by Jill M Beene
Except for Narcise, who rounded on Samiris as the luncheon was dispersing.
“I see the way you look at Captain Trego.” Narcise’s snide voice cut into Samiris thoughts. She walked at Samiris’ elbow.
Samiris jerked in surprise, then smiled. “Excuse me?”
“You already have Lord Kinsley, but you want Captain Trego, too?” Narcise’s eyes were narrowed, and Samiris saw that her over-loud statement had been overheard by several of the ladies nearby. Lady Evanora was even watching them. Samiris was grateful that Artem had walked ahead with Fitzhumphrey.
Samiris laughed. “Captain Trego and I talk to each other, but we are no more than friends. Most of the time, we fight more than we agree. You are free to have him, whatever that is worth.”
Lady Evanora and the other ladies turned away, disinterested in a conversation that lacked more conflict. They could gorge themselves on more delicious drama elsewhere.
But Narcise stayed planted at Samiris’ side after the ladies had swept away in a rustle of chiffon skirts and subtle, expensive perfume.
“I know desire when I see it,” she seethed. “But maybe I will show you how it’s done. Maybe I will make him fall in love with me, not you.”
Samiris turned her full attention to Narcise, and with a snake’s smile, said, “If you possessed the ability to make a man fall in love with you against his will, it’s a wonder you haven’t married before now.”
Narcise swirled around and stalked away through the garden, but not before Samiris saw the two high spots of color staining her cheeks.
Gia hadn’t been lying when she said she had good ideas for what to do with the wolf pelts. The cloak she had sewn was luxuriously thick, a midnight navy blue, and fully lined with one of the pelts of the Northern wolves. Samiris had never felt anything so soft. It was like wrapping herself up in a feather bed, it was so comfortable. There was also a pair of matching gloves with sapphires up the sides that were trimmed in great tufts of white fur.
The day after Gia finished the cloak, it was bitterly cold. There was a brunch scheduled for the Chosen at eleven, but Samiris hoped to finish canning a batch of pears before then. She pulled on her worn breeches and tunic, belting them tightly, then made to grab the cloak from where it hung on it’s own dress form.
“What do you think you are doing?” Gia snapped, her eyes narrowed at Samiris’ hand, which had just settled on the shoulder of the cloak.
“It’s cold outside,” Samiris said with a frown.
“That is not for the garden. That is for the ball tonight. That will set foot in the garden over my dead body.”
Samiris looked askance at Gia. “It’s just a cloak.”
Gia spluttered indignantly. “You do not wear that cloak until I put it on your shoulders and tell you it’s time.”
“Alright...” Samiris said, removing her hand slowly from the velvet, as if she might startle Gia by moving too quickly. “I wasn’t going to wear it while I worked. Just through the gardens.”
“Wear your coat,” Gia snapped. “And don’t touch that cloak again.”
Samiris shuffled into her coat and left the apartments quickly. On the way down the hall, she met Aster.
“Have you noticed that Gia is a bit touchy about that cloak she sewed me?” Samiris asked. “What’s her issue? It’s just a bit of wolf fur.”
Aster blanched and stammered, “Uh... sure. I’ll ask her about it.”
Then the girl turned and fairly fled down the hall.
Samiris turned the other way and stalked to the gardens, stomping a bit and muttering about odd dressmakers beneath her breath.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Samiris was surprised to find that when Gia was dressing her, she was excited to get ready for an event. The ball that evening was no exception.
The dress was slim-fitting to her knees, where it flared to the floor. It was a slightly lighter shade of navy than the cloak Gia had reverently draped over her shoulders. Like the cape, the dress was trimmed in the soft white fur of the Northern wolf. The cloak was cleverly designed, attached across the collarbones with a heavy row of diamonds and sapphires that Samiris hoped weren’t real, open the rest of the way down to show off the dress underneath, and curling back at the edges to reveal the contrast of the white fur underneath. Gia had pinned Samiris’ hair back with simple combs of sapphires and diamonds, but she wore no other jewelry.
When Samiris looked in the mirror, she was pleased with what she saw. She thought she looked striking. Not quite beautiful... she would never be called that, not with all the classically lovely women who filled the court. But her eyes looked larger, her cheeks were pleasantly flushed, and her skin was a lovely contrast to the fabric.
“Yes,” Samiris said to Gia with a smile. “I like it.”
“Like it?” Aster said, slyly. “You’re going to get a proposal in that getup. A new one.”
Samiris frowned and looked at herself in the mirror again. She patted her hair. “If you say so.”
Kinsley had sent word that he was going to be arriving late, so Samiris was venturing into the ballroom alone. She needed all the self-confidence she could muster.
Samiris was announced at the top of the ballroom stairs. She saw Lady Evanora, Narcise, and Ladonna go stark white when they saw her. Then two spots of red appeared on Narcise’s cheeks, while Lady Evanora looked contemplative. Ladonna still just looked dumbfounded.
The next pair of eyes that Samiris’ met was Artem’s. When he saw her from across the room, he jerked upright as if someone had pinched him hard. Then his full lips curled into a satisfied smile that Samiris didn’t quite understand. She frowned at him and turned away through the crowd to get some champagne.
