by Jill Myles
Graeme paced his study impatiently, waiting. The king would have greeted them in his throne room, but Graeme would meet them as equals.
Four ragged looking men were escorted into his study, with seven fully armed guards accompanying them. Blood streamed from two of the men’s noses, and one wore a tunic with a torn shoulder. Still they all stood tall and straight—and they were all glaring at him.
One of the soldiers kicked a man with curly brown hair in the back of the leg. “Bow to the prince, filth—”
Graeme raised a hand, thinking of Seri in that ridiculous gold feather costume, refusing to bow to him. “It’s not necessary, thank you.”
The soldier nodded and bowed deeply. “My apologies, your grace.” He took a step back, but managed to jostle the Vidari man, scowling.
Graeme gestured at the large wooden table. “Would you like to sit? Something to drink, perhaps?”
“This isn’t a social call,” one of the men said, stepping forward. He was the oldest of the four, with gray flecked through his black hair. “We have demands.”
The prince arched an eyebrow. “You do?”
The man nodded and stepped forward. “First, we—”
“What is your name?” Graeme interrupted. He wanted to know who he was dealing with.
“So you can go after my wife and children?” The man spat on the floor.
“I have no intention of doing such a thing,” Graeme said coolly. “I simply prefer an address rather than ‘boy.’”
“Then you can call me Freedom.”
“Freedom works as well as anything else.” Graeme was not going to lose his temper with these men. In each sunbrowned face, he saw a bit of Seri.
Freedom glared at him again. “Will you listen to our demands?”
“I’ll listen. I make no guarantee of action. What is it you want?” In his experience, men who brashly pushed their way into his chambers wanted nothing he could grant. One concession would lead to more demands. Today he would just listen, then he’d send them away empty-handed until he devised a more amenable compromise.
“We want your troops off of our lands,” the Vidari said.
“Your farmlands?” Graeme asked.
Freedom’s lip curled. “All of the lands. We want you gone.”
Graeme leaned back in his chair. “These are no longer Vidari lands, and they haven’t been in any of your lifetimes. They belong to the Athonite crown.”
The Vidari man went on as if he had not heard Graeme. “And we want your unfair tax laws repealed. We want to be able to own houses in the city, instead of on the outskirts. We want your men to quit seizing our land as if we do not exist.” His fist clenched.
Graeme gave him a neutral stare. “Anything else?”
Another man stepped forward, with blazing green eyes and reddish hair. “We want you to free the Vidari woman you are holding captive.”
It was on the tip of Graeme’s tongue to protest that he held no woman captive. Then, a thought of Seri flashed through his mind again. Seri undressing. Seri with her arms locked around him and her throat under his teeth. Seri wielding the knife. A burst of possessive anger fired through his mind. “Do you mean my wife, sir?”
The man surged forward, as if to attack Graeme. Two guards stepped forward and grasped his arms. “You’re holding her prisoner,” he snarled, straining against the men. “She doesn’t want to be with you.”
Graeme narrowed his eyes at the man, taking in his strong body, browned face, and the bright eyes that stared at him in undisguised hatred. Was this the man Seri had been promised to? Another surge of fierce possessiveness washed over Graeme. “She was not unwilling when she invited me into her bed last night.”
The Vidari man snarled and leapt for Graeme once more. The soldiers held tight, and one of the Vidari men grabbed his compatriot as well.
“Monster,” the man cried. “Let her go!”
That was the second time he’d been called monster that day, and he’d had it. “We are done here,” Graeme said to the soldiers, his tone biting with anger. “Escort them out of the castle at once.”
“As you command, your grace,” the soldier said, and Graeme crossed his arms, silently furious as the group shuffled back out of the room, protesting and angry.
Graeme sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to tame the wave of jealous fury the green-eyed Vidari had incited in him. In spite of himself, his attachment to Seri had grown to an unhealthy level. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, mentally searching for her. But instead of the vague sense of misery he usually picked up from her, he caught a flick of joy. He smiled and stood.
He wanted to see it. To see what it looked like when she was happy. He left his study and headed for their room. Viktor and one of Seri’s servants were in the room, straightening things. They both stood when he arrived and then bowed low. “Where is my wife?”
Viktor cleared his throat. “Your sister took her to go riding, my lord. They left not too long ago. Shall I send someone out and call them back?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Graeme said. He reached for one of the tapestries that covered the windows and hissed as the rays of sunlight brushed over his fingers. It burned like fire. He took a step back, and then gestured at Viktor. “Open this.”
“Right away, my lord,” Viktor said, hurrying forward. He pushed aside the tapestry and tucked it under a wall hook.
Early morning sunlight flooded into the room, and Graeme immediately felt it sap his strength. He fought against the wave of nausea, squinting at the light, and stepped into the shadows. From there, he had a clear view of the outer courtyard. He could barely make out Seri and his sister down below. Seri wore a tunic made in the same cut as his own, and she was laughing as she tried to put a leg over the horse. Eventually, she managed, and then made a comment, gesturing at the height of the mount. He could feel a twinge of apprehension through their connection, swallowed by more laughter and joy.
