by Anne Leonard
“How formal is it to be?”
“That’s where I can’t decide. Formal but not too formal, handsome but not artificial.”
“Of course,” Jenet said. “One of those.”
“One of those what?”
“Dinners. Where you’re not sure how it will go, so you want to look your best without him thinking that you care too much. And you won’t reveal the name of the gentleman yet, in case things go badly.”
Tam laughed. “Does this happen often here?”
“Oh yes. Every unmarried woman I know has a dress for such occasions. Men aren’t clear on what they want most of the time, so you have to have something ambiguous. Let’s see what we can find in your things.”
They spent more time than Tam had thought possible with her trying on dresses and Jenet commenting on them. She did not mind the time; it was raining again, and she needed a distraction. At last they selected something, and Tam sent Jenet on her way. That left only the problem of the acceptance.
She found plain paper of her own and wrote a brief formal reply. Then she went in search of one of the page boys who hung around everywhere like monkeys. They were not the common message boys who carried business between clerks or officials, but rather nobles’ sons supposedly learning the niceties of court, which made them privy to potent gossip. It was hard to choose between a younger one who was less likely to question it and an older one who was more likely to keep his mouth shut if appropriately bribed.
She finally opted for the latter. “I want you to take this to Prince Corin,” she said.
The boy looked her up and down and said, somewhat haughtily, “His Highness doesn’t read letters from people he doesn’t know.”
She said sweetly, “He knows me,” and unfolded his letter enough to show the signature, the simple name.
The boy looked at her again. She knew that she was perfectly decent, but it was obvious that he was trying to figure out how much respect she merited. The boy was surely old and wise enough in what he did to know about men, women, and what the prince wanted with whom. Perhaps she looked too respectable for a royal bedmate and he could not place her anywhere else. Perhaps he scorned her for being willing to go to the prince at all. Or was a note to Corin so very unusual and improper?
Even though the boy’s inspection irked her she knew she had better not show it, or she would gain the reputation of a social climber who thought that being Corin’s lover gave her royal status. Assuming of course that she did become his lover. But the boy owed her ordinary courtesy as a guest of the court.
She said, “I’m quite sure he will be pleased to receive this,” and saw the calculation on his face. If the prince were pleased with the message he would be pleased with the messenger. Next time she would find a younger boy. A little application of the stick seemed appropriate. “I would hate to have to tell him there was a problem.”
That did it. “I will take it right away,” he said, and bowed.
That evening, half an hour past the appointed time, Tam pulled her shawl a bit more tightly around her. She had been sitting for a while, and the air was getting colder as night came on. Rain had been falling in drips and drabs all day. A page—a polite one—had already come, “to offer His Highness’s deepest apologies, but he will be late,” and she was not sure how much longer she could bear the waiting. There was nothing to occupy herself with. She stood up; perhaps walking would warm her a bit, even if it was only back and forth across the hall. The shawl was a fine soft black velvet, edged with silk and patterned with flowers the precise color of her dress, which was an unadorned deep wine-colored gown with a low square neckline, slender waist, and full skirt. Her hair was up, but strands of it were already escaping the pins, and there was one tendril she kept having to sweep back over her ear. Her only jewelry was a simple gold necklace and gold earrings in the shape of a flower.
Her mood was swinging from excitement to anxiety, back and forth, making her fidgety. The hall was a marbled circle where several major passages intersected; there were stone benches and lush flowers and a fountain in the center. It had a high domed ceiling that she thought was lapis lazuli, with curving gold lines interwoven over the surface. The palace was a graceful and beautiful building, and she usually enjoyed looking at it, but not now. The lighting was the soft gold of the glowlamps, but even that she did not appreciate tonight.
Many people met one another here, because of its location, and there was nothing particularly unusual about one woman sitting alone in the early evening, waiting. She thought that was probably why Corin had chosen it, instead of having her escorted from her rooms. Occasionally someone walked through and glanced at her; for a short period a man across the room paced as he waited for someone himself. A cat sitting on the edge of the fountain looked at her as it dipped a paw into the water to drink. She petted it and was rewarded immediately with a loud purr before it jumped down and went about its own business. Mostly she was alone in the quiet. The clock had been striking the hour as she arrived; the half hour had just rung loudly in the empty hall.
It had been impossible to hide the fact that she was dining with someone from the other women in the wing, and she had not even tried. Two had offered to have their maids do her hair and face. Jenet was the only one who refrained from asking who the man was. Tam steadfastly refused to divulge the name of her Secret Lover. No one’s guesses were close, and several were quite comical, but to all of them but one Tam just said calmly, “That’s your guess.” She outright and with vigor denied that it was Lady Elwyn’s son, who was handsome enough but a braggart. When Tam had finally had as much as she could stand of Alina’s twittering, she said, “Oh, he’s just someone I met in the library,” which was certainly true but also entirely misleading. The women were going to be insufferable when they found out—if they found out—and she was already trying to think up a stash of fibs. She knew she was jumping far ahead of events, and she rebuked herself.
