by Jill Myles
It was the first time she’d heard him call her by name, and the effect was a startling one. Her stomach knotted again, and she felt the aura surrounding both of them flicker. It sent a pulse through her body, his soft words against her bare neck. “I…I don’t know.” Her head was beginning to ache from the wine and the noise, but she didn’t want to leave with the court women, and her hand tightened on his again.
He must have sensed her unease, for he stood and lifted her hands, bringing her to her feet as well. “The princesse is tired. Please see her to her chambers.”
A titter rose through the crowd, and Lady Mila gave the prince a knowing look. “Indeed. We shall help her prepare for… sleep, Your Grace.”
The crowd cheered when Seri arose, and catcalls filled the air. A blush rose on her face and she nearly froze with fear. She knew what would happen next. They all did. But she said nothing as the women grabbed her arms and led her through the ballroom and out of the throng, into the twisting passages of the castle.
Lady Mila babbled at her side, carrying on and talking so animatedly that it made Seri’s head swim just to hear the woman. She was saying something, but it was more directed at the women surrounding them—who hung on Mila’s every word—rather than Seri herself. If it were not for the hands clasping her arms and pinning her to them, she would have been forgotten.
Eventually the chattering party of women stopped in front of ornate double doors and Seri breathed a sigh of relief. Her corset itched and she wanted to get out of this dress and get away from the others so she could figure out the rest of her terrible plan.
But they wouldn’t leave her alone. The swarm of women carried her into the room, and to Seri’s dismay, it wasn’t her own chamber. “Where are we?” The room they were in was far more opulent, the ceiling overhead soaring with frescoes and finery. Ahead of her, there was an enormous bed with thick, heavy curtains pulled back and bright red sheets, the same color as her dress.
Lady Aynee’s calm voice rose above the other women’s as they began to unbutton her dress, chattering rapidly. “Why, Princesse, this is Prince Graeme’s chamber.” The easy smoothness of her voice suggested that she had been here many times, and that bothered Seri. “You will stay here tonight.”
Of course.
She’d been so stupid. She thought of the banner hanging from her bedroom window and wanted to cry. Rilen expected her in that room, not here on the far end of the castle. After she… after she killed the prince, she’d have to run back to her room, where the knife remained, waiting.
Dozens of hands pulled the dress off her, undressing her in layer after layer, pulling jewels out of her tightly braided hair until she thought she might go mad. Her hands clenched to her breasts as they undid her corsets, hiding the tiny poison packet between her fingers.
When she was naked, a quiet fell across the room as they stared at her body. Seri grew angry at the humiliation, staring back at them in silence. “You’re… that odd color all over,” Lady Mila said, a faint sneer in her voice. “I’d forgotten.” Her voice made it sound like a flaw rather than a normal characteristic of her people.
Seri would not be humiliated by her. She stood straight and tall and let her hands fall to her sides as fists, refusing to hide her golden-brown body. “All the Vidari are. I like my skin color much better than your own sickly one.”
Lady Aynee broke the rising tension in the room. “Well, now, we should dress her before the men come into the room.” Her sweet voice carried over the women’s whispers, and they fell into line and obeyed her as she commanded the servants and ladies alike. Seri’s heart fell just watching her. Here is the woman who should be married to the prince, not a poor brown goosegirl.
One of the silly dressing robes was given to her again, but this time it was quite different than the last one. This one had no high collar, but instead came over her shoulders and tied loosely between her breasts, leaving her shoulders and neck bare in what must surely have been a scandalous nature for the Athonites. The fabric of the dress itself was completely sheer, her darker limbs visible through the pale silvery fabric. Her hair was left loose, rippling and flowing down her back, and they dabbed perfume on her, paying special attention to her neck.
And then the horde of women urged her toward the bed and made her get in, a small golden figure in the sea of red. One of the ladies thoughtfully left a decanter of wine on a nearby table, and Seri sighed with relief at the sight of it, the small, sweaty packet tucked in her fist reminding her of her duty.
