by Jill Myles
Her hands clasped his desperately. “And then we’ll run away from here? With my family and yours? We’ll head to the woods to the east and wait for things to die down before we return?”
Another strong nod, and he turned her back up the path. “Go now, Seri. You cannot let them see you with me. I’ll come for you in three days, just like we planned. Remember the red cloth.”
She hesitated on the path a moment more. “I’ll remember.”
He pressed a brief kiss to her mouth and then dashed down the path, back down into the valley and away from her, leaving her to fight her demons all alone. Seri wasn’t surprised to see him head not to her cottage, but to the home of Laren, his closest friend and coconspirator.
Seri sighed, the leather satchel weighing heavily on her back. It seemed she always had to carry her burdens alone, no matter what the task was.
No more than a few lengths up the dark road back to the castle, she ran into a patrol of guards. Instead of the leering looks she had received before, the captain of the small troop gave her a look of unabashed relief. “My lady,” he said, reaching for her arm in a courtly gesture.
She slapped his hand away, nervous and afraid he would look into her bag and see the dagger and the rope and know what she was up to. “Do not touch me!” Her voice was hard and sharp.
To her surprise, he backed away, then touched his forehead and bowed in a gesture of respect. “Of course. If you will please follow me, we shall escort you back to the castle.” The other guards kept a respectful distance from her.
Seri hesitated a moment, then stepped to the front, next to the commander. The other troops fell in place behind them with a whistle, and a runner left to tell the other regiments that she had been found. She did not look back at the village below, or the valley that had been her home.
She had a bigger task in front of her, one that would require her heart and soul. Tears streamed down her face, silent and unnoticed in the darkness, but her hands were clenched into fists, and she walked back to her prison with resolve.
She would do this for Rilen, and Josdi, and Father. She’d do this terrible thing for her people.
No matter the cost to herself.
~~* * * ~~
They did not take her directly to her rooms, but instead led her back to the main hall, even though it was late at night. The floors buzzed with the nobility, and all seemed to have eyes for her, watching with curiosity as she strolled through the palace in her dusty, stolen servant garb. Seri kept her head high, her eyes unfocused and unseeing, ignoring the sneering looks around her as they escorted her into the throne room.
The prince awaited her there with her punishment.
Inside, the room was a beautiful one. Colorful tapestries decorated in reds and blues and greens hung from the walls, and servants stood at the corners of the room, waving feathered fans over the throng to keep the air moving. The ladies of the court were here, waiting, scattered about the room on ornate stools, seated like pretty figurines, dressed in ornate gowns that cost more than she’d ever see in her entire life as a Vidari farmer and goosegirl.
At the front of the room sat the prince himself, his long legs stretched out before his throne. Near him sat the glorious Lady Aynee, resplendent in a gown of silver that highlighted her pale coloring and fall of blond hair. The way her stool was poised, she sat nearly at Prince Graeme’s feet, a sight which made Seri sneer in disgust.
She would never be his lapdog.
At the sight of her in the main drawing room, Prince Graeme straightened on his throne, his conversation with Aynee halting. The familiar nimbus began to surround him at the sight of her, and Seri felt her own skin flush with life and knew that same traitorous glow surrounded her.
The lady at Prince Graeme’s feet flashed Seri an interested look, fluttering a fan ever-so-gracefully near her face. The look on Graeme’s face was inscrutable, unreadable as it so often was. Seri could not tell if he had decided to order her death or if he’d simply flog her for her disobedience.
“Leave us,” the prince said. As one, the colorful throng rose to their feet and headed for the door, taking their turns and bowing to the prince.
Seri’s heart thudded in her breast and she kept her chin proudly raised, eyes averted as the nobles filed past her, whispering with curiosity. The satchel on her back burned like a brand, reminding her of the contraband that would condemn her if they searched her.
Soon the room was emptied of all except Lady Aynee, Prince Graeme, and the guards posted at the doors. No one said a thing, and Seri remained standing where she was.
