Betrothed

by Jill Myles

  She took her seat and forced herself to sit down gracefully, clasping her hands in her lap to hide their trembling and meeting the eyes of the staring court with dignity. They would not see how nervous she was.

  “Good evening, my wife.” Graeme’s voice was smooth and relaxed, cold as the snow that capped the distant mountains. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the servants that waited nearby with trays, “have something to eat.”

  “I am not hungry,” she said, quiet. She could not eat now—her stomach was doing nervous flutters so rapidly that she thought she might be sick. Indeed, even the smell of roasted lamb was making her stomach turn, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bolting from her chair.

  “You look pale,” he commented. “Could it be that betrayal does not sit well with you?” His words were casual, but the way his hands clenched the arms of his chair, she knew he was furious. He stared at her lip, and Seri put her hand to it with shame, feeling the swollen, tender puffiness.

  The dining room fell into silence at that. Seri glanced at Meluoe, distressed, but the princesse would not meet her gaze. She drank from a clear goblet, then pushed her chair out. “I must go,” Meluoe said, rising from the table. She hurried away in a swirl of dark blue skirts.

  She could feel the eyes of the court boring into her, making her skin crawl. The painful knot in her stomach grew, and nausea touched the back of her throat. “Graeme,” she said, desperate to get away from the prying gazes and that overwhelming scent of lamb. “Please… may we talk privately? Somewhere else?”

  She expected him to refuse her request so he could blast her in front of everyone here, humiliate her publicly like she had him. But to her surprise, he gave a sharp nod and stood, shoving his chair back violently. “Come with me, then.” He offered his arm, the courtly gesture at odds with the barely restrained violence that vibrated through him.

  Seri took it, letting him lead her from the main hall and through the doors. She scarcely paid attention to where he led her, lost in her own troubled thoughts and the nauseated turning of her stomach, so she was surprised when he led her into his study and shut the door behind them.

  They were alone together.

  She pulled away from him and walked to the far side of the room, her hand pressed to her upset stomach as she waited, tense, for him to accuse her. Her eyes focused on the endless rows of old books laid out on the shelves, the symbols that meant writing blurring along their spines. She could hear him moving behind her, and her back grew ramrod straight as she waited for him to touch her.

  He didn’t.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Seri said, trying to keep her voice light, but it came out as a hoarse croak instead. “Reprimand me? Berate me for not screaming out that one of the enemy had infiltrated your castle the moment I was aware of it? Rail at me for not demanding that the man I once loved give himself over to the enemy?” Tears pricked at her eyes again and she forced them back, clenching her hands into fists. “You will pardon me if I did not run to you right away. Unlike Meluoe, my path is not as clear as that.”

  But he said nothing, and she grew uneasy staring at the book covers and turned back to him. “Well?”

  He sat on the edge of his desk, an oddly casual pose for her stiff and proper husband. The look on his face was inscrutable. “Come here,” he said when she faced him.

  Hating herself for following his directions, she did so, sidling up to him with wary caution.

  When he lifted his hand, she flinched out of nervous tension, and his aura grew bright with anger. His fingers reached out and brushed her bruised lip, and he studied her face. “Odd that I have never hurt you, and yet you flinch when I raise my hand. But your lover can do such things to you, and you would defend him at the cost of hundreds of lives.”

  She averted her face. “He’s not my lover.”

  Graeme’s hand dropped. “No matter,” he said, the ice returning to his voice. “Everyone here at court thinks he is, so I imagine that will be enough to fuel the rumors for quite some time.”

  “What do I care what they think?” Her eyes flashed defiance. “Why should that matter to me?”

  He seemed defeated, sad, as he studied her face. “It doesn’t. It never has, has it, Seri?” His head tilted slightly and that beautiful face, haloed by the brilliant aura, watched her. “You have never cared what any of us thought of you, have you?”

  Not true, she wanted to scream, but she was too wounded and upset. “Never,” she said instead, and watched his aura flicker and die, even as her own throbbed with a mix of emotions.

  Silence fell between them. Then he said simply, “I’m sorry.” She heard the rustle of clothing as he stood, then felt him press a kiss on the back of her head. “You shouldn’t have to make these sorts of choices, Seri.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, she should not, but he moved away from her and she turned to watch him leave the room.

  He swayed as he reached the doorway, and her aura immediately pulsed in response. “Graeme,” she said, rushing to his side, “are you sick?”

  Graeme’s gray eyes turned to her, the look in them scathing, and she flinched away. It was a stupid question of her to ask—she knew why he was sick. He wasn’t feeding.

  Her recoiling reaction made it worse, and he jerked back from her. “I’m sorry I frighten you.” With that, he clung to the door handle and slammed out of the room.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say he didn’t frighten her, that she loved him and she was terrified for him, but she couldn’t force her throat around the words, and she watched him leave in bitter silence.

  ~~* * * ~~

  She spent the rest of that evening in a fitful sleep, and when daylight came, she wandered the halls of the castle as the Athonites turned to their beds. Today, the uprising would happen. The silent corridors bothered her, but on a level that she couldn’t explain. Every heavily veiled window she passed, she checked outside to see if she could spot anything, but there was always only warm sunlight that stretched over the plains and silence in the village below.

