Since then Sergevni worked assiduously to avoid temptation. He trained her in the barracks, amongst his own soldiers. He tasked her guard, Althius, with teaching her particular drills so she might train with him as well. Still, the sight of Adrienna in her leggings and shirt, lifting a sword or shield, her hair tied back, was enough to set Sergevni’s pulse racing with lust.
Yet it was not the only thing that tested the strength of Sergevni’s willpower. Everything Adrienna did he could not help but admire. Even when she was clad in embroidered velvets, rubies sparkling at her throat and fingers, roses crowning her hair, he desired her. Watching her at court functions, deftly navigating courtiers and petty conflicts, was fascinating. The painted smile she wore like a mask in front of the court was all the more intriguing when he knew how alive with emotions her face could become when she was with him.
The night before their wedding, they were dining with a group of his father’s favourites. Dukes and duchesses of immense wealth, influential merchants and foreign ambassadors, all gathered in one of his father’s parlours after a long and sumptuous meal.
Sergevni had put Adrienna through gruelling hours of training that very morning, but he marked that she displayed not the slightest hint of weariness. On the contrary, she was lively and sparkling with wit, moving from guest to guest like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. Sergevni, sitting upon a velvet couch in the arched alcove of a window, observed her closely.
Adrienna had a skill for luring out information from her interlocutors without ever reciprocating. She tricked others into believing she had allowed them close to her, whilst in fact keeping herself utterly closed off. A marquess approached her when she stood drinking a cup of hot spiced wine, and Sergevni sat up slightly.
The Marquess of Grigarski was a woman of impressive stature. Tall and poised, she moved swanlike amongst the guests. She wore, as ever, an intricate gown of heavily embroidered brocade, and her golden hair was pressed into perfect curls. A headdress of pearls, emeralds and peridots[6][7] adorned her head, and her lips were painted red as blood.
Sergevni despised the marquess. She was a murderess and a poisoner, a ruthlessly ambitious woman. Born amongst the lower nobility, she had fought like a starving animal for every scrap of wealth and power she had accumulated. Her desperation for power chilled Sergevni’s blood and watching her approach Adrienna was like watching a ravenous wolf approach a doe.
The marquess lay her hand upon Adrienna’s arm, and Adrienna turned, eyebrows slightly raised. Sergevni sat up, ready to intercede. To his surprise, a delighted smile lit Adrienna’s face. Laying her cup aside, she seized both of the marquess’s hands.
“Masha!” she said. Sergevni’s eyes widened. She was using the diminutive of the marquess’s name, Maryevna. A sign of affection, or intimacy. “I’ve longed to speak to you all night!”
They kissed each other’s cheeks.
“Oh, I’ve longed to speak to you too, Princess Adrienna!” the marquess leaned her head down conspiratorially against Adrienna’s. “Rumours have reached me that His Imperial Highness has been training you like a soldier. You must tell me the truth of it.”
Adrienna tilted her head with a little mischievous grin.
“Tell me, Masha, who pays the servants’ wages in Sevalensk? The emperor or the marquess of Grigarski?”
The implication must have flattered the marquess, for she threw back her perfectly coiffed curls from her shoulder with a scintillating laugh.
“In the halls of Sevalensk, is there really a difference between the two?” she asked.
Adrienna linked her arm through the marquess’s.
“Why, yes, Masha — you are the better dancer by far,” she said wickedly. “Now, come, I want to introduce you to the twin ambassadors of Lazulai. They speak of myths and magic, I should like to think what you make of them.”
“Maintain the alliance with Lazulai, Adrienna,” the marquess said, now speaking more earnestly. “We acquire many of our luxuries from them, but above all their scholars are an invaluable commodity. It will serve you well to befriend the ambassadors.”
The voices of the two women faded away as they disappeared amongst the perfumed bodies of the courtiers. Sergevni slumped back in his seat, his mind reeling. Adrienna had made an ally of the marquess — not just an ally, a friend. Sergevni had known the marquess for a very long time: she kept her enemies close, her allies few, her friendships counted. She had a complicated network of spies and mercenaries — lower noblemen and women who found themselves indebted to her — and not much happened in Sevalensk without she should know of it.
