by Cat Marsters
“Beyla and Eithne would absolutely love to—”
“No,” Kett said, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. “No. Thanks. I’m fine.”
Of course Nuala couldn’t possibly leave it at that, and eventually Kett gave in and allowed her stepmother to dab some goop at her face, do something fancy with her hair and try to persuade her to wear some jewelry.
“Didn’t we talk about pushing it?” she snapped eventually.
Nuala raised her hands in defeat. “All right,” she said, and for some reason she was smiling. She backed away. “I’ll see you downstairs. People are already arriving.”
Kett stared at her. “You haven’t even changed yet!”
“I can be remarkably quick.”
“And your maid—”
“Laid everything out for me before she went. Your father will help me.”
Kett’s mind boggled at the thought of her dissolute father helping to put a woman’s clothes on. “But the guests—”
“Your sisters are taking care of them. They have done so the last few years.” Nuala grinned. “Despite what your father thinks, they’re quite grown-up now.” She gave Kett one last look, glanced wistfully at the silver shoes and smiled. “You look lovely.”
“I’ve never looked lovely in my life,” Kett grumped.
“Well, you do now.” Nuala stood up on tiptoe and kissed Kett’s cheek. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Kett stared after her, stunned. No one had ever kissed her cheek. Not her sisters, not her father, not any friends and certainly not any lovers.
Great gods in heaven, she put on a dress and people started treating her like a…like a lady or something.
She’d have to put the balance right.
Chapter Nine
Walking with all this silk billowing around her was kind of annoying. But at the same time, it did feel nice against her skin. Kett made a face as she stomped down the corridor. Any minute now she was going to start wearing things with bows.
One of the elegant dogs that usually followed her sisters around trotted toward her and she halted it, checking the tag on its collar.
“Kett II,” she read. They’d started calling their pets Kett years ago, after Kett had changed her shape to match that of Eithne’s pony in an ill-conceived attempt to impress her infant siblings. Since then, there’d always been at least one pet named after her. “You poor sod,” she told the dog, who gave her the sort of big-eyed, mournful look only dogs can and slunk away.
There was music coming from the ballroom at the rear of the house and people spilling out into the lobby. Last night the servants had put up huge wreaths of yew and vitalweed, and the semi-sentient flowers swayed gently to the music. Huge candles and gas lamps were everywhere, making the lobby and everyone within it glow beautifully with a sort of kaleidoscope of color—
Kett peered closer. Bobbing around the living flower arrangements were an assortment of faeries, their bright auras glowing, making little rainbows as they danced. It figured that her stepmother had actually invited the little buggers. She probably had faery-sized food and drink laid out for them.
She recognized a few faces, tried to avoid them as she descended the stairs in a flurry of silk. But she couldn’t avoid Beyla, who rushed over to her at the foot of the steps, exclaiming, “Kett, you look beautiful!”
People turned to look. Kett winced.
“Cheers,” she said. Beyla was wearing something satiny in dark green, surprisingly sophisticated, reminding Kett again that her half-sisters were not little girls anymore.
“Kett, I wanted to catch you before you went in. Eithne’s invited Verrick—her boyfriend,” she clarified, when Kett gave her a blank look. “And you know Papa has some ridiculous problem with him.”
“And yet he likes Bael,” Kett said. “The mind boggles.”
“Bael is lovely,” Beyla said, and Kett started to wonder if insanity was hereditary. “And Papa seems to think we’re both little girls who can’t take care of ourselves.” For a moment, her pretty face clouded with the sort of scowl her father had perfected. Then it cleared as she spotted someone over Kett’s shoulder. “Oh, doesn’t Lucidia look lovely? She so suits being a blonde. But listen, Kett, if you see Eithne and Verrick together, try to keep Papa away from them.”
“I don’t even know what this Verrick looks like,” Kett said, but her sister was already moving away to greet the lovely Lucidia and her newly blonde hair.