Everywhere Samiris walked, gasps and whispers skittered along beside and behind her like she was followed by a hissing wind. She stood in the corner, sipping from her crystal flute, her back to the wall, waiting for someone to approach her, watching everyone try to pretend that they weren’t staring at her.
Lord Kinsley was no better than the rest when he found her minutes later. His jaw went slack, his eyes went wide, and his fists clenched.
“What?” Samiris demanded. “Why is everyone staring at me like that?”
“You’re telling me you don’t know?” Kinsley ran his fingers through his hair, making the light brown waves even more pronounced. “Northern wolf pelts are valuable.”
“They told me that,” Samiris said, trying to defend Gia and Aster.
“They are more valuable than their weight in gold. More valuable than their weight in diamonds, these days.”
Samiris blanched. “They didn’t tell me that.”
“And they mean something. They are one of the traditional, most valuable courting gifts a man can give a woman.”
Samiris frowned. “That’s doesn’t matter. I killed these wolves myself.”
“No one believes that, Samiris,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Even I have a hard time believing that.”
Her lip jutted out. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe, because it’s true.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. I just said I had a hard time believing you. It’s an incredible story. Whole groups of people haven’t survived an encounter with one Northern wolf. And you expect them to believe that you killed four of them?”
“I killed six.” She crossed her arms and frowned.
Kinsley glanced around at the many faces blatantly turned toward them, took her gently by the elbow and led her around a large pillar. “It matters what the court believes, unfortunately. And what they believe is that you and Captain Trego ran away together into the woods, to... be alone.”
“What?!” Samiris yelped. “That’s simply not true.”
“And I believe you,” Kinsley said, resting his hand on her arm. “Artem would never disobey rules like th
at. But the story around court is that you were attacked by Northern wolves, and the hero of the court defended you and slew them. Then, he rode back to the castle, screaming for a physician because you were injured. And then he went back, retrieved the pelts, and presented them to you as a courting gift.”
“That’s... that’s not what happened,” Samiris stuttered. “That’s not how it was.”
Kinsley was silent, watching the emotions play across her face, giving her time to catch up.
“So they... they think that Artem is courting me? But you’re already courting me. What... what does that mean?”
“That means that he has embarrassed me. Publicly. A piece of a Northern Wolf pelt is considered an appropriate courting gift for an Empress. And here you are, parading around in at least one of them.”
Samiris looked down at her dress, her cloak, all of it so cleverly designed to show off the fur.
“But he’s not... he doesn’t want to court me,” she stammered.
“Of course not,” Kinsley said, chuckling. “This is about me, not you. He’s been insulting me in private for years. Apparently, he’s decided to move the insults public.”
Samiris felt a pang of... something, at his words. Regret? Embarrassment? She didn’t examine it too closely; instead, she shoved it toward the back of her mind.
“But my dressmaker...” Samiris said, looking down at her dress.
“Must have been in on it.” Kinsley nodded. “I will admit that I’m relieved you didn’t know what your outfit represented. For a moment there, I thought that you were very publicly rejecting my suit.”
“Gia couldn’t have known,” Samiris breathed, still looking at the fur... everywhere. “She wouldn’t have...”
“Oh, she knew what she was doing,” Kinsley said. “She paired the fur with the color of Captain Trego’s house. Navy blue. You’re practically a walking marriage proposal.”
Samiris’ face drained of color, and she started to feel nauseous. “What purpose does this serve? Why would they do this?”
Kinsley’s eyes were trained over her shoulder, his face hard. “I don’t know. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Good evening, Samiris, Lord Kinsley,” Artem said, nodding at both of them in turn with a cocky grin on his face.
Artem wore a coat of navy blue velvet over grey breeches tucked into shined black dress boots. His waistcoat was the same shade of blue as Samiris’ dress. The closer she looked, the more she swore it was made from the same fabric. His crisp white shirt collar stood stark against the tanned skin of his neck.
They were dressed in the same colors. They looked like a matched set. The last small piece of hope that this was all a misunderstanding slipped away from Samiris like water through her fingers.
“You,” Samiris started, her fingers twisting in the folds of her cloak until her knuckles whitened.
“Lord Kinsley,” Artem said, smoothly. “Will you please excuse us for a moment? The Lady and I have a matter to discuss.”
Lord Kinsley frowned, his face cold as he looked at Artem. But the rules of the court were the rules, and Captain Artem Trego, Duke of Malon, was nearly as powerful as the Crown Prince himself. Lord Kinsley bowed curtly and stalked off, tightness evident in his shoulders as he went.
“You’re looking absolutely fetching this evening, Samiris,” Artem said, fingering a bit of fluff on the edge of her cape. “That color suits you.”
“You...” Samiris started again, nearly choking on her words.
“Now, now...” Artem said. “Let’s dance, shall we?”
The strains of music played behind them. And before Samiris could do anything else but splutter in impotent rage, Artem had placed a hand on the small of her back and was pressing her out from behind the pillar, toward the dance floor. Like a flock of birds alighting in a tree, Samiris could feel all the eyes land on them as they came back into view.
