by Jill Myles
“Ah, Seri,” he groaned against her flesh.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and plunged the dagger into his side.
Graeme let out a roar of anger, rolling over and pinning Seri’s hand to the bed. “Drop it,” he demanded.
A sob escaped her throat. She stared up at his furious face, but she couldn’t force herself to let go of the knife. It was as if letting go meant acknowledging her failure. She’d been too slow. Too hesitant. Too drugged by his kisses and caresses.
It’s the Goddess, she told herself. The curse. But she knew the truth. She was weak. Once again, she’d failed her people and herself.
He squeezed her wrist, tighter. His expression was furious, betrayed. “Do you hate me so much?”
She felt the wash of pain from him and whimpered, releasing the knife.
Graeme grabbed the dagger, then stood up, blood running down his side. Seri covered her mouth, stifling a sob.
“Graeme?” she whispered into the darkness.
He cursed, the most beautiful and most awful sound she’d ever heard. In the next moment, he crossed the room, and she slid out of bed to follow, heedless of her nakedness. A sliver of light cut through the darkness as Graeme opened the door on the far side of the room. “Get Viktor,” he said, angry and strident. “Now. Tell him to bring his kit.”
The guard spoke his assent and the door slammed shut again.
Seri trembled and pulled on a dressing gown. Should she say something? Try to escape? She studied the door, escape in her mind. Could she run past him? Make it out of the castle before the guards caught her?
But Graeme was between her and the door, and she couldn’t leave. Not when his pain was her own, not before she knew if he was all right. You fool, she told herself. You horrible, horrible fool. What have you done?
Before, she’d thought of it as killing a usurper. But now the connection between her and Graeme vibrated with the wrongness of what she’d done, and it rattled her even more than his anger. She’d made a mistake. She felt it in her bones, no matter how many times she told herself that it was for the good of the Vidari people.
It was silent in the massive chamber, and the minutes ticked past with agonizing slowness. Finally a knock came at the door. “Enter,” said Graeme, his voice cool as always.
Viktor entered, carrying a bag and a lantern. Graeme sat in a chair, a wadded shirt pressed against his wound, darkening with blood. He gestured impatiently for Viktor to approach.
Without glancing at Seri, the man came to the prince and dropped to a knee. “How may I serve you, my prince?”
“I need you to sew this shut.” He gestured at his bleeding side.
Nothing more was said. No reference to Seri was made, though she saw Viktor stiffen with surprise.
They sat in silence as Viktor worked on the prince. He rubbed a pungent herbal salve into the gash—to stop the bleeding and numb the area, Viktor explained—and then he began to sew up the wound. “You’re lucky, my lord,” Viktor said. “The wound is not a deep one. Whatever it was that pierced you deflected off your rib.”
“I am quite lucky,” Graeme said, glancing over at Seri. She felt a pulse of his irritation and ducked her head in shame and despair.
After Viktor had finished sewing the wound, he bandaged the area and put his materials back in his bag. He sat in front of the prince, waiting.
“Thank you, Viktor,” Graeme murmured, then stood as if nothing treasonous had happened.
“If we’re done here, my lord, I shall leave you.” Viktor bent his head in respect.
“One more thing,” the prince said, and moved to the side of the bed where Seri sat, watching. She backed away as he reached for her, but he only took the dagger from where it lay on the sheets, coated with blood. He turned and gave it to the manservant. “Take care of this. Tell no one where you got it.”
Viktor’s eyes widened as he took the dagger, but he merely nodded. “I will, my prince. Good evening to you.” He bowed again and left the room.
Silence fell. The prince didn’t speak to her or look her way.
Seri shivered and slid across the bed, away from him, and her feet landed on the soft, carpeted floor. “I . . . I’ll leave,” she said, her voice whisper soft with humiliation.
He was at her side in an instant, grabbing her by the arm. “You’re not leaving,” he said sternly. “We will spend the night together, as in accordance with the laws. We will spend every night together for the next two moons, until the last celebration of my new Eterna is finished. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. “You’re hurting me.”
His grip loosened, though he did not release her. “Do you have any other weapons hidden here that I should be aware of?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
His thumb began to stroke the soft skin of her inner arm, almost absentmindedly. The feel of his fingers on her flesh was distracting, and she could feel his hunger, his need—and her own. Soft, subtle at first, but noticeable. Shame surged through her, and she struggled to break free again. “Let me go.”
But he didn’t. Instead, his hand snaked around her waist and pulled her back against his body, and she felt his arousal, as bright and wild as before, though there was a hardness in his dark eyes that hadn’t been there before. A cold smile touched his beautiful mouth. “That is the troubling thing with our Betrothal, is it not? That one can hate the person they are bound to and yet still be consumed with desire for them?”
She shook her head to deny it, but her breath caught in her throat, betraying her. The core of her body pulsed, and her neck felt overheated, her entire body throbbing with need.
With Seri’s body locked to his, Graeme pulled her down to the edge of the bed. He nudged her lips apart with a kiss and then gently laid her on her back. His hand moved down her body, grazing over her from breast to thigh. Her hips rested against the edge of the feathered mattress, and when he nudged at them, she let her knees fall open and wrapped her legs around him again. And this time, when he sank his teeth into her neck, she welcomed them.
