The knight led her up the steps of the dais and helped her to a seat next to Mirabelle. Bethany swallowed another shudder of nervousness. Of all the royal family, Mirabelle was her least favorite—and the feeling was mutual.
The local princess blatantly glared at her while she took her seat. Silently, the knight sat in the chair on Bethany’s other side. At first, Mirabelle seemed content to ignore Bethany, and Bethany preferred this treatment. She was happy to sit in silence and eat the delicacies offered her, but halfway through the meal, things took a turn for the worse.
“So, slave girl…” began Mirabelle in a soft voice, so as not to attract the attention of her parents. “How is it you managed to convince my father that you were a princess?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” replied Bethany, before taking a small bite of quail.
“You must have done something. Are you his new mistress?” she added in a whispered aside.
Bethany smiled delicately, glad to be beyond the age and naivety of blushing at the mere mention of sexual immorality. If someone had spoken to her of mistresses before her time as a slave, she would have turned scarlet.
“I would not degrade myself in such a fashion,” she responded before she heard Sir Caldry carefully clear his throat.
Was it a warning? Bethany was playing with fire, and she knew it, but it was enjoyable to bait the other princess.
“Degrade?” demanded Mirabelle in a more audible tone.
Bethany noticed the sudden attention of Féderic, Wolfric, and Arabelle. She pointedly turned towards Mirabelle before replying.
“Yes. Is it not a degradation for any woman of character to become a man’s mistress? I have personally not known desperation like that. Have you?” she added for good measure.
Bethany felt the knight’s elbow nudge her, but she ignored him.
“What is it you are accusing our guest of, little sister?” asked Féderic.
Bethany felt a sudden surge of surprise. The prince did not seem the type to keep his sister out of mischief, and yet it sounded very much like a warning.
Mirabelle hesitated, her eyes darting around the room to the new listeners she had acquired. “I uh… I was simply asking our guest how she had managed to convince Father that she was, in fact, the foreign princess.”
Evidently, Mirabelle had decided to use the truth rather than attempt a lie.
Wise, thought Bethany.
“And you were suggesting I had taken her as a mistress?” asked the king in a voice between anger and humor.
Mirabelle didn’t answer.
Wolfric suddenly laughed. “Though I’d gladly take her into my bed now that I have seen her as she is today, I would not have touched her beforehand. You can be assured, Daughter, I have ascertained the truth of her claims.”
Bethany lifted her chin in disgust and turned her attention back to her food. She did not want to see the faint blush on the queen’s cheeks, or the mischievous grin on Féderic’s face. Besides, she could feel her own cheeks heating up with a blush. It was one thing to talk about mistresses in general; it was an entirely different matter to be told you were wanted as one.
“Still,” continued Mirabelle, clearly not taking the hint from her father. “She is our captive, is she not? Why then are we treating her like an honored guest? She should be sent to the dungeons like any other captive of war.”
It was Féderic’s turn to laugh. “Mirabelle, you clearly have never seen how a noble is to be treated when captured. If you were captured by Middin… I mean, his son. Ann, what is the name of your father’s heir?”
Without turning her head, Bethany said, “Gilead Kavadh is my eldest brother and heir to my father’s throne. And my name is Bethany.”
“Bethany, then.” He smiled. “Mirabelle, if you were captured by Gilead, wouldn’t you want to be treated as we are treating our Bethany?”
Again, Bethany ground her teeth together to keep from screaming.
“Father would never allow me to be captured,” stated Mirabelle in a matter of fact tone.
“Your father does not expect you to do anything in the war effort,” commented Bethany before she could censure herself.
Féderic burst out laughing and nudged his sister. “Too true, Bethany!”
“Tell me, Bethany, how was it you came to my lands?” asked Wolfric, his commanding voice cutting across his son’s laughter.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” she murmured, still unwilling to turn and look at the king.
“It is in the sense that I have the power to return you to your family.”
Bethany hesitated for a moment, thinking through what the king had just offered her. “I was sent to visit my uncle, Lord Elias, in Garrul… to bring him comfort in the twilight of his life.”
Bethany swallowed the lump in her throat. Her uncle was likely also dead. She struggled to word her story in a way that did not show just how angry she was at being sent, and therefore captured.
“As I traveled home, my caravan was attacked. I escaped and ran into the woods to wait until the battle was finished. While in the forest, a slaver found me. I was taken to Dothan, and Prince Féderic purchased me.”
“And why did you not come clean immediately?” asked Féderic.
Bethany paused to think through her answer. She could very well tell them her hopes of doing mischief seemed greater as a slave than a captive, but she thought better of it. Finally she spoke.
“I did not realize your father treated his prisoners so well,” she stated as she lifted her glass of wine in a toast.
“Well said!” beamed Wolfric.
Out of the corner of her eye, Bethany noticed Mirabelle’s face harden into a cold glare, though she did not turn it on any one person; Mirabelle was angry at everyone, not just Bethany.
Bethany wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or not.