Alina lingered annoyingly. Tam had resolved to be nice, and even when Alina made a remark clearly designed to elicit jealousy about how charming and flirtatious the prince had been at dinner the night before, Tam kept her mouth shut and smiling. It was just a thrust in the dark at all the women, not a snub directed at Tam, and Tam had no fear she had been discovered. Nor did she have any concern that Corin cared at all for the girl; a man who would invite the woman who mocked him to dinner would have no interest in a burr like Alina. Jenet had been to the same meal, and when Alina was not looking she rolled her eyes.
And then at last she heard footsteps and turned, and he was coming toward her. He too was well dressed but not overly formal, black trousers and a deep blue open-collared shirt, with no signs of rank or wealth beyond the cut and quality of the clothing. He was more handsome than she remembered. Her eyes went to him and her hands wanted to. She took a few steps, and they met beside the fountain. She made only a shallow curtsy; if he needed full-fledged ceremony he would have tossed her out of the library at once when she ran into him and out of the palace entirely when she was rude. The etiquette of the entire situation was amusingly thorny; no book of protocols would say how one greeted the heir to the throne after jibing at him the day before.
“Tam,” he said. “If you will permit the informality. I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I only hope I’m worth it. You look far too lovely to be with such a lout.” His voice was pleasing, strong without being gruff or deep. She had been too flustered to notice it the day before. His eyes were a cool blue that probably changed color with his mood.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my lord,” she said, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt, hoping he could not see the blood rising in her ears. Why had she put her hair completely up?
He took her hand and brushed his lips gently over it. Her skin tingled at the touch. “Corin,” he said. “Please.”
It made her feel suddenly shy at the same time that it sent heat
to her stomach. She remembered a saying of her mother’s: Be careful what you ask for, you might receive it. There was a look in his eyes that told her if she did not want him to court her, she had better say so immediately. He was still holding her hand. Properly, reluctantly, she withdrew it.
He said, “I’ve made you wait too long for dinner too. Come with me.” He gestured her forward and stepped beside her. He was half a head or so taller than her, but he adjusted his stride to hers. Even though they were not touching, she was aware of his body close to hers, his easy strength and a gracefulness she was not used to seeing in men.
Feeling slightly awkward, she said, “May I ask where we’re going?”
“Just the Terrace Room. If I hadn’t been late we would have had a splendid view of the sunset, but otherwise it isn’t particularly notable. It’s simple and pleasant, that’s all. You don’t need to worry about any impropriety.”
The reassurance was touching, because it seemed to come from a much younger, more innocent man. Her usual response would have been to banter, but he deserved better than that. “Thank you,” she said, wondering if it meant she had mistaken his intentions in spite of everything else.
That question was answered almost immediately when they reached the stairs. They were wide, sweeping, very public stairs; two men were coming down, talking loudly about some other person they were unhappy with. Tam turned her head quickly away from them. Corin, entirely ignoring the men, took her arm in formal style to go upward; gentlemen did that on staircases. But he held her hand much longer than was necessary when he placed it on his forearm, and he looked at her with an intensity that seemed tremendously bold, especially in the presence of the other men. Oh yes, he was used to getting what he wanted. His shirt was silk and very soft. She was embarrassed to feel her heart quicken as happened in the dreadful novels that women like Alina adored. (Dear Tam, you simply must read this, he rescues her from ever so many things.) She dared not let herself fall in love.
He said her name, in the tone of someone who is repeating it. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I was thinking. It’s one of my faults.”
He made a sound that might have been suppressed laughter. “It’s quite all right, I was saying something banal about the architecture.”
“It’s very different from home. Dalrinia is cramped and shabby and the streets are all gnarls, everything is old and falling apart. It’s much more open here.” Of course the palace was different from her home, what an idiotic thing to say. She was babbling. She shut her mouth firmly.
“There are plenty of miserable crowded areas in the city,” he said. “There’s a lot you haven’t seen, and there are places you should never go alone. Don’t let grandeur seduce you.”
She thought there had been bitterness in his voice, and wondered at it. They were on the second flight of stairs now, and the lighting was dimmer, more shadowy. The marble was slick against the soles and heels of her shoes. No wonder women needed a man’s arm. As soon as she had that thought she, predictably, stumbled.
Corin caught her exactly as he had in the library and held her up. “Careful,” he said, when she was steady again. “You’re starting to make this into a habit.” His hand was still on her back.
“It’s my shoes,” she complained.
They both looked down at her foot in the thin black silk slipper. The throat was low, almost to her toes, and the skin on the top of her foot looked very white against the dark fabric. For a moment she felt exposed. Then it did not seem to belong to her but to some other woman. He was still looking at it too, and she glanced up quickly, meeting his unabashed eyes a second later. Neither of them said anything.
Another person’s voice and clicking footsteps came hollowly up the stairwell. She adjusted her hand on his arm and took a step up. Stepping with her, he said lightly, “No one has killed themselves falling down these stairs yet. I would hate for you to be the first.”