And Graeme was stabbed with want. He wanted her laughter. Her joy. He wanted her.
The Vidari men had demanded he give Seri back. His Eterna. But Seri was a part of him now, deeply so, and he could no more give her back than he could give away his own arm.
“What about this pink petticoat, Princesse?”
Seri stifled her groan. With Kiane still out, a few new girls had been assigned to “assist” the princesse with her wardrobe, and they were driving her mad with their hovering. “No petticoats.”
“But . . .” the girl frowned. “Your skirts will be flat and unbecoming.”
“I would much rather wear a tunic and pants,” Seri said with a yawn. She’d skipped sleep and woken early that afternoon to go riding with Melene. Or rather, she’d gone riding with Melene and the twenty soldiers who followed them as an armed escort.
Idalla shook her head. She stood in front of where Seri was seated, weaving Seri’s hair into a braided coronet atop her head. “That won’t do for this ceremony, mistress. This is an important one.”
“Remind me which one this is.” The Athonites did love their pageantry. Seri could hardly keep it all straight.
“There is a feast held in the Goddess’s name, and all of the traditional foods are eaten. Once all sixteen courses are done, then everyone lights a candle and gives an offering at the Goddess’s altar. It’s very beautiful.”
It sounded very dull, just another night in an endless round of parties celebrating a wedding that she hadn’t wanted. “Then I’m not wearing a corset,” she grumped. “I won’t be able to fit into it if I have to eat that much.”
“Most of the traditional foods are very . . . bland.” Idalla slipped a pin into Seri’s hair. “You won’t want to fill up on them.”
They were to have sixteen courses of terrible food? Only Athonites would be so wasteful. She looked back at the wardrobe girls and stifled a cutting remark a
s she saw them retrieve a golden gown and three petticoats. This evening was going to be torture.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a surge of amusement. Curious, she glanced at the door and saw Graeme standing there, leaning against the thick wood. He was watching her get her hair done as she sat in her dressing gown.
A thousand angry retorts dropped from her mind. There was a hint of a smile on his face and she felt his amusement. That threw her. Should she say hello? Ignore him? Lash out at him? She thought for a moment, then said, “Don’t tell me. At the end of the evening, we’re going to go outside and watch the grass grow, and then we shall all meditate on which blade of grass is longer.”
He gave a wry snort and stepped forward into the room. The ladies squealed and hustled out of the room, dresses in hand, and Idalla patted Seri’s hair and moved away, making herself busy at the far side of the chamber to give them privacy. She straightened on the stool and clasped her dressing gown tighter around her neck, hiding the bites and bruises he’d left there.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.
“I sensed your unhappiness,” Graeme said, and moved to stand in front of her stool. Then, he offered her his arm.
She frowned at it and then looked up at him.
“We are going to escape the evening’s ceremonies. You have a headache, and I am tending to your needs.”
She didn’t hate the idea. Standing, Seri looped her arm through his. “Why does it have to be me that has the headache?”
He laughed then, and the sound surprised her with its purity. For a moment, her breath was taken away at the sight of him, all tall, pale, beautiful prince with dark eyes that sparkled, and his dark hair that made her fingers itch to touch it. “Very well,” he said. “I shall have the headache and you can be my nursemaid.”
“Better.” She dithered, though. “But they will think . . .”
“They will think that anyhow.”
Her cheeks flushed. So they would. She squeezed his arm. “Do I need to dress?”
“It depends on where we are going,” Graeme told her. “Pick somewhere.”
“Someplace private,” she said, seeing the door open a crack out of the corner of her eye and the maids peering in. “Someplace no one will bother us.”
“I know just the place,” he said, placing a hand over hers. His fingers felt warm and the flush traveled through her body.
“I’ll make your excuses,” Idalla said with a quick bow. “Shall I bring you food? To wherever you are going?”
Graeme gave her a crisp nod. “Something for my wife. Have it brought to my study.”
“We won’t be bothered there?” she asked, thinking of how easily she’d let herself in.
“Not unless I wish it,” Graeme said, and led her out of their chambers.
They took a different route to his rooms than Seri remembered, but he assured her they would run into fewer people if they went down less popular halls. Two guardsmen waited at the door, and both bowed as they passed them. If they noticed Seri was still in her dressing gown, they didn’t show it. Her cheeks felt warm with embarrassment.
“I’m not fond of court,” he said bluntly. “In fact, I was looking forward to coming to these lands in the hopes that the courtiers would eventually return to Athon and cease bothering me. Until that happens, I tend to spend a lot of time here.” He gestured at the book-filled room. “I enjoy my studies. You’re welcome here at any time, of course.”
She held the collar of her dress shut as she walked the length of the room. Shelf upon shelf held leather-bound books that were no doubt worth a small fortune. A table held oddities she’d never seen before—a long brass scope of some kind. A circular map on a stand that looked like a ball. Strange instruments made of metal that she didn’t recognize.
