by Jill M Beene
“I want porridge at breakfast. If I have to attend the Chosen activities, that’s going to cut into my personal time. I’m obviously going to have to drop something, which means I won’t have time to go have breakfast in the kitchens anymore. So I want porridge at the Chosen’s breakfast.”
He blinked at her, his face unreadable. “Done.”
Artem stuck out his hand, and Samiris gave it an exaggerated shake.
He held her hand when she went to pull hers away, leaned in and growled, “Just remember who’s in charge, here.”
Samiris yanked her hand away, sounded a high, trilling whistle, batted her eyelashes, and smiled with saccharine sweetness. “Back at you.”
Behemoth thundered over, the fall of his hooves jarring the dishes on the picnic table into a clatter as he drew near.
Artem looked as if someone had just doused him with ice water. His eyes were comically round, his jaw dropped, his arms slack at his sides.
His voice sounded strained when he stuttered out, “How did you... when did you... how?”
Behemoth dropped obligingly to his knees to allow Samiris to mount. She thrust an apple into his jowl, making him look like he had a wad of chewing tobacco wedged in his lip, before grabbing his mane and flinging a leg over his broad back. Her long braid tossed with the motion as Behemoth rose easily to his feet. Samiris grinned down at Artem, who still hadn’t fully recovered, and clicked her heels deftly into Behemoth’s flanks. Behemoth crunched down on his apple with a loud ‘snap’ as he broke into a trot.
“You traitorous apple whore!” Artem yelled, throwing a clay mug at the horse’s retreating backside.
Behemoth tossed his head in reply.
“Gia and Aster,” Samiris called as she rode by. “You might want to get a good night’s rest tonight. You have to make me look like a lady for the ball tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good luck with that!” Artem shouted hoarsely.
Samiris threw a hand-signal behind her back that had Artem laughing in her wake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Samiris slept late, cocooned in her drawn bed-curtains, insulated from her regular alarm of twittering birds and bustling servants. When she finally awoke, it was early afternoon. The fire had been stoked already, the flame dancing merrily along fresh tinder. She washed in cold water, the bite of the chill waking her. A slow-moving Aster braided and arranged Samiris’ hair while Samiris sat on a velvet pouf, frowning up at the painting of the rider above the mantel.
“Cheer up, Samiris,” Aster said, fighting back a yawn. “There’s only the Opening Ball today.”
“Only?” Samiris said. “I said I would perform for the royal court. I never said that I’d pretend to be happy about it in private.”
Aster rolled her eyes. “Perform? You’re not the hired entertainment.”
“It feels like it.” Samiris took a deep breath. “Everyone will be watching, expecting me to make a mistake.”
“That’s no one’s fault except yours. You’re the one who set yourself apart, wearing trousers and creating a spectacle.”
“Wearing pants isn’t a spectacle. It’s what I always wore at home,” Samiris argued.
Aster snorted. “In the woods, pants aren’t a spectacle; they’re an appropriate uniform.”
Samiris nodded. “Exactly.”
“But here, dresses and gowns are the appropriate uniform,” Aster said, cutting Samiris off. “And pants that hug your backside like a second skin are a spectacle.”
“You sound like Artem,” Samiris grumbled.
“Captain Trego comes on too strongly, perhaps, for your delicate feelings...” Aster looked like she was fighting a smile.
“My delicate feelings?” Samiris interjected, her eyebrows raised.
“But he is correct when he tries to direct you toward the proper way of doing things.”
Samiris opened her mouth to interject again, but Aster continued, “You only see the restriction within his advice, but there is protection in what he says, as well.”
“You cannot suggest that insufferable clod actually cares about anyone but himself,” Samiris scoffed.
“He could have had you sent home. He could have told the entire royal court about your farming project behind the castle, but he didn’t. The only thing he demanded was what would bring legitimacy back to your name.”
“He enjoys being able to bring me to heel, that’s all,” Samiris said, her lip curled in defiance.