Prince Graeme stood, the rich cut of his clothing falling into place. The tunic he wore was a deep, midnight blue that made his eyes seem brighter than before. A dark red mantle curled over his shoulders, and he wore rich leggings lined with fur and gold. His expression did not change, though he turned to Lady Aynee and offered her his hand. “My dear,” he said, his whisper carrying across the room. “I must speak to my betrothed in private.”
A startled flick of expression crossed Lady Aynee’s pretty face, but she concealed it with a flutter of her fan and graciously took Graeme’s hand. “Of course, my lord,” she said, her voice sweet. Her skirts rustled as she gathered them and gave him a meaningful look. “I shall see you later this evening, then.” She tilted her neck as if inviting him, and Seri flushed in embarrassment and outrage. So he would see Lady Aynee despite their very public betrothal? Athoni dog.
He did not respond to her invitation, simply nodded at the guards that came to escort her out, and the Athoni noblewoman swept past Seri in a rustle of silvery skirts.
She was alone with the prince. Seri wondered if he’d beat her with his own hands or call his guards back so he wouldn’t have to do the deed himself.
But he did nothing, simply turned back to her and paced around her, hands clasped behind his back, his pale skin and dark hair drawing her gaze. After a long, tense pause, he spoke. “You are very proud of your people, aren’t you?”
There was no condemnation in his voice, or anger, only puzzlement. “Of course,” Seri said, defensive. “If you were surrounded by the enemy, you would not seek to change yourself in the space of a few afternoons simply because they decree it so.”
He thought about this for a moment, then nodded. “Just so.” A pause, then, “You will have to pardon my words earlier this afternoon.” It came slow and halting, as if he were not used to apologizing.
Seri wanted to gape in surprise, but pride locked her jaw shut, and she forced herself to listen quietly as he continued speaking.
“It is a difficult adjustment for me to think of you—my betrothed—as one of the Vidari. I hope you shall correct me in the future if I insult you.”
Seri found her voice and cleared her throat. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Good.” The prince nodded, leaning close to her with an intense look on his face, nostrils flaring. Uncomfortable, Seri leaned away.
As if catching himself, Prince Graeme stiffened again, then sat back down on his throne. “Very good. The first part of the wedding is three days hence. With luck, we shall manage to be civil to each other until then.” He gave her a dismissive look. “You may go.”
That was it? No anger that she had slapped him? No jealousy that she’d run away? No questions as to why she’d returned? Nothing at all? No emotion whatsoever?
“Don’t you want to know why I came back?” Seri’s voice sounded broken, soft. She felt like a fool. Would it have mattered if she had returned? Had she thrown herself to the sacrifice for nothing? “Aren’t you curious?”
Prince Graeme looked at her with those cold, cultured eyes. “Not in the slightest.”
~~* * * ~~
Seri could hear the nobles of Castle Vidara laughing and dancing well until the early hours of morning. She lay in her beautiful bed in her massive prison, the red banner flapping from the window nearby. The backpack was carefully stashed under the mattress, its contents hidden in a lump under the rise of her
pillows. The gown she slept in was silky and cool against her skin, but she couldn’t sleep. Thoughts circled in her mind endlessly.
She had made a mistake.
Turning in the bed, she jammed one of the feathered pillows under her cheek and flipped her body, trying to get comfortable. In her head, over and over again, she saw the prince’s blue eyes, saw the utter lack of emotion in them. She could feel him in the room below, sensed his presence like a tangible thing. She had not mentioned that detail to Rilen. Would the sensation go away after she killed the Athonite, she wondered, and tears leaked from her eyes onto the soft casing of the pillow.
Beneath her cheek, her hand began to glow, and her whole body infused with the faint glimmer of light that told her the prince was nearby, even as she heard the faint click of the door that signaled that someone had entered her room. Scarcely able to breathe out of nervousness, Seri closed her eyes, feigning sleep and forcing her breath to slow and relax.