But when she was in the bed, the women didn’t leave. Instead, they sat around and chattered, waiting for something. A wondering blush crept over Seri’s face, though she kept her voice strong and modulated. “Will these women be staying here with us while we sleep?”
Lady Mila tittered at the question. “I rather doubt the prince would want an audience, my dear girl. It won’t really matter to the court if he consummates your marriage or not, though I dare say he probably won’t be able to help himself. I’ve heard stories about men and their betrothed.” She gave Lady Aynee a knowing look and then smirked at Seri. “At any rate, you’re a lucky girl to have the prince in your bed.”
The thought made her even more nervous, and she wiped her sweaty palms on the bedspread. She cleared her throat. “What kind of stories? Wedding-night stories?”
But Mila didn’t respond to her, just watched Seri with a curious look. “You have had a man before, haven’t you, my dear?”
Seri stiffened at the implication. “Of course not.”
The room fell silent. “You haven’t?” Lady Mila’s voice rang out in delighted incredulity. “Do you mean to tell me that your little goatherd people are prudes as well as savages?”
Her hands fisted in the fabric. “Among my people, women who give themselves to men when they are not married are called whores.”
The room fell silent. Lady Mila didn’t rise to the bait and simply gave Seri an amused smile. “Poor Prince Graeme is in for quite a surprise tonight then. It’s a well-known fact he’s not fond of virgins.”
“Or Vidari,” Seri added, sneering on her own. “I find myself rather disgusted by the Athonites, myself, so I imagine we’ll both have an interesting night.”
Especially when they found their dead prince in the morning.
A loud ruckus arose outside the massive doors to the prince’s chambers, and a heavy hand pounded on the door. The ladies flew into a flurry of activity, hastily picking up Seri’s discarded clothing and exiting the room. Lady Aynee cast Seri a curious look and smiled again before following the women out. The last one to leave was Lady Mila, and she opened the doors in a rather showy gesture and then pulled them closed behind her, and the men died down to a dull roar.
“My prince.” Seri could hear Lady Mila’s strong voice over the drunken calls of the men and knew that the lady spoke loudly for Seri’s benefit. “I am afraid that I have rather distressing news for you.” A theatrical pause, then, “Your princesse is a virgin.”
Seri’s eyes narrowed with anger and her hands fisted in the sheets. That hateful woman sought to humiliate her any way she could.
But to her surprise, the calls and laughter in the halls increased, and after a moment, the prince staggered in, repeatedly clapped on the back. His perfect black hair was mussed and hung over his brow in inky locks, and she sensed he was every bit as disconcerted over the crowd outside the bedroom door as she was.
Seri pulled the red coverlet higher, hiding her breasts with the blanket as the prince approached. He paused a few feet away from the massive bed, regarding her, and as she watched, his aura flickered to life and began to glow again, and her own responded. For some reason, it made her blush, this response.
He hesitated, as if sensing her unease, then moved to the far side of the bed, pulling on the ornate rings on his fingers and dumping them in a nearby silver tray. “Are you feeling well? You looked pale in the throne room.”
“I’m fine,” Seri said, edging t
o the far side of the bed, farther away from him. The crowd died away, and she looked out to the hall, then back at the prince.
They were alone. They’d be alone until the sun set again, thanks to the odd hours these Athonites kept. She could barely see light peeping out from under the heavy curtains in the room, and a candle flickered near the bed.
When she could think of nothing else to say, she looked over at the prince, who was regarding her. “Would you… would you like a drink of wine?”
“If you wish.” His voice was the bland, careful, cultured tone of before, and disappointment swam through her. Gone was the flicker of humanity, and in its place a pretty, aloof statue.
It would make her job all the easier. “I’ll fix you a drink,” she said, trying not to seem too eager. She slipped out of her side of the bed and crossed the room, letting the shadows hide her shaking hands and her motions. The prince was silent on the far end of the room, but she heard rustling. Was he getting in to bed? “Are we done with the ceremonies?” She asked to distract him, even as she opened the small packet and dumped it into the bottom of his goblet.
