apple slid over Sheina’s tongue and down her throat. When she tried to inhale, it lodged and her throat clenched. She struck her chest, but the hunk didn’t shift.

  Blackness crowded her vision.

  “Help.” The noise came out more as a squeak, and that darkness slid over her thicker.

  “Princess Sheina?” Professor Stuhlman’s face swam in front of her. The kitchen floor pressed into her back and her skull throbbed.

  “Huh?” Her lips felt stiff.

  “Princess Sheina, are you all right now?”

  “I… was choking.” How embarrassing. She hadn’t done that since she was a child and ate candies too fast.

  His next visit was supposed to involve seduction, not blackouts.

  “I know. One of the dwarves came to get me. I’ll carry you to the settee, so I can fetch the physician.”

  She allowed him to pull her into a seated position on the floor.

  “I’ll have to reprogram them to help better in situations like that. I squeezed your belly to get the wedge out.”

  Her throat felt raw as though she’d coughed for hours. “Thank you. Truly.”

  “I’ll have to program them to get anyone nearby. I passed the queen when I ran over. She could’ve tried to help you.”

  “Is she here?” Sheina glanced toward the doorway where Dwarf Four stood at attention. She’d hung signs around their necks so she could tell them apart since the professor had programmed each for a different chore.

  “Why don’t you like her?” Professor Stuhlman massaged the back of her neck. It did help the muscles unclench, but the rawness remained. She shouldn’t let him touch her, the princess, without an invitation.

  His hat had fallen off and his short curls sprang everywhere; it was rather endearing.

  Her hand lifted to stroke the nearest curl
as if her fingers had become a new entity.

  “She was my lady-in-waiting,” Sheina whispered. “She left me to marry my father.”

  “She had an opportunity to make something for herself.”

  “But she was mine.” Sheina frowned. He must think her words hideous, babyish.

  Professor Stuhlman leaned forward until his lips hovered over hers. “May I kiss you, princess? To make sure you can breathe?”

  No one had ever asked her permission before. She’d always demanded them.

  Sheina nodded, wordless.

  Professor Stuhlman kept massaging her flesh as his mouth pressed close. “Your skin might be as white as snow, but you’re as warm as the sun.”

  study the raindrops that trickle and spider off into opposite directions against the window. A dark steam-powered carriage pulls my attention as it replaces the grayish green backdrop past the liquid dotting the glass. With aches and fatigue claiming my entire body, I somehow manage to shove myself from the desk, and move gingerly toward the front room.

  Inhaling deeply, I grip the iron handle with callused fingers, turning to open my home to the visitor. Blanched knuckles drop while a black hat tips and water pours off the brim, landing on my rug. “Evening, Jackie. May I come in?”

  I shift slightly and let the knight enter. “I haven’t been home for more than an hour.” I eye him as his full lower lip turns downward. “Try not to get everything all wet and slopped with mud.”

  He shrugs off his duster and hat while I shut the door. Cocking his head toward the fireplace, he laughs. “No fire?”

  “What’s the point, Lance? As soon as I return home, the king sends one of his finest to order me right back into battle.” It comes off a little bitter, but it’s the truth. I’ve walked five days, lugging around my proof that another beast is dead. I managed to wash blood from my clothes, out of places one should not have caked on blood, put on a pair of clean linens, and then there he is knocking at my door. Can’t a girl get one day of rest?