“Whatever,” Kett said, and started toward the crowded ballroom. It was thick with people and scents, candles and perfume and flowers, and for a moment she reeled, because she hadn’t been in such a crowd for a long time.
Then she squared her shoulders. Don’t be pathetic, Kett. You’ve faced less pleasant things than this.
Not many, though.
“Lady Kett Almet–Cooper of Nirya,” announced the hired emcee, to whom Kett delivered a look that made him shrink about four inches. Lady was bad enough, but Cooper?
“I divorced that twat years ago,” she muttered, and stalked onward.
The noise was overwhelming, a babble of voices and music and people laughing, and everywhere she looked there were unfamiliar faces topping ridiculous confections of silk and velvet. There appeared to be, in some corners of society, a fashion for powdered wigs, feathers and beads in the hair. The people wearing them looked ridiculous, but it was Kett’s opinion that most people following fashion did.
She scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Beyla was still in the lobby, being a hostess. Eithne was doing the same with a group of bewigged women who looked like they had cobwebs on their heads.
She spotted Tane, being a terrible host but a great flirt, talking to a very pretty girl over by the windows. No help there.
There was Nuala’s brother, the king, looking very regal, but what the hell did she have to say to him? A few feet away stood his daughter and heir, Jalen, looking as bored as Kett was and as beautiful as she wasn’t. If all else failed, she could always go over and ask Jalen what sharp pointy things she’d been given for Yule.
Besides, she had a bottle of wine in one hand.
But before she got there, Jalen’s miscreant boyfriend slunk up to her and kissed the back of her neck, making the princess jump and spill her wine. Kett backed away, having absolutely no desire to get in the middle of a domestic.
The noise, the heat, the clashing perfumes and all the deeply unpleasant people were giving her a hell of a headache. This is why I never come, she reminded herself, pushing through the crowds, more irritated with each step.
As she passed the small door leading to the minstrel’s gallery, it opened and a dozen men and women in clothes much too expensive for them trooped out. Nuala strikes again, Kett thought. She probably saw their regular performance outfits and cried. How her stepmother had any money left was beyond Kett.
Oh yes. Her brother was the king. And it wouldn’t really surprise Kett if her father was doing a little light highwaymanning on the side for fun.
Making a quick decision, she ducked through the little door and up the stairs to the rather spacious balcony, now filled with cellos and drums and other things she didn’t really understand.
Up here it was cooler, which made no sense until she saw the open window high in the corner. It was also quieter and, praise gods, significantly emptier. Kett leaned against the wall, far back in the alcove, and massaged her temples.
How did I do this? she wondered. How did I deal with the crowds, the people, the noise? Time was, she’d spent every night in taverns far busier and smellier than this ballroom, and she’d loved it.
Hadn’t she?
I need a smoke, she thought, depressed, and wondered if Nuala would have her shot for lighting up in the ballroom. Then she remembered her cigars were in her room, and scowled.
Moving forward, she leaned over the balustrade to survey the room below. If she didn’t see someone she knew and liked in the next five minutes, she was returning to her room. Since she only knew
about a dozen people likely to be invited, and liked less than half of them, Kett didn’t figure she was going to have to stay long.
Then footsteps sounded behind her and she turned, expecting to see the musicians but finding Bael instead, wearing something dark and tailored that made him look far more civilized than she knew he was.
“That,” he said, staring at her, “is a great dress.”
Kett looked down at it doubtfully. “It’s not really…” She waved her hand. “Me.”
“No, it isn’t.” Bael stepped toward her, and he smelled fantastic. “It doesn’t do you justice.”
Kett opened her mouth to tell him he was talking bullshit, but he ran his finger along her exposed collarbone and she lost her breath.
“Lady Kett Almet–Cooper of Nirya?” he asked, and she scowled. “That’s a lot of names.”
Actually, the emcee had—mercifully—missed a couple. “Kett Almet does me fine,” she said.
“Does me fine too,” Bael said, stroking the pulse in her neck.