“I’m afraid not,” the prince said from the far side of the room. “The last time there was a betrothal wedding, the festivities continued for four turns of the moon.”
Four turns of the moon? “That seems like a very long time to celebrate.” She poured wine into his goblet, swirling it around, and then poured herself one as well so it wouldn’t look suspicious. She placed both on the tray and turned around.
And froze, her breath clogging in her throat.
The prince sat on the edge of her side of the bed, pulling off his tall boots. He was shirtless, and she saw the skin that was always hidden by a very proper jacketed tunic was as pale as the rest of him and just as exquisitely made. Like cords of marble, muscles flexed on his chest as he removed his boot and tossed it across the room, a rather messy gesture for the perfectly proper prince. She hadn’t quite expected him to move to her side of the bed. Nor for him to undress. The sight of his half-clothed body set her heart to racing, and she didn’t know why. She’d seen Rilen shirtless many times before while farming, but it hadn’t affected her, not like this.
And she had to kill him, this beautiful man. A frightened sob nearly choked her.
Prince Graeme rested his hand on his knee and looked over at her, straightening at the sight of her hovering at the edge of the candlelight, surrounded by the fluttering aura. “Come closer,” he said, his voice low. Those pale eyes were fixed on her. Not her face nor her breasts, but her neck.
Seri took a hesitant step forward, clutching the heavy tray in a death grip. “Here… is your drink,” she said, setting the tray down on the small table next to the bed and clutching his wineglass. Dear One Above, please don’t let him see the herbs in it, she thought, then another, swift as lightning, swept through her mind.
Was it a fast poison? Would he drink it and then sweetly drift to sleep, those beautiful, cold gray eyes closing forever? Or would he suffer for hours? Oh gods, she thought despairingly, picturing that. Don’t let him suffer like that.
She had to do this. For Rilen, for her people. For herself. For everyone. She had to do this to him.
With trembling hands, she held the goblet out to him. He was close enough to touch, and she could feel the strange heat radiating off him, almost like his betrothal aura was warmth itself. And she sensed his emotions underneath that cool mask, and she knew, suddenly, that he was as rattled as she was.
The prince took the goblet from her hands. It filled her with such alarm and dread that she nearly snatched it back from him at the sight, and her breath caught in her throat again. But he only took it from her hands and placed it back on the bedside on the tray, and instead, took her hand and pulled her closer to where she stood between his parted legs, next to the edge of the bed.
His pale hand slid over her shoulder, and his eyes trapped hers. “You’re frightened. I can feel your fear… inside me.”
Her mouth worked silently. She couldn’t tell him what waited for him in his wineglass, or that her dagger waited in her rooms. She wanted to bolt from him and run away. Part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms and see where this strange, gods-bestowed attraction took them, but she quelled that feeling.
His hands slid to her hips, resting on the gauzy fabric, and she forgot to breathe as his fingers flexed over them, and his gaze dropped there, to the flashes of golden skin visible through the silver gauze. “You’re very beautiful, Seri.” Prince Graeme’s voice was soft. “Not like the court ladies, but very… beautiful in your own way. Like a wild bird.” His fingers gently dug into her flesh, sending skitters of pleasure through her body.
It frightened her. She wasn’t supposed to do this. “Prince Graeme,” she began, but he cut her off with another little flex of his fingers, his gaze still focused on where his hands rested on her hips, just above her buttocks.
His voice was low, soft. “I would prefer that you not call me prince, my wife. I know we are strangers, but I would ask that you call me by my given name.”
It was a great honor he bestowed to her. No one, not even his viziers or closest friends, referred to him as anything but “Your Grace,” or “Prince,” or “Highness.”
“Graeme,” she began again, rattled now. Her gaze darted back over to the waiting goblets.
His gaze followed hers, flicking back to the wine on the nearby table. “Will it make you more comfortable if I drink?” Graeme’s voice dropped into a low whisper. “I find that I do not thirst for wine, but if you will serve me, I will be pleased to partake.” That solemn, stern mouth lifted into a half smile, setting her heart to fluttering again.