Aster smirked. “There might be some of that, yes. But that’s better than Lord Kinsley, who revels in the fact that you’re an outcast.”
“Kinsley likes me for who I am. He doesn’t want to change me.” Samiris lifted her chin.
“You’re right,” Aster said slowly. “He will never try to change you. He is an easy choice.”
“Choice? You speak as if they were different dishes on a dinner table.”
“Maybe they are, for you.” Aster smirked.
“Where was all this wisdom when we were trying to figure out how to keep the rabbits apart in the garden?” Samiris said, flustered. “Quit talking and let me focus.”
Aster snickered while Samiris stared off, deep in thought, as focused as a general before a battle. When Aster was finished, Samiris took a fortifying breath and looked in the mirror.
Aster had brushed her hair out to a high sheen, then braided several sections and arranged them high on Samiris’ head like a crown. Woven into the braids were numerous delicate strands of emeralds. They shimmered when the light caught them, casting a glittering halo about her head.
Her skin was dewy, thanks to some potted salve that Aster had slathered on Samiris’ cheeks, then secreted away in a pocket of her apron. Her lips were tinted a berry red, and her eyes were lined with artfully-smudged kohl.
“I wanted to fit in, not stand out,” Samiris murmured.
“Psh,” Aster said. “You can’t help it. Under all that dirt and bluster, it turns out you’re beautiful.”
Samiris cocked her head. “I think I liked you better when you pretended to be obedient and shy.”
Aster laughed. “Wait until you see your gown.”
Gia dressed her in a simple silk shift and a tightly-laced corset. Samiris braced herself when Gia lifted a bundle of deep green fabric and pulled it over her head. It dropped to the floor, skimming the tops of the bejeweled green leather slippers she wore. Samiris opened her eyes in surprise. The dress was light, airy. She turned toward the mirror and gaped at her reflection.
Gia laughed. “What? You thought I would dress you in one of those overwrought poufs?”
Gia’s creation was silk and fitted Samiris from her head to her hips, flaring gently into a trumpet-shaped hem. A modest scooped neckline exposed Samiris’ collarbones, then tapered into slim-fitting sleeves that reached her elbows and ended in bands of lace embroidered with more tiny emeralds. The dress was the color of the deep part of the forest... her part of the forest. It was like wearing a small part of home into what she was increasingly thinking of as a battle.
“Sit down, and let me put your hat on,” Gia said. “It’s almost time to go downstairs.”
Samiris winced. “Do we have to ruin it with a hat? I’ll tip over again; I know it.”
“You should have more faith in me after seeing the dress. Now, sit.”
Samiris perched on a velvet stool in front of the mirror. When she saw the hat, she gasped.
“Oh, Gia. It’s beautiful.”
“I know,” Gia said, smirking as she pinned the creation to Samiris’ hair.
The hat was a small cap of emerald green, topped with a large upside-down green lace bow that had been stiffened somehow. The tails of the bow twirled toward the ceiling artfully. The lace of the bow had been strung through with more emeralds, and it sparkled as Samiris moved her head.
“It’s so light,” Samiris said, reaching up to touch it.
Gia swatted her hand away. “It will stay in your hair, and you can still enjoy the dance. What a concept, huh?”
Samiris stood and hugged her. “Thank you. I’m actually dreading this much less, now.”
Gia laughed. “It’s only because I know you that I consider that very high praise.”
She handed Samiris a small beaded clutch. “Your rouge is in there. Now go.”
Lord Kinsley was waiting in the sitting room when Samiris emerged. He was leaning against a stone wall, looking resplendent in crisp black breeches and a black velvet coat. He straightened and whistled low as he surveyed her from head to toe.
“You’re going to disrupt the evening, my lady,” he finally said, bowing deeply and kissing her hand. “You’re such a delicious vision that the men will all forget to eat.”
Samiris laughed even as she blushed. “More food for me, then.”
With an exaggerated flourish, he presented Samiris with a large velvet box. “Will you do me the honor of accepting a small token of my affection?”