“Funny,” she tried to snap, but it came out as a squeak.
“You look incredible,” he said, his eyes dark on hers.
“I thought I looked very credible,” she breathed.
“Nope. I’m finding you hard to believe,” Bael said, skimming his hand down her arm, over her bare back and pulling her closer to him. “I think I need to check that you’re real.”
“Okay, that’s a terrible line,” Kett said, and he grinned.
“Did it work?”
“No.” Yes.
His lips brushed hers. “Liar.”
The soft, silky fabric of his suit whispered against her skin, and Kett found herself winding her arms around his neck just to feel more of it. What have I been missing? she wondered, as Bael leaned in and licked her collarbone. All this silk, it’s amazing. I’ve never been turned on by fabric before.
But then, she’d never necked with someone while wearing a ball gown before, either.
He backed her against the balustrade and kissed her, running his hands over her bare back, and Kett experienced for the first time the whisper of silk over hardened nipples. She thrust out her breasts, trying to get more of that lovely soft slide of fabric, pushing herself against Bael and loving the pressure of his hard chest through the delicate silk.
“I could fuck you right here,” Bael said against her mouth, and Kett was hit with a rush of lust so strong she had to hold on to him to keep from toppling backward over the balustrade.
“I could let you,” she whispered back, and he pulled back half an inch and looked at her, his eyes really dark.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he said, his hand covering her breast, and the heat of it felt so good Kett closed her eyes.
“I mean it,” she said, and Bael groaned and turned her around in his arms, pressed her against the balustrade and leaned into her from behind. The rail was waist-high, standing on struts so thickly woven with ivy and ribbons and moving flowers that from the ballroom floor, no one could see through it.
So no one could see as Bael slid his hand under the silk at her side and caressed her stomach, dipping lower with each stroke but not quite touching the curls Kett knew were already wet. His lips were hot on her neck, his free hand brushing aside tendrils of hair as he found the spot below her jaw that made her gasp and arch her back. And as she did, she felt his erection pressing against her, thick and hard between her buttocks.
Her breath came faster. “Bael,” she gasped, and tried to move his hand lower, where she needed it.
But he pushed her fingers back to the balustrade, murmuring in her ear, “Hold on, sweetheart. If anyone looks up they’ll just see us enjoying the view.”
All those people down there. For some reason that made Kett even hotter, and she sucked in a breath, her hands clutching the marble of the balcony. When Bael’s fingers finally slipped between her legs, she bit her lip to stifle a cry.
“If anyone looks up,” she panted, “they’re going to see me really enjoying the view.”
Bael’s chuckle vibrated through her, and her head rolled back to give him better access to her neck. His clever fingers slid between her slippery folds, stroking and rubbing, just the right kind of pressure to make her gasp and push her hips back against him. His other hand rested on hers, fingers entwined as she gripped the cool marble and writhed, eyes half-closed. His fingers circled her clit, stroked gently on either side then pressed down on it, and Kett whimpered.
“That’s it,” Bael whispered. “Come for me, Kett.”
Her fingers curled into her palm, nails digging in. Stars danced before her eyes and her breath caught in her throat as the pressure built higher and higher…
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Bael said, and she broke, convulsing in his arms, letting out a cry he stifled with his own mouth. His fingers kept on caressing her, his free arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady as she fell apart, and Kett abandoned the balustrade to cling to him, his body rock-solid against her back.
When she finally came back down to earth, she felt him moving behind her, lifting her skirt, freeing himself, and she braced her hands on the balcony again, waiting for him to fill her up, wanting to be taken hard and fast up here, in public, where anyone could see—
Someone screamed outside, the sound coming in through the high window, and Kett’s head snapped in that direction.
“Your parents keep peacocks?” Bael asked, his voice tense.
“No,” Kett said, and she glanced back at him. He was staring at the window too. Not for the first time since she’d woken up in that cave, Kett wished she could tune into the supersonic hearing or night vision her various shapes allowed her.