Graeme was in a foul mood the next evening. His side hurt, his head ached, and the tether between him and Seri was sending waves of misery and unhappiness through his mind.
She’d tried to kill him. His feisty, fiery little Vidari bride had tried to knife him even as he took her in his bed. He’d known she was up to something. Her face had been pale and drawn despite her seductive movements, and tension and misery had radiated through their connection. She’d tried to kill him . . . and had hated doing it. He’d felt her loathing for the act as well as her insatiable need for him.
That was the only thing keeping him from flying into a rage.
Graeme raked a hand through his short hair and stared at the map of Vidara in his study. He didn’t understand her. Was someone pressuring her to kill him? Or was she so devoted to the hatred she nursed for Athonites that she would attempt to take his life no matter what?
Graeme drummed his fingers on his desk, unable to finish his letter to his father. He reviewed the words he’d written so far. My liege, I have now married my Betrothed. The ceremony was a success, and . . .
And what? We look forward to many happy annums together? It was a lie. My bride looks forward to gutting me when I turn my back? He studied the parchment, then set down his quill and re-capped the ink. Perhaps he would find something useful to say later.
“Your grace?” Viktor knocked at the door as he entered.
“Yes?” Graeme said, grateful for the distraction.
Viktor cleared his throat, and for a terrible moment, Graeme thought perhaps the man had come to tell him that Seri had found another dagger and this time taken her own life.
“The queen and her daughter are here, my lord,” Viktor said gently. “They are waiting for you i
n the private dining hall.”
Graeme swore under his breath. He hadn’t realized they’d arrive so soon. He pushed the letter aside and stood up. “Take me to them,” he said with a sigh, following Viktor out of the study and through the winding hallways of the castle.
“Graeme, I am very angry with you,” Queen Lissane said with a pout when he entered the dining hall to greet her and her daughter, Melene. She extended her ringed hands toward him, her heavy skirts swirling as she stood. “Marrying a wild creature and not even waiting for us to attend the ceremony? It’s not done.”
He gritted his teeth as he greeted her. “By ‘that creature,’ I assume you mean my Goddess-given bride?” He gave her cheek a polite kiss. “It is good to see you, too, my queen.”
Even though his father had little use for the queen, Graeme did his best to be kind and respectful to her. The woman was in an unenviable position in that she was married to his father and had borne a bastard daughter, which made her doubly hated by the king. And anyone the king despised went up a notch in Graeme’s esteem.
“I trust your journey here was pleasant enough?” Graeme asked, escorting the queen back to her throne. She sat with a flourish of skirts, and he turned to Melene. Greeting her with the same cheek kiss, he gave her hands a warm squeeze. “It is wonderful to see you, little sister.”
Melene grinned at him mischievously and flung her arms around him in a highly improper hug. “Mother’s being unfair. I am excited to meet your bride.”
Queen Lissane sniffed. “Of course you are. You’re fond of animals.”
He detangled himself from Melene’s enthusiastic embrace. He adored his younger sister, claiming her as family even though they bore no blood relation, but she took far too much delight in thumbing her nose at her mother’s sense of propriety. “I’m very pleased you’re both here.”
“Your father could not make it,” the queen said with a snap of her fan. She fluttered it near her face. “Court business.”
“A shame,” Graeme said politely, though he was not surprised. It would take a full-blown war to pull King Lucan out of Athon as of late, and Graeme had no intention of starting one. Besides, Vidara Castle was calmer and more pleasant without the king around.
“He’ll be joining us in time for the final celebration ball next moon,” the queen said, dashing Graeme’s hopes.
“I see. And how is my dear brother Velair?”
Melene rolled her eyes and moved to sit on a stool near her mother. There was no throne for her, and it made Graeme’s heart pang every time to see how she was treated. Perhaps he would request that Melene stay in the countryside with him. She had no love of court, and here, he could protect her a bit more from the harsh words and cruel looks sent her way. “Velair is his usual awful self,” Melene said. “Tell us a bit more about you and your new bride.”
“Neither of us is particularly thrilled with the union, but we will do as the Goddess bids,” he said mildly, even as his wound pulsed with pain. “We are strangers to each other, but in time, we shall grow into friendship.”
“You are the prince,” the queen said with a point of her fan. “Set her aside, if you are unhappy with it. Kill her if you must and marry a nice Athonite girl. Who’s your latest mistress? Lady Delune? She’s young enough to bear children. Marry her instead.”
Delune had been two mistresses ago, and she had prattled on annoyingly whenever he tried to read. “I realize that snubbing the wishes of the Goddess runs in the family, but I, for one, shall not. If it is decreed by the heavens, I will place my trust there.” And pray my bride does not try to kill me again, he thought wryly.
“But you cannot bring that creature back to Athon,” the queen said, her eyes wide. “What would we do with a Vidari girl at court?”
I do not intend to return to court for a very long time, if ever. He bit back the response and instead replied with, “I am sure we would manage splendidly.”