  It was almost as if it did not exist, this burgeoning war. Just the thought of it was enough to set her stomach on edge again and she paused to lean her forehead on the cool stone walls.

  “Is that you, Seri?”

  She glanced over at the familiar voice, saw her sister Josdi, her arm linked with that of Graeme’s servingman, Viktor. When he spotted her, his face darkened into a look of cold dislike, and she didn’t blame him for it. “Josdi,” she said weakly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Viktor is escorting me to visit Father,” she said, an adoring look on her face for the man who held her arm, so painfully obvious it made Seri’s heart ache to see it. “Were you going to visit Father too? He’s been asking for you.”

  Shame swept over Seri that she had not found the time in her misery to go and visit her sick father. “Of course,” she said, latching onto the excuse. “Let’s go together.”

  With Viktor as their escort, they wandered silently down the long hall, heading toward the priest quarters. The priests did not seem surprised to see Josdi or Viktor, though they did take deep bows at the sight of Seri.

  Her father was in a small, airy, sunlit room at the edge of the priest quarters, separated from the other sick patients. The heavy drapes were drawn back, allowing the light to flood in. He looked healthier, Seri noted with relief. Color had returned to his face, and his cheeks were no longer hollow with the lack of healthy meals. He even sat up in bed and gave Seri a fragile smile as she approached. The hand that clasped her extended one was warm and dry.

  “My daughter,” he said softly. “You look beautiful. Radiant like your mother. Will you sit with me?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, words and greetings clogging in her throat, unable to break free.

  Her father seemed to sense her struggle. “Radiant,” he amended, looking at her bruised lip. “But so unhappy. Is it your new husband? Has h
e hurt you?” He looked meaningfully at Viktor and Josdi.

  Viktor took the hint. “Come, Josdi,” he said. “Would you like to take a quick walk outside? I think your father would like a few minutes alone with your sister.” At her happy agreement, he took her by the arm and escorted her away.

  Seri watched them go with an ache in her heart, staring enviously at their two heads bent together, like loving conspirators. Lucky Josdi, that she was so blind she could not judge a man by his looks or his breeding, and it did not matter to her the ugly looks the court gave her.

  “You are unhappy,” Seri’s father stated again.

  She turned back to him, her lip trembling. She nodded. That simple motion seemed to crumble her defenses, and she burst into noisy sobs, leaning forward into her father’s arms and letting him comfort her like he had when she was a child, patting her on her richly brocaded shoulders as if she were young and barefoot again, not the miserable princesse she had been of late.

  She told him everything, of Rilen’s murder of Kiane, of the betrothal and the aura that covered her, even now. Of the Blood and their need for the daughters that only she could give him. Of Graeme’s unfailing kindness to her and being forced to choose between him and the Vidari, over and over again.

  “I see,” was all he said, listening as she poured her heart out. “And now you carry his child, and you don’t want to?”

  She stiffened in his arms and pulled away. “What did you say?”

  Her father gave her a gentle look. “The way you put your hand to your stomach when you came in the room? I knew you were pregnant. Your mother used to do the same thing when she was pregnant with you and your sister. She always put a fist to her stomach in the hopes of suppressing the nausea.”

  Speechless, Seri absorbed this and then her face broke into an unexpected smile. Graeme would be delighted; she could just picture the beautiful smile on his face as she told him the news. It would be a daughter, and he would love her and treat her as gently and with such love as he had with her.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  Seri looked back at her father and blushed, fisting her hands in the heavy brocaded skirts and averting her face. “It’s not as easy as all that, Father. He’s Athoni and I’m Vidari.”

  “It didn’t seem to matter to the gods, child. Why should it matter to the two of you?” He paused, then. “Does he love you?”

  She thought of Graeme’s intense face, his gray eyes dark as his body slid into hers, and blushed again. “I think so.” She shook her head. “But Rilen… and the war…”

  Her father patted her hand. “Rilen is and will always be a hotheaded warmonger. Let him live out his own troubles. You do what you need to do and don’t think about him. He does not speak for all Vidari.”

  Seri looked into her father’s face, serious. “But the Athonites are our enemies, Father. They try to suppress the Vidari. I’d be betraying everyone.”

  Her father gave her a kindly, understanding smile. “Our hearts don’t tell us who to love, my child. As for betraying your people, well.” He shook his head. “Think of all the good you can do if you are at his right-hand side. I cannot help but think he would view the Vidari in a different light if you were there to pass wisdom to him.”

  Hope leapt in her breast, and she knew what her father said was true. Graeme did care what she thought, and he wasn’t inordinately cruel. He’d given her the choice to punish the Vidari rebels before—she knew if she presented to him the unfairness of the laws, he’d listen to her. “Oh, Father, do you really think this could work?” Her whisper of hope was quiet with joy.

  “One way to find out, isn’t there? Now, come kiss your father on the cheek before you run off to find your prince again.”