“It’ll just be—” Bael began, and then the scream came again, a woman crying “No!”, and Kett wanted to kill someone.
* * * * *
The ballroom below was so thick with noise, no one else would have heard the scream.
“Hell,” Kett said, and twisted away from Bael, yanking down her skirt and turning to the stairs. But the minstrels, gods damn them, chose that minute to come back up, all of them, choking the staircase. “Damn and bloody fuck,” Kett snapped, as a rather cruel male laugh sounded from outside.
“What are you—” Bael began, as Kett grabbed the railing, fighting off the moving vitalweed, and judged the distance to the ground. “There are plenty of people here who could help.”
“Yeah? Then why aren’t they?”
With that, she leapt over the balustrade, swung out into the air and grabbed the tottering decorations as they started to fall. With a tear, the entwined boughs and ribbons gave way, and Kett jumped the last few feet to the floor, her boots thudding on the polished wood, faeries scattering around her in a blinding arc of color.
People stared, and Kett remembered belatedly that she was naked under her dress. And also that ancient leather work boots didn’t exactly go with ball gowns.
The hell with it. “Get out of my way!” she snarled, and people moved, because people generally tended to move when Kett was in a bad mood.
Wrenching open one of the tall doors to the terrace, she strode out and saw nothing. But then that taunting snigger came again from the lawn below the terrace, and she took a running leap over the low wall onto the grass, freefalling a dozen feet as the ground dropped away. She ducked into a shoulder roll as she hit the ground, coming up facing the three youths who had one pretty girl cornered in the darkness.
“What the fuck?” one of them cursed, staring at her. The girl, tears glistening in the moonlight, gave Kett a pleading look, and she realized it was the girl Tane had been chatting up earlier.
“I don’t think she wants to play,” Kett said, cursing her lack of weaponry.
“Oh, I think she does,” said the tallest of the boys, grabbing the girl’s breast. Her dress was torn and, as Kett’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw scratches on her flesh, and then the glint of metal as a second boy drew his swor
d.
“And you’re gonna play too,” he said.
Right then, Kett would have given anything to turn herself into a big cat and play with them, but she contented herself with a snarl instead.
“Run,” said the girl, her voice shaky with tears. “Don’t let them—”
The tall boy slapped her and Kett saw red. Grabbing his upraised arm, she twisted hard and it snapped. The kid let out a scream, his friends froze and Kett felt her lips curl in a smile.
She’d heard those taunts and sniggers before. Maybe not from these boys, but she’d heard them.
It hadn’t ended well then either.
“You will shut up,” she said, “and you will listen to me. What’s your name?”
“I don’t have to—” Kett twisted his arm and his face went white. “Willifus—the Honorable Willifus Flherik Lochmarne-Lochmarne-d’Athinisha.”
“What a fucking stupid name,” Kett said, trying not to snort at “honorable”.
“You broke my arm!”
“Yep, and I’ll break a lot more if you don’t do what I say.”
“My father will hear of this!”
“I bloody hope so.”
The boy with the sword rounded on her, and she tensed to ward him off—this was going to hurt—when he suddenly stopped dead, sword in the air.
And Kett became aware of a low growl.
“Nice doggy,” said the third boy, who was holding the girl’s hands behind her back. Using her as a shield, Kett realized, the bloody coward. She turned to snap at Kett II to get the hell out of there when she realized it wasn’t her sisters’ dog, but a rather large wolf. Growling.
Her mind raced. It couldn’t be Bael. He just wasn’t wolf material. Were there any other shifters at the party? Another Nasc? She knew the Empress of Zemlya turned into a wolf when it got dark, but she didn’t think any of the Zemlyan contingent were present—
“You can’t keep a dog like that untethered,” said Willifus, who clearly had the brains of a dead flower. “My father—”
“Look, kid, your father named you Willifus, clearly he hates you,” Kett said. “And that ain’t a dog.”