He’s trying to calm me, she realized. He thinks I’m terribly frightened of him, of all things, and he’s trying to calm me. He sensed her fear and distress and thought to comfort her, though he didn’t know how.
That small kindness made her lose her nerve. Even as he reached for the wineglass, she jerked it out of his hand, slopping the wine over the side and onto her filmy gown. “Don’t.”
His eyes narrowed for a moment, and he stood abruptly, then walked across the room.
Seri nearly collapsed in place, terrified. He’d figured out what she had planned to do, and now he’d be furious at her. He’d call in the guards and they’d kill her, slaughter her here in this too-opulent room she didn’t belong in.
She jerked off the gauzy dress, now splattered with the poisoned wine, and tried not to cry. Her last moments were fast upon her, and her breath came in short, hard, frightened rasps. Naked and trembling, she huddled next to the bed, the gown clutched to her front in a ball.
He returned within moments. Not with a squad of guards, but with a pair of towels and his cool mask back in place, though he radiated unhappiness that she could sense. “Seri,” he said. “Come here.”
She should have been insulted that he’d command her like that, but she was too rattled and guilty and overwhelmed by everything to do more than obey. She clutched the wadded gown to her front, and the acrid smell of the tainted wine was everywhere.
As she approached, she heard his breath hitch in his throat, and he shifted where he stood, then pulled the gown away from her. “You’re covered in wine and you’re trembling.” When she pulled away, he grasped her by the upper arm and gave her a hard look. “Cease this at once.”
She stopped in place, trembling, and he knelt near her naked body, the closeness making her nervous and tingly all over. His face was near the soft curve of her belly, but to her surprise all he did was stroke her skin with the damp towel, washing away the poisoned wine.
Neither of them spoke as he gently bathed her body, cleaning the last of the sticky wine from her skin and then drying her with another towel. He did not comment on her nakedness, though she knew from the way his aura grew steadily brighter that it affected him.
When she was clean, he stood and clasped her hand in his again, the same reassuring grasp she had
clung to all night at the official ceremony. He looked into her frightened, confused eyes. “Seri,” he said, his voice low. His thumb stroked her palm, soothing her as he would a frightened rabbit. “I know this will be your first time. Do not be so frightened of me.”
A hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to erupt in her throat. She couldn’t tell him what truly frightened her, that she’d nearly killed him and then chickened out, and that Rilen would be furious with her.
That she’d betrayed her people after all.
That she was going to be married to him, whether or not she wanted to be.
A thousand things welled up inside her, and she resisted the urge to give in to her brimming eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, wringing her hands. “I just feel very…” Alone, she wanted to say, though she stood less than a foot away from him. Naked. Vulnerable.
Before she could finish her sentence, his hands moved to the sides of her face and he kissed her. Not the gentle, subtle brush of lips like before, but a hard, possessive kiss unlike anything she’d experienced before. Shocked at the gesture coming from the aloof prince, she stood there in uncertainty, her eyes open wide with surprise.
His mouth was sweet against hers, and he tasted like wine and other good things. His tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth, willing her to open, and to her surprise, she did, giving in to the unspoken demand. Her hands clenched into fists and rested against his warm, naked chest as he pulled her closer, his mouth caressing hers.
Kissing Graeme was like kissing sunshine, she decided. He was warmth and light and the feeling uncurled through her body, filling her with a tingling that had nothing to do with the wine she’d drunk earlier and everything with the man who she shared the aura with. His tongue explored her mouth, diving and questing in. This wasn’t like Rilen’s carefree, stolen kisses of ownership, which were more of a rough claim. This was a kiss to calm her, to woo her to him. And it worked.
Graeme’s hands slid to the sides of her neck, thumbs playing against the soft skin there. His mouth broke from hers, though he didn’t pull away but bit gently at her lower lip instead, a gesture that caused an excited shiver to shoot through her. His forehead pressed against hers, and she heard his breath rasp hard, like her own.