And over this all, the portrait of the cruel man stared down at them.
She moved toward it, staring. Now that she looked again, the man in the picture was eerily similar to Graeme. If it wasn’t for the longer hair and the cruel set of his mouth, the man in the portrait could be her husband. “This is your father?”
“King Lucan,” he said in a dry voice. “Long may he reign.”
That didn’t sound reassuring. “And he is in Athon?”
“I’m told he might show up for our celebration ball to end our wedding festivities, but who knows.” He shrugged. “I rather hope he doesn’t.”
“I see,” Seri said quietly, wondering exactly what happened between son and father. She couldn’t imagine being so cold to Father or Josdi.
“I’m upsetting you. My apologies.”
“No, it’s not that,” she assured him. “I just miss my own family. I’ve sent for them to stay here with us at the castle.”
“Well, I’d like to meet them when they arrive.” Graeme gestured to the shelves behind him. “For now, is there anything you’d like to see here? Any books you are interested in?”
Embarrassment flooded through her. “Prince—”
“Graeme,” he corrected.
“Graeme,” she repeated, and felt his pleasure through their joined emotions. So much joy at her saying his name? It made her body react to his presence, and she felt the blush return to her cheeks. It seemed she was always blushing in his presence. “I cannot read nor write. Vidari children are not allowed at the city schools. Besides, we are needed at home to help with the fields.”
“Ah,” he said demurely. He glanced around, looking anywhere but at her. “I enjoy reading.”
His discomfort was charming, for some reason. She found herself smiling at his awkward expression. “I should like to learn.”
That brought a smile to his stern face, and she had to suck in a breath at how handsome he was. In that moment, he was nothing like the cruel man in the portrait. “I would love to teach you.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, and heat rose within her chest. By the four gods, he was beautiful.
A soft knock came at the door and the moment was broken. He glanced at the door, then cleared his throat. “Enter.”
Idalla bustled in, holding a tray. “Your grace, my lady,” she greeted, heading for the large wooden table in the center of the room. “I’ve brought a few different things from the kitchen: a fine stew, some biscuits, and those sweet rolls that you like so much, Seri. And some hot tea, because we should all like tea, shouldn’t we?” She set down two embroidered napkins and a few delicate plates. “There we go. I shall make myself scarce unless you require anything else.”
“That will be all,” Graeme said.
Idalla bowed and raced back out the door, shutting it behind her.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them.
“Please,” Graeme said, and gestured at the food.
“Will you eat?” Seri asked, moving toward the setup that Idalla had left.
“That depends entirely upon you,” he said in a grave voice, pulling her chair out for her.
Oh. Now she was truly blushing. Seri placed the napkin in her lap as she had seen the court ladies do, though it seemed silly considering she was still in her dressing gown. She took a sip of the hot tea and tore off a bite of one of the sugared buns that were such a delicacy. There was no fire in the room, so she set it aside to put on her altar later.
Graeme sat next to her, watching her eat. He was quiet, and their connection was a low, easy hum between them. It relaxed her and after a few bites, she offered him some food. “Can you try it? It’s very good and there’s far too much here for me.”
He shook his head and declined. “I will simply watch you.”
That made her shy, and she picked at the food for a bit. “At least talk to me so I don’t feel so strange.”
“Tell me more about the Vidari, then.” He propped an elbow up on the table, watching her. “Tell me more about your people.”
> “What do you want to know?” she asked, taking a bite of chicken. “About the gods, maybe?” Everyone always seemed to ask about their religion.
“About war,” he said, surprising her. An uneasy thread bloomed in their connection.
“War?” She swallowed hard and then took a sip of tea to wet her throat.
“Tell me why your people are so ready to fight instead of talk.”
Her stomach sank and she pushed the food away. “Because the laws are unfair. We aren’t treated the same as the Athonites.”
“Tell me more. I don’t know enough about this land or its people. Everything I know is written in Athonite books by Athonite hands. Explain to me what is unfair.”
She studied him for a long moment, wondering if it was a trap of some kind. She could sense nothing, so she began to talk. She told him of the laws, of the unfair taxes, the people killed for petty grievances. The inability to worship as they wanted, the theft of property, every horrible thing she could imagine. She told him of Kasmar hanging from the gate, and was gratified when he blanched.
“I’ll have him removed immediately. I didn’t know. I thought he was a criminal.”
“His only crime was being Vidari,” she said softly.
“And if it is discovered that he truly committed a crime worth hanging for?”
Her eyes narrowed. “He didn’t.”
“You sound so sure.” Graeme tilted his head. “Can Vidari not commit crimes like Athonites?”
“Now you’re baiting me,” she said, throwing her napkin on the table and standing. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I—”
“Wait,” he said, grabbing her before she could leave. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to needle you.”
“Then why won’t you believe me when I say that he was innocent?” She hoped he felt her anger and frustration.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said, brushing a lock of her hair off of her shoulder. His gaze went there, and she saw that her collar had fallen open, revealing her neck. “It’s that I must learn for myself in order to be a good ruler. Do you understand?”