For Adrienna to draw trust and friendship from the marquess was both impressive and audacious. It must not have been easy, and Sergevni remembered the morning when he had Adrienna brought back from her meal with the marquess. He had thought she would be safer away from the widow, but Adrienna had been cross with him. Had she been pursuing this relationship intending to form a friendship? It was a dangerous move — without a doubt, the marquess would want something in return — but having her as an ally would keep her from becoming a formidable foe.
The evening wore on and Sergevni continued observing Adrienna. She had formed within the small group of the most eminent courtiers, a small web of allies and pawns. He could see how easily they parted with information when they were in conversation with her. She made shadowed allusions to secrets, keeping enough to herself to keep her knowledge valuable, yet revealing enough that the courtiers knew she had power over them. She smiled and curtseyed and made jests. Never once did the mask of her courtesy slip from her beautiful face.
That night, Sergevni lay in his bed, tossing and turning. It had tormented him knowing she would be in danger in Sevalensk. The thought of being unable to protect her haunted his mind constantly. But Adrienna did not need protection. She was entirely capable of handling the court. Already she had assembled allies around her, already she was learning to navigate Sevalensk. She did not need him. She had only ever needed one thing from him — a fleet. And that was all.
So why had she been so willing when he had taken her? Why did she return every kiss, and do everything he bid her, even when she did not need to? Sergevni was beginning to realise that Adrienna was as elusive to him as she was to the court. Was her pleasure a mask, too?
Sergevni would not find sleep, not when questions thus gripped his mind. He wondered if Adrienna, too, was tossing and turning, thinking about their wedding on the morrow. There was only one way to find out. If he wanted some answers, he would need to find them.
Rolling out of bed, Sergevni pulled on trousers and a tunic and left his bedroom. Pages scrambled up to attention outside his door, and he waved them away with an impatient gesture. Striding through the silent corridors, he crossed over towards Adrienna’s rooms. He knocked on the door, startling two more pages who slumped in chairs nearby.
There was a moment of silence, then the door opened.
Adrienna stood in the entrance. She wore a simple nightgown of gossamer silk. The light from the lamps within, warm as molten gold, traversed the delicate fabric of her garment, outlining her body. Her dark hair was loose, the feathery strands caressing her neck. She was barefoot and her eyes were glittering with fatigue.
“Oh, Sergevni,” she seemed only slightly surprised to see him. Stepping aside, she murmured, “Do you wish to come in?”
How could he not? He stepped in. Her room was as feminine and beautiful as she was. The walls were painted with flowers and leaves and birds, a cream changing screen half-hiding a porcelain bathtub, swathes of glossy fabric tossed over it. Ornate candelabras stood over small tables, silk-upholstered seats gathered around a generous fire, vases spilling with flowers covered every available surface. Her four-poster bed was draped with sky-blue velvet and gold tassels, the embroidered counterpane dragged half-way across the bed, revealing the pale sheets beneath.
Everything here was soft and perfumed, and Adrienna walked amongst her little kingdom
of jewels and candles and flowers like a faerie queen amongst meadows.
“Have I roused you from your sleep?” Sergevni asked, standing straight and formal in front of her.
She smiled and waved her hand.
“No, no, you haven’t. Please, sit down.”
He followed her to the cushioned seats and sat while she filled two crystal glasses with rose wine. Handing him a cup, she sat next to him, relaxing into the cushions, her head dropping back. He took a sip, watching her beneath hooded eyes. She smelled sweet with soap and cleaning oils, and her skin almost shimmered in the wavering candlelight. The satin ribbons at the collar of her nightgown were loose, the fabric moulding her breasts, the dusky points of her nipples alluringly visible.