“That would be an unpleasant end to the evening,” Tam said. “Well, I promise you I shall not run, not even when the clock strikes twelve. I wouldn’t want you to have to try a shoe on the foot of every maiden in the kingdom.”
“There are fewer of those than is commonly thought,” he said, “it wouldn’t take long.”
“For shame to think that,” she said, attempting to sound stern and failing entirely.
This time he did laugh. It was a nice laugh, not too loud. They went on in silence, a comfortable one. They had reached that comfort quickly, but then, she was sure that he had spent most of his life learning how to control the way people felt around him. When they left the stairs at the top of the second flight he properly lowered his arm. Guards there came to attention; the prince did not appear to notice. Tam, Tam, what are you doing? she thought.
They went down a marble hallway illuminated with glowlamps. Her reflection was a faint ripple of color on the marble. Arched doorways were spaced evenly on either side. Some of the rooms they opened onto were dark, but in others there were lights and voices, music. A piano echoed eerily from somewhere. A few guards stood here and there along the corridor.
Corin stopped in front of one of the arches and looked in. There was gaslight on in the small room on the other side, dim, and two guards standing near the entrance. They both came crisply to attention. Their gaze seemed to linger on Tam longer than on Corin. She felt nervous and looked down. What would they think of her, what stories would they tell?
Corin motioned her into the antechamber and then through a set of double doors on one wall. Within, she recognized it as a room that she had been shown briefly when she arrived. It was rectangular, with glass doors on the west, the garden side. The doors opened onto a long clay-tiled balcony with slender curved arches of pale green stone supporting the roof. Fountain water cascaded down at the southern end from an open terrace above. The golden wood of the floor was covered with thick green rugs; there were three small tables near the glass doors and other chairs and a sofa arranged decorously in the back. Cina had told her, somewhat cursorily, that it was open to anyone (by which she meant courtiers) and could be reserved for private gatherings, a popular use. Nothing about it suggested a lover’s nook. It was neutral ground. If she reported having had dinner in the Terrace Room, no conclusions would be leaped to.
She glanced at him. He had been watching her, no doubt guessing what went through her mind. “Lucky for you it was available,” she said drily.
He shut one of the double doors. “In fact I did have to boot someone,” he said. “There will no doubt be great speculation about why, but I assure you the guards are sworn to secrecy and I am not known for trysting here.”
Are we trysting? she thought, but she was too shy to speak it.
He said something to the guards outside, and they laughed. They liked him, she realized. That augured well of his character and their silence.
Corin brought the second door almost to a close, the perfect combination of privacy and propriety. The middle table was already set. A cart was beside it with covered dishes and carafes of water and wine. A servant standing near the cart, probably guarding it against hungry interlopers, bowed and slipped out the door on the other side of the room almost immediately. That door Corin latched.
He pulled a chair out for her, and she sat down. The plates were gold-rimmed with the royal crest in the center. She was not sure what was supposed to happen next and was about to speak when he began messing with the dishes, lids off, lids on, a stir here, a poke there. When he was satisfied with that it was the lamps, which he adjusted until there was a warm circle of light around the table but the remainder of the room faded into darkness. He lit several candles on the table. They flickered violently as he arranged them, flame leaping astonishingly high before it settled. He reminded Tam of a dog trying to make itself comfortable before curling up and going to sleep. Nervousness was about the last thing she had expected from him.
�
��And now wine?” he asked, finally sitting down. “Or are you in an abstaining mood?”
She held up her goblet and he splashed wine from one of the carafes into it. Expecting it to be excellent, Tam sipped. She was not disappointed. When she put the glass down, he placed his hand over hers, stroked it lightly with the edge of his thumb, then drew back. Something that could only be desire quickened in her belly.
Both of them turned out to be hungry, and they ate steadily without much talking, though their eyes met continually. She had been a bit afraid it might be something too rich for her stomach, but it was simple enough food: soft bread, soup, tender duck with sauce, fresh greens. He knew what he was doing in alluring her. That everything was so carefully planned did not bother her—even if he did it for every woman he wanted, it was much nicer than the usual clumsy overtures or unappealing directness most men in her experience had used.
She finished before he did and spent her time looking at him, tracing his face in her mind, marking how his hands lay on the table, gauging the breadth of his shoulders. He was not just handsome but assured without even being aware of his own confidence. He was entirely himself.
He finished and put the plates and tableware onto the cart, which he wheeled into a corner. The wine and water he left out. Tapping the carafe, he said, “More wine?”
“Not yet, thank you,” she said. He had not drunk all his own. She thought it would be wise to match him.
“Have as much as you wish,” he said, looking at both glasses. “I swear not to take advantage of you.”
“I could say the same,” she said, with a slyness she had not known she was capable of.
He smiled slightly. “If it were just you I would drink to abandon and let you do as you wished. But we could be interrupted any minute by some fool who can’t wait until morning.”