by Maisey Yates
It was why he kept striking out at her.
“Not a day sooner than necessary,” she said.
“Get your sleep. Tomorrow you have yet more manners to learn.”
“Will you make your best effort at getting me to bite you again?”
“No. Tomorrow I’m going to teach you to dance.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FIRST, THEY HAD cut her hair. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a haircut. For years she had allowed it to grow, hanging thick and curling past her waist, restrained most commonly by a braid. The palace stylist had taken it up to the middle of her back. It felt strange. A weight removed she hadn’t been aware she’d been carrying.
After that, they had done her makeup. Entirely different from the way she had been taught to apply her own. But the woman had dusted the corners of Zara’s eyes with gold powder, after rimming them in black, giving a different twist to the look Zara was accustomed to. A sort of marriage between Tirimian standards of beauty and those here in Petras.
Her gown, the third piece of her early-morning makeover, was another example of that.
Unlike the frothy confection she had worn yesterday, this gown was sleek, hugging her curves. Gold beadwork stitched onto filmy fabric that ended at her knees, turning to sheer netting past that point that was also made to glitter with the same golden details.
Her newly cut hair had been styled into glossy waves. She had never imagined her hair could look quite like this. Usually it looked much more...natural. Rough-hewn. Usually she looked much more rough-hewn.
She had the distinct feeling Andres would see it as a victory.
The thought would have irritated her more if she weren’t so fascinated by her own reflection. Sadly she didn’t have very long to linger over the stranger in the mirror. She had to go down to the ballroom because Andres was intent on teaching her to dance.
Just thinking of him made her stomach tighten, and the feeling only increased as she made her way down the stairs, down the corridor that would lead her to the ballroom. In theory. She had never been in the palace’s ballroom before. She had been given rather simple directions, and since she could easily find her way through a forest, she imagined she could navigate her way through a castle.
She paused at the ornate double doors that separated the corridor from the room, and her, presumably, from Andres. This was her last moment to take a breath of air before he was standing in front of her, tightening her lungs.
She breathed in deeply, then took a step forward, grabbing hold of the handle and pulling, the heavy door giving slowly. She slipped through the open space and stopped, taking in the grand sight before her. The ceiling was high, domed, with beautiful, detailed paintings stretching over the width of the room. The walls were papered a pale blue with crushed velvet flowers, each segment of wall divided by golden molding.
She would blend in with these surroundings. A strange thought. But it was true. Now she looked as though she belonged here. Felt as though she might. She was born to this. Would have lived in it if not for the men who’d overthrown her father.
This would have been her birthright. And in reality, she would very likely have been sent to marry a prince. A prince like Andres.
This could have been her fate no matter what. To be here. To be with him. Set to be his wife. Such a strange thought. But comforting in some ways. Was this what her parents would have planned for her? They certainly wouldn’t have wanted her to stay in the woods for the rest of her life.
She had been... She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It smelled familiar here. Of ancient stone and wood. A palace. It reminded her of her home. Her first home. Of her parents and how they had cared for her.
They had loved her. So very much. This was the sort of life they had wanted for her. The woman she was now, in the dress she currently wore, was what they would have wanted her to be.
Had she been brought up in the palace, she would be tamed already rather than being something he saw as a feral animal.
Zara swallowed. She should not care about that. What he thought of her. She wasn’t actually going to marry him. She would find a way out of this. Find a way to make it work for everyone.
She was not ready to be married. Least of all to a man who had as little choice in the matter as she did.
She had been forced into too many things. Had been forced on too many people. Was it such a bad thing to wish she could be chosen?
She shook off the thought, walking deeper into the room. It was silly to worry about things like that. Being chosen, and wanted. Those were luxuries for people who didn’t have to worry about survival, or about duty.
It would not have fit into either versions of her life.
Andres chose that moment to walk in the doors opposite her. She would have expected to be used to him by now. Would have thought that every time she saw him the impact of his appearance would lessen. If anything, she felt it harder, deeper, every time she saw him. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and she could have almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Her in a ball gown, him in a suit, so early in the day, in an empty ballroom. Two strangers who were being ordered to marry each other, neither of whom wanted to.
She would have laughed, but she couldn’t possibly. Not when she could scarcely even take a breath. If she had felt tense at the mere thought of seeing Andres, then actually seeing him ratcheted her tension up to impossible degrees. She couldn’t figure out why. Yes, he was handsome, but she had no interest in being touched by him. Being kissed by him. Or any of those other things.
She had never much minded being innocent for her age. A side effect of being kept separate from everyone else was most certainly innocence. There had been no boys to hold her hand, kiss her, during her teenage years. There had been no one to talk to her about relationships. Everything she knew she had gathered by listening and observing. And that—up until now—had been enough. Now she felt out of her depth. Confused and, worst of all, curious. Curious about what it would be like if he made good on any of his threats. Curious about what he looked like beneath those suits. Beneath that facade he wore so casually and easily she doubted most people recognized it as such. But she did. She knew what it was like to put a veneer over everything you were. To keep your manner calm, unshakable, while underneath a storm raged.