“Mother, really,” Melene said with a wrinkle of her nose. “This isn’t just any woman. He cannot do away with her. This is an Eterna. You know what that means.”
The queen scoffed. “A myth.”
“I saw the light with my own eyes,” Graeme said. And I feel our connection even now. Despite his rage, despite the pain in his ribs, he could not deny that he was drawn to Seri. That he wanted—no needed—something from her. “It is no myth.”
“Nevertheless, the Goddess must surely be mistaken.” Lissane shrugged her shoulders. “You should pray for her to choose someone more becoming for you.”
Melene bit her lip and looked at Graeme helplessly.
He gave the queen a stiff bow, holding back his irritation. “I shall go and do just that.” He extended an arm to Melene. “Will you join me, sister?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, leaping up from her chair.
“Send my ladies in,” the queen said. She moved her fan faster, a frown on her lined face. “And tell them to bring a fan bearer. By the Goddess, it’s hot in this heathen land.”
“Of course,” Graeme said, and quickly exited the room with Melene on his arm. He directed the women hovering outside the door into the dining area, and once they were gone, he exhaled deeply. The queen was . . . best in small doses. Feeling a bit freer, he turned to Melene. “I hope I’m not rushing you away.”
“Goddess, no,” she exclaimed. “You stayed in Mother’s presence longer than I expected. She’s becoming a bit more . . . abrupt with age.” Melene grimaced. “She actually didn’t want to come at all but the king made her. I think it was so he wouldn’t have to spend time with her.” She squeezed Graeme’s arm. “At any rate, I am overjoyed to be here.” She gestured at the stone halls of the castle. “This place is so interesting!”
“Isn’t it?” He relaxed, comforted by his sister’s easygoing presence. “The castle itself is very old, but parts of it were rebuilt to my specifications.”
Her eyes lit up. “Have you found any old trinkets left by the previous owners? Old pottery perhaps? Or metalwork? Coins?” Melene was known about court for her eccentric fascination with artifacts.
He chuckled. “I shall tell the men that if they excavate anything of interest in the courtyard or basement, they shall have to show it to you first.”
“That would be grand!” She chuckled, and they continued walking companionably for a moment longer before she glanced over at him. “You know, for a man who just married a wild girl, you don’t seem entirely unhappy.”
Considering his sister’s words, Graeme thought for a moment before answering. “I’m not unhappy. That the Goddess has chosen to give me an Eterna is mystifying, almost as much as the fact that she’s chosen Seri to be that woman. I’m not sure what it means for either of us.”
Melene nudged him. “And Seri? Are you unhappy with her?”
“Unhappy?” Graeme repeated, unsure how to respond. The answer to that, he supposed, would depend on whether she tried to kill him again.
When Seri awoke the next evening, Graeme wasn’t there. It suited her—she didn’t want to see him after last night’s devastating event. So she dressed, not really paying attention to the chatter of her maids, and headed out to the main courts, Idalla trailing behind her.
So lost in thought that it took her several minutes to notice something was amiss. Idalla attended her, but there was no sign of Kiane. Seri frowned and looked to her maidservant. “Where is Kiane?”
Idalla shrugged, fussing over the belt of Seri’s tunic. “I do not know, my lady. The lazy girl hasn’t been seen today.”
A frown touched Seri’s face. She hoped whatever Kiane was off doing hadn’t delayed her message to Rilen. A brief pang of guilt shot through her as she pictured her poor family. Poor Josdi and Father—she hadn’t had a chance to see them since this ridiculous marriage.
“Where is my husband this evening?” The words felt heavy on her lips.
<
br /> “He has ridden out, my lady, with the master at arms. They are visiting the local foreman to take assessment of the granaries and will not be back for several hours.” Idalla beamed a happy smile. “He took his man Viktor with him, which I thought rather odd. He normally only has Viktor accompany him if he’s ill.”
“Perhaps my husband is not feeling well,” Seri said, trying to duplicate Graeme’s serene, cold mask even as guilt washed over her once more. “In any case, when they’re back, I’d like to speak to them about bringing my family to the castle.” If she was to be trapped in this terrible, tension-inducing position as princesse, it would at least ease her mind to know Josdi and father were taken care of.
“For the final ball?” Idalla asked brightly.
“Yes, for the ball,” Seri lied. “I’m looking quite forward to it.” She wasn’t looking forward to it at all, actually, but she couldn’t tell her servant, Actually I’ve failed to kill my husband twice and now I’m stuck with him, so I might as well have my family here. The ball seemed as good an excuse as any, and at least it would be the final event in these ridiculous celebrations. “My sister will love attending a party.”
Idalla’s gap-toothed grin was wide. “It’s going to be a glorious ball, Princesse, wait and see. The cooks are already plotting intricate food sculptures, and the tailors have been swamped with orders for gowns. Instead of all of the women trying to win Graeme’s favor, I daresay they’re going to try and curry yours.”
Seri kept the smile on her face but her heart sank at the thought. She didn’t want to entertain a horde of Athonite ladies. She just wanted to be left alone. “You will take care of my family?”