“Oh, you won’t be needing your cloak,” he purred. He reached up and deftly unclasped the jewels that held the cape up. It slid down her back like a lover’s caress and puddled forgotten in their wake.
“You impudent son of a...” Samiris started.
Artem leaned so close to her mouth so quickly that she gasped.
“Careful, Samiris...” he breathed on her cheek. “We wouldn’t want to mislead anyone about how you feel about me.”
“You arrogant...” she started again.
“I’m curious,” Artem interrupted again, leading her slowly in a dance. Even while baiting her, he still was careful of her injured leg, supporting her at her waist. “When did you find out about the rumors swirling around our midnight forest ride?”
“One minute ago,” Samiris bit out. “And I don’t suppose that you have bothered to correct anyone regarding the nature of our relationship?”
Artem looked up, his green eyes narrowed at the ceiling, his full lips pursed, as if he were considering the question closely. “Well, no. No I haven’t.”
“You...”
“You see, Samiris,” he cut in smoothly. “There seem to be a lot of misunderstandings around you. For instance, some of the servants have been wondering where you get off to late at night, only returning to the castle just before dawn with leaves or whatnot in your lovely hair, so you can get a few hours sleep before Chosen activities.”
Samiris’ eyes went wide.
“There have been rumors that you’re meeting someone.” He leaned in, murmuring the next bit into her ear, “A lover, perhaps.”
Samiris leaned back, her mouth clamped into a hard line.
“But there was some confusion as to who that could be, seeing as though Lord Kinsley, your public courter, has often been kept away on business.”
Samiris swallowed heavily.
“And as I have promised to help you keep your nighttime activities a secret...” Here Artem affected a large sigh. “I have decided to accept the burden and become your other courter. Your... secret lover, as it were.”
“You cannot honestly think I will agree to that,” Samiris snapped, grateful that she had managed a full sentence in this insane exchange.
“Ah, I don’t. However, you did use the same rumor to leave the castle on the night of your escape attempt.”
Samiris bit her lip, her eyes uncertain. She had hoped he would never hear about that.
Artem continued, “And I did make sure that Lady Elise saw me coming out of the tanner’s hut in the marketplace with a very poorly tied bundle of Northern wolfskin. And I made sure to look extra furtive as I was leaving.”
“You... you....” She was back to stammering.
“Then there’s the matter of the color of your dress,” Artem said, letting his eyes rove her figure with impudent forwardness.
Samiris’ cheeks colored and she glanced away, blinking.
He leaned in, “You’re doing splendidly, my sweet. Playing the role of the blushing maiden with finesse, if I may say so.”
“I was wondering...” Samiris murmured, leaning in.
“Yes, my dove?” Artem said, sarcasm dripping in his tone, but his face the picture of a besotted moron.
Samiris batted her eyelashes and sniped, “What is the punishment for kneeing a Duke in the testicles?”
Artem laughed, loud and genuine. “Probably less than what would make it worth it to you.”
“It’s a wonder you agreed to dance with me at all when I’m in such a temper,” Samiris seethed. “You’ve seen what can happen.”
Artem laughed again. “True. But I doubt you have the coordination to arrange something like that on command.”
“Oh, you doubt that, do you?”
Something in her tone or facial expression made Artem add quickly, “And anything scandalous you do tonight will just feed the rumor mill. You know how it works around here. Something else will come up tomorrow that
will erase the memory of today.”
Relief flooded through Samiris’ veins, and she almost sagged in his arms. “You mean that you don’t mean to carry on this pretense? You aren’t really going to court me?”
“I can’t back down now,” Artem scoffed. “How would that look, Captain Trego, Duke of Malon, relinquishing his secret lover to a flagrant idiot like Lord Kinsley?”
“He’s not an idiot,” Samiris said, flatly.
“Regardless, I’m not backing out now,” Artem said, his face suddenly hard. “You’ve got two official suitors, whether you like it or not.”
Artem held her waist firmly, his fingers gentle at her waist as he spun her around the ballroom dance floor. Her mind was slogging through thoughts as if it were knee-deep in thick mud, but her feet kept moving.
“I seem to remember you not being this good at dancing,” he murmured with a chuckle. “I don’t think that Lord Ansberry has quite forgiven you for that afternoon.”
Samiris followed Artem’s gaze to a man who gave a haughty sniff and looked away. He looked vaguely familiar, and Samiris frowned. “Do I know him?”
“Know him? He’s the one you kneed in the balls.”
“My dance partner? Poor man,” Samiris cooed in a false tone. “Although I think the fault was as much his as mine. He was trying to steer me around the dance floor like I was a horse on a lead.”
“You have gotten much better,” Artem said.
“Lord Kinsley is an excellent teacher,” Samiris said. She was looking over Artem’s shoulder at Narcise, who was shooting Samiris a look of loathing.
It took her a few moments to realize that Artem was quiet, his jaw clenched, and the fingers at her waist had gone rigid.
“What?” she asked, searching his face.
“You have a high opinion of him. I wonder if it’s warranted.” His tone was cold.