  She leaned in and kissed him, happy excitement on her face. “Thank you. I need to find Graeme, explain to him what is happening with Rilen. Maybe there’s time to stop things peaceably.”

  Seri jumped to her feet and dashed out the door, nearly running into Josdi and Viktor returning from their walk. “Viktor,” she said, stepping to the side so he and Josdi could pass. “Is Graeme asleep?”

  He gave her an odd look. “Asleep? No.”

  Seri glanced at the sunlit windows. It was nearing midday if she didn’t miss her guess. He was up late this day. “Is he in his study, then? I must talk to him.”

  He gave her an odd look. “He’s gone.”

  Time slowed. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

  Viktor escorted Josdi to her father’s bedside and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and sat down with their father, waiting, a wrinkle of concern on her brow. Once she was safely deposited, he turned back to Seri, escorting her out to the hall. “He didn’t say anything to you?”

  The nausea returned, burning at the back of her throat and mixing with fear. “No, he didn’t. Where did he go?”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  A woman’s strident voice caused Seri and Viktor to both turn. Dressed in her flowing sleeping gown, the queen strode toward them, steel-gray hair flowing over her shoulders. Two servant women followed behind her, holding the long sweep of skirts.

  Viktor dropped into a hasty bow, but Seri stood her ground as the woman approached her and shook a roll of parchment in her face. “How did you convince him to do this, slut? What powers do you have over my stepson?”

  “What do you mean?” Seri stared at the scroll, confused. “What powers?”

  The queen unrolled the parchment and stabbed at the fluid lettering on the page. “This! This here! He has given the rights back to the Vidari people and issued this land back to them with you as their regent if he should die.” She thrust the document at Seri.

  She grabbed it, her hands trembling as she stared at the swooping lettering, wishing she could read it. “Viktor,” she said softly, “what does this mean?”

  “He has given your kingdom back to your people, my lady, and put you at the head of it in the event of his death.” The servant’s voice was quiet.

  “Madness!” the queen shrieked. “You have driven that boy to madness, and that is why he rides out in the daytime to confront the rebels. He will kill himself, all for stupid lovesick lust for this Vidari slut.”

  The world swam in front of Seri’s eyes, and she stared at the parchment, then back at the queen. “He has ridden out?”

  She gave Seri a scathing look. “No doubt you set him up to do this. The fool has left, half-fainting, in the middle of the day, just to go and prove himself and put down the rebellion. If he dies it will be your fault.”

  Seri’s knees grew weak and she leaned against Viktor, her body suddenly heavy. “I don’t understand.”

  “My lady,” he said, whispering low, “he left you a private letter that I was to give you tonight.”

  “Read it to me.” Her fingers gripped his with terrible force. “I want to know what it says.”

  He looked at the queen, then bowed again. “Apologies, Your Grace, but I am under explicit instructions to read the letter only to Eterna Seri.” Ignoring the older woman’s gaping mouth, he took Seri by the waist and dragged her back to the chapel.

  When she was seated on one of the ancient benches, he pulled a small note from his breast pocket and slid his fingernail under the wax seal. “I was not to read this to you until sunset, in case he did not return. My lord was most adamant.” The tone of Viktor’s voice told her what he thought of that particular order.

  Seri stared at the small scroll, her aura flaring. “Please, Viktor. I must know what is going on.”

  He nodded, then cleared his throat and began to speak in low, measured tones.

  My dearest wife and Eterna,

  I am gravely sorry that it has come to this. You speak of being torn between two worlds, and trust me when I say that I know what that feels like. My mind tells me I should turn my back on this mad bond that the gods have created between us and leave for Athon and forget we ever met. That we are too different in too many wa
ys, and the rift between your kind and mine—both Vidari and Athon, human and Blood—is too great.

  But then I think of you and the sweet smile you have on your face when you sleep. Of the beauty of your long, golden limbs and the feeling in my heart when you bestow one of your rare smiles on me, and I know that surely the gods have chosen wisely when they picked you as my mate. You invade my thoughts at every waking moment, overriding any sense of logic. I cannot think of the kingdom when all I see are your sad eyes in my mind, and I would do anything to banish that sorrow from your eyes.

  And so I ride out today to meet the enemy, because that is my duty as a prince and ruler of my people, and I have always been a dutiful son. I bring only the smallest band of guards with me, and I do not expect to live out the day. Perhaps with my defeat and death, the rebels will calm and leave you and my sister in safety at the palace. Seek out Viktor—I have left instructions to place you at the head of the kingdom here. You can bring your people back to greatness, Seri. I know that is what you have always wanted, more than my touch, more than my love, and so I shall give it to you.

  The sun rises, and I must face its blinding rays alone, but I shall smile because the radiance reminds me of you and the light you have brought into a dark, eternal life.

  Yours in love,

  Graeme

  Seri wept as Viktor rerolled the small parchment shut and handed it to her. Her fingers traced the lines on the paper as tears flowed freely down her face and sobs erupted from her throat. “He loved me?” She choked on the words. “I thought he hated me. He would not drink from me.”

  “He would not take your pity,” Viktor said stiffly. “He has pride too, my lady. Just as much as any Vidari.”