He flipped open in the lid. Laying on black velvet were large emerald and diamond stud earrings and a matching cuff.
Samiris instinctively stepped back. “I can’t wear those.”
“Yes you can,” Gia snapped from behind her. “They go perfectly with the ensemble. I’ll be angry with you if you don’t.”
“I can’t accept those as a gift,” Samiris repeated stoutly. “It’s very kind of you, but I can’t.”
“Samiris, we have developed a wonderful habit of frankness between us, and I would hate to change that now,” Lord Kinsley said. “These jewels are from my family’s personal collection. If you wear them, everyone will know that you are under my protection. Couldn’t you use a little bit more of that this evening? Protection?”
Samiris considered. “I will return them at the end of the evening.”
“Of course,” Lord Kinsley said, his voice as smooth as a rose petal. “Let me help you.”
As it was, they were late. The ball room was packed with people. The ladies in their wide dresses and tall hats reflected the light of a thousand candles in the chandeliers above them. The men in their trim jackets of black, grey or blue were simply the foil to better display whatever jewel of a woman they had on their arm for the evening.
Samiris and Lord Kinsley were announced together at the entrance. It seemed to Samiris that every single glittering head swiveled to look, every conversation paused as she and Lord Kinsley entered the room. She felt like a fox surrounded by a hundred hounds. But Lord Kinsley gave her arm a little squeeze as they stepped carefully down the stairs.
Samiris had felt exposed but somehow safer up on the dais. Now they were among the other Chosen and the nobility. She could hear the staccato of heeled footsteps, could appreciate the intricate folds and draping of the gowns, could hear the murmurs that followed in their wake like the ripples of water behind a passing boat.
“Breathe, “ Kinsley murmured, amusement in his voice.
Samiris gripped his arm a little tighter in response.
Dancing had not yet started. It was customary for the Crown Prince, the Dowager Empress and their retinue to arrive well after everyone else so that their entrance may be better appreciated. The grouping arrived shortly after Samiris and Kinsley had made their way down the stairs.
The crier’s voice became background noise when Kinsley leaned close and said, “Are you still willing to dance the first with me, my lady?”
Samiris nodded, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Of course.”
“Because it will make quite a statement,” he warned, his eyes intent on her face. “Are you willing to make quite a statement?”
Samiris laughed, though it sounded a little stilted. “What am I in this city, if not a walking statement?”
“If it makes any difference, I love the statement you are making in that dress.” Kinsley waggled his eyebrows at her and pursed his lips into an exaggerated kiss.
She laughed again, her eyes crinkling. “Does anyone take you seriously?”
“Only the people who are forced to ignore my lack of social propriety because of my rank. Which is quite a few people, actually.”
“I wonder what that feels like. It must be nice.”
“If you choose to marry me, you won’t have to wonder,” Kinsley said smoothly. “You will be as free as you like.”
Free isn’t being married to someone you don’t love, a voice in Samiris’ head whispered. But she only smiled.
The first dance wasn’t as impressive or dramatic as she had been led to believe. There were many couples on the floor, so many that Samiris thought for sure no one would notice her and Lord Kinsley swinging about. Their practice had paid off; she didn’t step on his toes or knee him in the groin, not once.
Several dances later, when Samiris was thoroughly flushed and actually kind of enjoying her evening, Kinsley went off to get champagne.
She felt a large hand on her elbow, felt herself being steered toward the edge of the room. She looked up to find Artem looming above her, his face as stony as one of the sculptures in the garden.
“A word, Lady Samiris?”
As if she had any choice. She allowed herself to be led out onto the terrace, then yanked her elbow out of his warm grasp.
“What?” she snapped. “What is wrong now?”
Artem crossed his arms in front of his chest and studied her. He was an imposing figure in dark grey pants and black jacket that contrasted sharply with the crisp white of his simple dress shirt. Samiris couldn’t help but compare him to Lord Kinsley. Where Kinsley looked at ease in the Court ballroom, Artem looked barely restrained and slightly out of place, like a war horse in parade costume.