The faint sound of hard soles—they must be Athoni, for Vidari wore soft leather shoes—thumped as he crossed the floor, and the glow of her skin grew so bright that she could almost see it through the darkness of her eyelids. She wished she’d thought to cover her body with the downy quilts stacked at the foot of the bed, to hide it from his gaze, for she was dressed in nothing more than a filmy sleeping gown the maid had pressed on her. But she didn’t move, simply waited. What would he do?
In the end, he did nothing. She felt his eyes on her—just as she felt his presence whenever he was near—but he simply watched her for long minutes before turning to leave the room again.
Confusion tumbled through her mind, and she sat up after he’d left and the glow had faded from her skin, wondering what he’d seen as he’d observed her.
She didn’t fall asleep until dawn crested on the horizon and a maid came and drew the heavy drapery shut. She clucked at the sight of the red gown flapping from the window and moved to take it away.
“Leave it,” Seri snapped, and the girl did, scurrying out of the room.
Turning in her bed, she pulled the covers back over her face and fell into an exhausted slumber.
Chapter Six
She did not wake until the sun was nearly set in the sky, a sight which dismayed her. The Athoni nobles kept odd hours, and the fact that she’d now have to spend most of the evening in their presence was a disturbing one.
Someone knocked at her door and entered, and she sat up in bed, stifling a yawn. Surely the prince would not come to her private rooms? But it was only Idalla, dressed in a maidservant’s gray dress and beaming a smile at her. “Are you awake, Princesse?”
Seri watched the servant as she entered the room carrying a small tray, which was filled not with food but with toiletries—a brush, a pitcher of water to wash her face, and cakes of the pretty, scented soaps that Lady Mila had enjoyed so much. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid out, moving to take the tray from Idalla’s hands.
The maidservant took a step backward, scandalized. “Princesse!” She glanced around, making sure no one else noticed, then leaned in. “Please, my lady, let me serve you. Not the other way around.”
An irritated protest rose in her throat, but Idalla had a worried look on her face, so she quieted and let the woman lead her to a nearby stool as if she were an invalid. Idalla then poured water so Seri could wash her face with one of the clean, pretty towels. Once that was done, Idalla dampened her hair and began to twist it into one of the ornate braided coronets favored by the ladies of the Athoni court, chattering all the while. Seri didn’t pay attention to Idalla’s words—she was more interested in the constant stream of servants who entered and left her room, all bringing items or cleaning the room after her. She’d never have a moment’s peace again. A weary sigh escaped her.
Idalla’s hands froze in their spot above her head, and the same worried look crossed her face. “I… have I offended you, Princesse?” Shame made her face flush red. “Shall I go back to the kitchens?”
Forcing a smile to her lips, Seri shook her head, wondering how the great, snobby ladies of the Athoni court handled their servants. Obviously not the same way she did, judging by Idalla’s reaction. “I am lost in thought. Forgive me. Please, you are not a bother.” She smiled approvingly at the completed braids on her head, ignoring the fact that the intricate creation listed to the side and seemed uneven. Idalla was doing the best she could. “You did a lovely job.”
The servant began to wring her hands, clearly uncertain. “But, Princesse—”
Seri leapt to her feet, keeping that same happy smile on her face. “Can someone bring me something to eat? I’m starving.” A nearby servant looked startled at her words and exchanged a glance with another servant, this one with a more ornate apron, a belt with housekeys on it, and a forbidding scowl on her face.
The woman—the head of household, if the fear the other servants gave her was any indication—approached Seri. “No food in your chambers, Princesse. The prince has instructed that you are to dine with him this evening.”
“And you are…?”
“Mistress Anaeve.” She gave a crisp nod and waved one of the servants forward. “Help the princesse with her dress.”
A chambermaid approached with a handful of corsets, and Seri nearly groaned at the sight.
So the prince intended on trussing her up to parade in front of his court again, did he?
She’d see about that.