They were so very different, and yet she could see reflections of herself in his dark eyes. It made no sense. It made even less sense than her fascination with him. It should be fear. She could not deny that her feelings were certainly tinged with it, but that wasn’t all of it.
Yes, it was the curiosity that disturbed her the most. If she had even a few more answers to her questions, perhaps it would not be. If she had been with a man before, or at least been kissed by one, then perhaps she wouldn’t be so fascinated by the shape of his mouth. Perhaps she wouldn’t have so many questions about whether or not it would be as hot, firm, certain, as it looked.
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers. And he stopped. Froze, right there in the middle of the room, staring at her as though she were a foreign entity.
“You’ve cut your hair,” he said.
She reached up, touching the silken length. “Well, I didn’t.”
“The stylist did.”
“Yes.” She flicked the dark curl over her shoulder. “Am I not tame?”
He tilted his head to the side. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you come closer and I’ll try to assess for myself?”
She found herself obeying, moving toward him warily, not quite sure why.
Perhaps it was all to do with lulling him into a false sense of security. Getting him to trust her. Yes, that was likely the reason. It had nothing to do with the tightness in her stomach, the pressure on her lungs, the dry feeling in her throat. Had nothing to do with the deadly beauty he possessed. Like a rugged landscape that beckoned you to explore, while waiting to swallow you whole.
None of that mattered. It meant nothing. It was only that fighting
the entire way wouldn’t help her cause, so there was no purpose in it. She had to wait and strike when it counted. So she would obey. But only for now.
It was his turn to touch her hair. He reached out slowly, and she could do nothing more than watch as he reached for her as he rubbed his thumb over the dark, silken locks. He said nothing; he only stared.
She wanted to ask if he liked it, but she realized that she shouldn’t care whether he liked it or not. She didn’t need him to find her beautiful; she needed him to find her sympathetic. It would probably work to her advantage if he didn’t find her beautiful.
No matter how compelling he was, no matter how handsome, it didn’t change what he was. He had told her in no uncertain terms. He had betrayed his brother. Not out of any real need, or great affection and love for the woman in question. Just because he could. Just because he lived to please himself. That, more than anything, should repel her. Should make his opinion on her appearance moot.
When she thought of her mother and father, of what they’d done with their positions, the changes they had died for...it should make him repellent. That he had such power and did nothing with it.
It didn’t.
How disappointing to discover that she was as vulnerable to this kind of thing as any other woman.
Suddenly, he changed their positions, wrapping his arm around her waist and taking hold of her hand with his. “We’re here to dance,” he said. “Do you know how?”
She knew that he had asked a question, and that the question required a response, but she couldn’t seem to cobble one together. He was strong. She had known that. He had plucked her out of the bathtub and carried her across the room as though she weighed nothing. Still, she had forgotten somehow. Or she hadn’t fully realized. Or perhaps the memory simply couldn’t do it justice.
He was strong, yes, but the true test of that was the way he held her without crushing her. Firm, but gentle. She could feel the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his suit, had a sense for the hard muscle beneath. So much only hinted at. Another piece of evidence to support her theory that he was hiding his real self beneath a mask.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he said.
She obeyed again, because that was easier than trying to form words and actually figure out how to speak them. She felt every inch the creature he had accused her of being on multiple occasions. Completely ill-equipped to handle interaction with a man. As though she really had been raised by wolves and not just by a family who had a simpler lifestyle.
“You don’t know how to dance,” he said, answering his earlier question for her.
She shook her head, trying not to focus on the places where his hands were making contact. The way his fingers were laced through hers, the way his palm rested on her lower back. This didn’t feel as if she was going along with it simply to keep him sweet. This felt like something else. It was confusing. Terrifying.
It couldn’t happen.
Attraction had no place in any of this. It had no place in her life, not until she figured out what she wanted her life to look like. How could she even begin to answer that question until she got to know herself better? For some reason, standing in the center of this ballroom, held tightly in his arms, she was so acutely aware of how thin her life experiences had been until now. Every single thing was tied to her title. A title she had never been able to claim or use.
But oh, how she had suffered for it. The realization should feel...desolate. But for some reason, standing there in his arms, it was cushioned. Perhaps because someone was finally touching her. She finally felt connected. And so she asked him.
“Do you like my hair?” She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face in case she caught him in a lie.
“Yes,” he said, the answer slow, cautious. “Though I quite liked it before. There is something captivating about the wilder aspects you carry, I must confess.”
She couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him now. He was still holding her, neither of them moving. This was no way to conduct a dance lesson, and yet she found she wasn’t interested in discontinuing the conversation. “What do you like about my wildness?”
“You are fierce. You fight. I can’t help being compelled by that. You are everything you feel, rather than being what others should see. How can I not be intrigued by that?”
“Because you can only be what is acceptable?”
“Because I’m surrounded by people who behave themselves.” It was a deflection, she was aware. He didn’t deny her accusation, but he didn’t admit to it either. “It is refreshing to see someone who doesn’t.”
“You’ve only seen me here. I spent a great many years behaving myself by the standards of my surroundings.”
“Tell me,” he said, and then he started to move. Leading her in a dance that had no music.
She held tightly to him, trying to keep from stumbling. “Tell you about my life with the clan?”
“Yes. Tell me what it meant to behave there.”
“It’s hard to explain. They cared for me. But I wasn’t one of them.” Standing in the palace, in this dress, she suddenly realized it was true. “I lived among them, but I could never say that I was accepted. Sometimes I felt as though the leader and his wife might actually... Sometimes I thought they might see me as another child...but once they had children of their own, it became very clear that wasn’t the case.” She’d never spoken these words out loud before. Had hardly formed them in her mind. “They were surrogate caregivers. Not a family. They observed a kind of careful distance with me, and I was expected to do the same.”
“Then you didn’t spend your childhood running wild?”
A smile tugged to the corner of her lips. “I did. I had all the freedom a child could wish for. I spent a lot of time wandering through the forest on my own. Talking to myself. Talking to the trees.”
“Were you lonely?” he asked, and there was a strange edge to the question, a roughness that scraped against raw places inside her.
She swallowed, ignoring the discomfort inside her. “I don’t know how to answer that. It was my daily life. It was normal for me. I wasn’t aware of anything missing.”
It was this place, this man, that made her so aware of all she hadn’t had. Of the life she should have lived. Of the years she’d gone without being touched.
She and Andres weren’t even lovers and he touched her frequently. As though it were the most casual and easy thing.
He was touching her now. Holding her close. And she was forgetting what she was here to do. Forgetting her ultimate goal. That she was only playing along now so she could use his trust later.
Right now all she could focus on was this. The way his hands felt over the flimsy fabric of the dress. The way it felt when he said she was beautiful.
The way it felt to have a man look at her, not through her.
What did those things matter? What did beauty matter? It had never mattered before.
She looked away from him, trying to regain control of her thoughts. “What about you?”
“I did not wander through the woods,” he said.
There was something strange in his voice. She couldn’t quite place what it was. More of him not saying what he was thinking. “You weren’t lonely?”
“The palace is always full of people. And these days I do love a party.”
Just then, looking at him, at the stark, raw emotion that flickered in his eyes for just a moment, she was struck again by that thought she’d had about being defined by her station. Except she wondered if it had been the same for him. If he was more what his title was than who he was inside. If anyone valued him at all as a man, and not as a prince.
“That doesn’t matter. The camp was always crowded. There were always people. But I was never a part of them in the same way. Families, blood family, shared space. Caravans. Sometimes they would sleep altogether around the campfire. Family is the cornerstone of the clan. And I didn’t have one.”
“I
had a family,” he said, his voice rough.
“Are your parents dead too?” It was a terribly inappropriate question, one she knew she shouldn’t have asked. Andres was very careful with his words. Sometimes he was direct, tactless, but that was by choice, never on accident. Other times he was careful to make a wide circle around the point, disguising it, wrapping it in something more palatable.
But she had been raised in an environment where words weren’t wasted. Where honesty, honor mattered.
Still, she regretted these words.
“My father is,” he said, his tone hard. “Not my mother. At least, not as far as I know.”
“She isn’t here.” It wasn’t a question.
“She hasn’t been. Not for years.”
“Where did she go?”
“I, my brother, my father, and all of our Secret Service don’t know the answer to that. When she disappeared, she disappeared. Not, I suspect, because she was so accomplished at subterfuge, but because she did what no one expected her to do.”
“What’s that?”
She expected him to stop their conversation, expected him to scold her for being too bold. Instead, a faint smile tipped the corners of his mouth upward. “I think she just walked away. With nothing but the clothes she was wearing.”
“Why?” Zara had imagined doing just that. But she hadn’t. Because she had no money, no identification, no skills, nothing. And yet, to hear Andres say it, it was what his mother had done.
“I suspect because it was all a bit too much for her.”
“Being royal?”
He stopped moving then, but he didn’t release his hold on her. “Perhaps.”
There was something beneath that answer, words that weren’t being spoken. He frustrated her. Made her want to pound on his chest until the truth came out. But she shouldn’t care. So she didn’t.
“Perhaps I will find it all too much,” she said.
He moved without warning, releasing his hold on her hand, taking hold of her chin. “You will not leave me.”