She propped a hand on her hip. “Yes?”
“How is it that even when you are following the letter of the law, you still manage to flagrantly disobey?” Artem said.
“What?” Samiris frowned.
“Your dress,” he said, exasperation tinging his voice. “Where did you even find that thing?”
“Gia made it for me,” Samiris mumbled, suddenly feeling unsure about her appearance, smoothing down the fabric self-consciously. “You don’t like it?”
“Oh, I like it.” Artem’s eyebrows were raised. “Every man in the room likes it.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” she said. “I like my dress. It’s pretty and simple.”
“And scandalous.”
“How so?” she said. “I’m completely covered! No pants, isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted you to try and fit in,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Samiris said. “I could be a human marionette with you at the strings and I still wouldn’t fit in.”
He sighed. “Couldn’t you at least pretend? People are talking...”
“That’s all these people do...talk. Why on earth do you care so much about my reputation, anyways?” she said.
Artem looked past her into the darkness of the garden. “I promised your father that I would look out for you,” he admitted. “He explained that it might be difficult for you, that you might not know all the etiquette because...”
“Because I grew up poor, with no mother?” Samiris said, her voice cold enough to frost a windowpane.
To his credit, Artem didn’t flinch at her insulted rage. He nodded. “Yes.”
Samiris stepped forward, jabbing her finger into Artem’s chest and snarling, “I may not know which fork to use, who the Majordomo of Fiddle-fart wherever is, or why it’s wrong for a woman to wear clothes that allow her to flee for her life if need be, but I have a stronger sense of honesty, loyalty, and justice than three-quarters of the people in that ballroom. That should mean something. An
d it doesn’t, not here.”
Artem clasped her forearms, rubbed them with his rough thumbs and said in a soothing voice, “I know. And it does mean something. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Samiris yanked out of his grasp. “I am far stronger than you think I am. I wouldn’t have survived this long if I wasn’t. And you aren’t trying to protect me. You’re trying to protect them.”
Artem took a step forward, into her space, frowning. “How do you figure that?”
“You are more concerned with me rocking the boat of the status quo here than you are of my reputation being ruined.”
“That’s not true.” Artem’s eyes flashed.
“Yes, it is,” Samiris said. “You’re so afraid of change, that you are concerned over a change in fashion.”
Artem was silent, his jaw clenched.
“If you were worried about me, you would know that these people hurt me the worst when I was trying so desperately to fit in. When I tried to be one of them, I gave them power over me. At least this way, making my own choices, they can only talk about me behind my back. At least this way, I can hold my head up high.”
She stormed away, tears glazing her eyes, but her head indeed held high, to find Lord Kinsley.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
She wasn’t sure that Artem would hold to his side of the agreement after their fight the night before. Samiris had danced the whole rest of the night with Lord Kinsley and his cousin, a chubby married man whose wife was currently too pregnant to attend balls. All night, Samiris could feel the eyes of the court upon her. But even so, she managed to have a good time; a great time, once she drank two glasses of champagne.
It was during a particularly quick dance, one that she had not yet fully mastered, that she laughed, a great big bellowing guffaw, because she had stepped on Lord Kinsley’s toes, and he had yipped like a little dog. He hammed it up, hopping along to the music and grinning the whole time. Over his shoulder, Samiris glimpsed Artem. He was watching her, watching them, with an unreadable expression on his face. Near his shoulder, Narcise glared at Samiris through narrowed eyes.
It was only then that Samiris realized that she truly didn’t care anymore what people thought, for the first time since she had arrived in Teymara. Everything had been so tense, everything was so prim, and proper, and fearful. If you stepped out of line by wearing a different style of dress, the ladies of court would swoop down like turkey vultures and pick your social bones clean. Well, Samiris wasn’t going to play their games anymore. She was determined to play a different one altogether.