Calm, Seri pointed at the starchy petticoats and gave the timid maid a smile. “Whose are those?”
Hatchet Face Anaeve looked startled and stepped in front of the cowering servant. “Pardon?”
“Who do those clothes belong to?”
The housekeeper struggled to keep her face calm. “They belong to you, Princesse.”
“Not hardly.” Seri pulled the undergarments out of the girl’s arms and tossed them on the ground. “I won’t wear such things.”
Anaeve sputtered. “Every good Athoni woman—”
Seri quirked an eyebrow, challenging the woman. “Indeed.”
The mistress tried a different tactic. “You will need the corsets for the court gowns to fit over your figure.”
Seri kept her face calm. “Then I shall not wear the court gowns.”
Mistress Anaeve looked shocked at Seri’s words. “What shall you wear?”
“Whatever I choose, I imagine.” It was far too fun to bait the woman, and Seri couldn’t resist.
“I shall inform the prince of your mutiny,” she said, her voice outraged.
Seri’s look was cool. “Do that.”
She didn’t say a thing when the woman dropped into a quick bow and then exited the room, huffing and angry. As soon as Mistress Anaeve was gone, the tense maidservants focused their eyes on Seri.
“Shut the door after her, please. And someone bring me something to eat.”
The servants hesitated, but only for a moment, then moved into action. One left the room, and another shut the door behind them, leaving Seri alone with Idalla and two others.
Idalla gestured to the two uneasy girls, both who looked to be younger than Seri. “This is Vya and Kiane. They have been chosen to be your wardrobe maids.”
Both dropped into a curtsy, and Seri resisted the urge to curtsy back. She was the one in charge, and she had to remember that or they’d all try to treat her like that horrible Anaeve had. “Well, ladies,” she said. “Shall we see if we can find something that fits without the corset?” She smiled.
Within a half hour’s time, Seri stood atop a small stool as the two girls stuck her with pins and chattered excitedly. They’d lost their shyness somewhere between the first fitting and when Seri bit into a loaf of bread and began to use it to point at the clothing. For some reason, the sight of her eating put the girls at ease. After that, they began to babble like the girls in the village, and Seri smiled as she listened to them argue over what fabric would be best for her skin. They reminded her of her sister, Josdi.
They’d fitted two of the uncomfortable dresses to Seri’s uncorseted figure. The dresses had needed to be let out in the bust, but not much elsewhere. Farming and hard work had kept her lean and trim, and the servants had judged that the corsets were not in fact needed, though the soft lines of her figure were definitely noticeable.
In back of her closet, they’d discovered enormous swaths of heavy red silk brocade—her wedding dress.
She stood in it now as the girls continued to work and nibbled on an apple. The front of her dress was in pieces still, and they stuck her with needles as they worked on cinching the waist so it wouldn’t wrinkle in the wrong places. Near her feet, Vya pinned the hem, so she had to be careful not to move and startle the girl.
This wasn’t so bad if she could spend the evening with the servants. They were normal, not like the annoying Athoni nobles who did nothing but sneer at her.
Of course, they were all terribly startled a few moments later when a knock came at the door and then it was bashed open by one of the prince’s guards.
The chambermaids screamed, but Seri managed to keep calm, arms crossed over her chest to keep the dress around her as it threatened to slip.
Prince Graeme entered the room, no expression on his pale, chiseled face, though the guards glowered enough for him. He strode in and halted at the sight of the half-dressed Seri on the stool, maids hastily bowing at her feet.
She did not bow. Rather, her chin lifted. “May I help you, my lord?”
He merely eyed her. “Your presence was requested at the dinner table a half hour ago.”
Seri remained quiet a moment, then decided not to hold her tongue. “I chose to remain here.”
“And may I inquire as to why you chose to deliberately disobey me?”
She adjusted the dress, wishing that her back were not quite so bare on the other side, the one facing the prince. If she turned now, he’d know she was anxious, so she forced herself to remain stock-still. “I do not belong to you.”