Sergevni looked away, feeling his throat constrict, his groin tighten. He had already debauched her — more than once. So why did he feel so undone to see these sensuous hints of her body? Why did her presence make his breath catch, his manhood stiffen?
“Why are you here, Sergevni?” she asked, her voice barely above a murmur.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he answered truthfully.
She smiled. She was not looking at him, her eyes fixed on the swirling patterns of the ceiling above their heads.
“I could not sleep either,” she said. “I suppose it is normal for a couple to be sleepless the night before their wedding.”
“Yes — but we are not a normal couple, are we, Adrienna? What is there to be nervous about?”
She dropped her head to the side, fixing him with a slight frown.
“Is there not plenty to be nervous about?”
“How? Do we not know all there is to know about our marriage? We’ve agreed on the terms of our union, we know what will become of us once we wed. We’ve even curtailed our wedding night. What is there left to be nervous about?”
She was silent for a moment, observing him in much the same way she had observed the courtiers. An unflinching, searching look that seemed to reach within him.
“Then what is it that keeps you from your sleep, Sergevni?”
He hesitated.
“I feel as though the control I once had over myself has slipped my grasp.”
He had not intended to tell her this, but the words tumbled from his lips before you could think of another thing to tell her.
“Yes,” she said. “But is it not to be expected? Nothing that is happening to you is something you willed. You do not feel yourself because someone else controls your movements and your fate. I understand more than you think.”
“How? You are always in complete control, Adrienna,” he said. “I watched you tonight. Never once did I see you lose control over yourself.”
“I was amongst courtiers,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve seen me lose control many times.”
“No, I don’t think so. Even the moments when I have been the most unleashed, you’ve always had perfect mastery of yourself.”
He watched her as strange emotions clouded her eyes at his words. When she spoke, her voice was low, and it trembled, and he saw that she was struggling to keep it from breaking.
“What mastery had I, Sergevni, when you told me you did not want me for a lover? When I was forced to beg you for a fleet? When you made clear your intentions of abandoning me in Sevalensk and then took me to your bed?”
She stood up. Outlined in the golden candlelight, her shoulders trembled slightly.
“There is no mastery to any of it. All I have done since meeting you is cut myself open so that you might eventually tear out the heart from my chest.”
She drained her glass and put it aside. Turning, she faced Sergevni, holding up her hands with a hollow smile.
“Have I not given you everything, Sergevni of Karscha? In exchange for my fleet, you took everything I had to give.”
Sergevni stood from the seat, catching her into his arms as he did so.
“If I tear the heart from your chest, it will only be so that you give me back mine,” he snarled against her mouth. “Can you not see how much I want you?” He kissed her lips; they were cold. “Can you see not see how much I love you?” [8]
She was speechless, and when he picked her up, her arms slid around his shoulders, her body yielding against his. He carried her to her bed, laying her down gently upon it.
“I adore every part of you, Adrienna,” he said, his voice raw with the truth he had withheld for so long. “I adore your body, your strength, your mind.” Sliding down to his knees by the bed, he caught her legs over his shoulders, his hands catching the hem of her nightgown. “Ever since we met, I can think of nothing but you. Holding you, protecting you, kissing you.”
He kissed her inner thighs, pale as snowy valleys, and as he moved his way up towards the apex of her legs, his voice grew more rough.
“My desire for you is a golden poison. It spreads deeper through my veins with every day that passes. The more I have you, the more I want you.”
His mouth found the core of her, and he kissed her there so slowly and deeply that a strangled cry tore from her throat. His mouth closed over her, his tongue delving, reaching for the secret, sensitive part of her. She was wet and sweet as a split peach, and his senses filled with the nectar of her.
Her hands found his head, and he felt her fingers bury themselves into his curls, holding on tight. With each lingering stroke of his tongue upon her, a new cry escaped her, her pleading, wordless noises filling the surrounding space.
The taste of her was almost as intoxicating as the sounds of pleasure that escaped her. Sergevni, on his knees with his mouth between her legs, realised that he had found a new purpose in life. Like a soldier with a new duty, he realised that his only mission would be to worship Adrienna. Like a saint finding the great goddess he was always meant to serve, he now understood why he was so desperate to protect her, to safeguard her. It was because Sergevni’s true role was to be Adrienna’s.
He groaned between her legs. This was exactly where he belonged. Between her legs, pleasuring her. His tongue found the point of her pleasure, buried amongst the velvet folds of her sex. He teased it then lapped it, hot and slow. She gasped, her hips writhing against his mouth. His fingers gripped her hips, forcing her to keep still, and he felt her thighs shudder violently.
Sergevni flattened and undulated his tongue against her, licking her with torturous slowness until her fingers tightened painfully into his hair.
“Sergevni, you bastard!” Adrienna whimpered. “Saints, I beg you, please—”
Sergevni was not sure he would ever feel a pleasure keener than hearing his bride beseech him. He flicked his tongue against her, licking and lapping the slippery bud between her legs. Then he felt her thighs clamp upon his head, and brutal tremors shook the princess. A wailing cry escaped her, and her hips bucked uncontrollably against his mouth as she rode the waves of her climax.
Then her legs fell limp against his shoulders, and Sergevni laid her hips gently back upon the bed, licking her pulsing sex. She lay listlessly, her breath ragged, her legs trembling. Sergevni slid up over her and lay at her side, gathering her into his arms.
“How can I tear the heart from your chest, Adrienna, when you already hold mine in your hands?”
11. Gift
On the day of her wedding, Adrienna stood in front of her mirrors, her ladies-in-waiting fluttering around her. She wore a white gown, the bodice intricately embroidered with silver arabesques, the sleeves made from lace finer than spider-silk. A crown of silver and diamonds sparkled on her head, and a crimson velvet sash lay across her chest. Her skirts trailed, long and heavy, behind her.
She looked beautiful. Her cheeks and lips were flushed, and her chest was full fit to burst with hope. Everything she could ever want seemed too close to being hers — she only needed one more thing to secure her happiness.
She only needed to rescue Aster.
As the ladies-in-waiting led Adrienna out of her room and through bedecked halls of the palace, she could not he
lp but think of Aster. If she rescued her — when she rescued her — she would have so much to tell her. But she could not be truly happy until she knew that Aster was safe.
An ornate carriage took Adrienna to the chapel of Sevalensk. It was almost as large as a cathedral of Veritier, a magnificent building of ancient stone, flanked on both sides by towering stained-glass windows. Shimmering lights of every colour fell in vivid dapples over the marble of the chapel floor. There, courtiers, ambassadors and neighbouring rulers gathered, ready to witness the union between Karscha and Veritier.
Young maidens in golden gowns plucked the strings of harps amongst the columns, filling the chapel with delicate music. Adrienna stood in the aisles, absent-mindedly letting her ladies-in-waiting fuss with her skirts, her gauze veils, her jewels and flowers. She wondered where Sergevni was. She wondered if he would look as earnest and solemn when he married her as he did when he made love to her.
She had once despised his joyless gravity, his glacial severity. But now, she wanted nothing more but to feel his cool golden gaze pressing upon her, to touch the flat line of his serious mouth with her lips, to kiss his clenched jaw and caress his tensed muscles.
Sergevni had spent so much of his life exercising ruthless restraint over himself that he had never learned how to feel pleasure, how to let his guard down, how to allow himself the luxury of true emotions.
Unravelling the brambles of Sergevni’s self-discipline to the palpitating heart within was an exquisite torment. Adrienna found herself both hurt by it and fascinated. Every time he yielded something — a new touch, a sweeter kiss, a confessed emotion — she only wanted to draw more from him.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a portentous presence loomed at her side.
“I hope King Owayn does not rue his absence at his own daughter’s wedding.”
Turning swiftly, Adrienna faced the emperor. He stood, dressed superbly in cobalt, a heavy ermine-lined cloak draped over his shoulders. His crown rested heavily over his forehead, digging red lines into his lined skin.
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