Chapter Forty-Three
Cal pushed his plate away, happy to see that the others were finishing with their last course. He was ready to deposit the princess back in her room and have the rest of the evening to himself. It was only a short wait before King Wolfric rose from his seat, signaling the end of the meal. The guests on the lower level rose as well and bowed to their king.
“Why don’t I walk you back to your room, Bethany,” Wolfric said in a congenial voice that Cal had grown to mistrust.
He noticed the princess swallow a lump in her throat before she rose from her own seat. Cal followed, knowing that the king had ordered him to escort her any time she was out of her room, though he hardly wanted to be witness to what was about to happen.
The princess linked her arm with the king’s with good grace, though Cal could see her cheeks glowing with a bright blush and the muscles of her jaw ripple. Like him, she knew what these civilities were really about. Cal rolled his eyes and followed them out, trying not to see the queen’s look of hurt and mistrust.
Arabelle knows her husband takes mistresses. There is no reason to be so upset now, he thought as he slowed his pace to keep a lengthy distance between him and the nobles. Bethany’s guards followed him at yet a farther distance.
“You know, I wasn’t teasing, Bethany, when I spoke of you as my mistress. We could come to a very comfortable arrangement,” said the king.
Cal tried not to hear, but the stone corridor echoed back to him.
“Nor was I teasing when I said it would be a degradation. I will not enter the bed of any man, save my husband.”
“And you are determined in this?”
“I am.”
The king suddenly stopped walking, forcing her to stop as well. Cal didn’t notice until he had taken a few steps, bringing him far closer to them than he wanted. Wolfric wrapped one arm around her slender waist while the other began pulling her skirt up. Cal caught a glimpse of leg before carefully pulling his attention away. He noticed the guards were ogling the sight, until they saw the knight’s glare. Suddenly the wooden slats of the floor became ext
remely stimulating.
“Then you do not realize the pleasure you are denying yourself,” whispered the king.
Cal glanced at them out of the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t help it. Half of him wanted Wolfric to teach her a lesson, the other half wanted to drive his fist into the king’s face. The king’s hand had nearly reached skin by gathering up the skirt of her dress. Cal noticed Bethany’s jaw clenched as she glared up at her captor, fire erupting from her eyes.
Before she could respond, Wolfric clamped his mouth on hers. Cal thought it looked as though the king might actually be trying to eat her face. The desire to gag grew in his throat as he looked away, but a sudden commotion drew his attention back. Bethany had shoved against the king’s chest with all her might, causing him to stagger back a step. Without waiting for anyone to respond, the captive princess slapped Wolfric across the cheek, causing a loud crack to resonate down the corridor.
Wolfric rubbed his glowing jaw. A smile played at his lips as he grabbed her roughly by the arm and propelled her forward. The princess nearly ended up in a heap on the floor. Only the strength of the king’s arms kept her upright as he propelled her down the long corridor. Cal resumed his slow pace while Wolfric pushed and prodded her towards her room. He opened the door and flung her in. Bethany stumbled and landed on the floor.
Like the simpleton she was, she climbed to her feet and gave the king a look of haughty disdain—one Cal was quickly recognizing to be Bethany at her worst.
Didn’t she know she would only make him angrier this way?
Cal followed the king into the room, motioning for the guards to remain outside. He wasn’t sure how the king intended to punish her or if it was a private affair.
“Cal, you have your dagger?” the king suddenly asked as he glowered down at the young woman.
The knight’s eyebrows drew together. What is he thinking?
“Yes, my lord.”
He withdrew his dagger and offered it to the king.
“Put it in the fire,” growled Wolfric.
Cal obeyed, a sickening feeling building in his gut. He tried not to look while the king shoved the princess over the edge of the bed and pulled the shoulder of her dress down until nearly half her chest was bare to the world.
This wasn’t easy to achieve. The feisty woman fought against his every move. When he had her pinned with his forearm pressed against her throat and his hand groping the revealed breast, he called for the dagger. Cal was glad to see the metal had not had a chance to turn red. It would still hurt all the same.
The knight brought it to the king, who was still struggling with the desperate woman.
“Below her neck line,” stated the king in an order.
It would be up to Cal to press the heated metal against her flesh.
Maybe this will keep her from ever giving me that scornful glare again, he thought as he pushed the flat side of his dagger against the skin of her shoulder, near the armpit.
The princess screamed and jerked against Wolfric’s weight. When Cal pulled the dagger away, Wolfric released his pressure. Bethany slipped off the edge of the bed and collapsed into a mound of blue and gold fabric on the floor. Cal could hear her quietly weeping into the skirt of her dress.
Wolfric bent down and forced her to look up at him.
“Strike me again and I will take you, willing or not. You understand me?” he demanded.
She nodded mutely.
Chapter Forty-Four
Bethany woke to a strange view of her new room. Most of what she saw was the tall ceiling, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed the frame of the large bed. Carefully, she moved into a sitting position. She had fallen asleep where Wolfric and Caldry had left her. A quick glance showed the red spot where the knight had pressed the hot blade to her chest. It would leave a scar, especially without the aid of medicine. Gently, she pulled the dress up to cover her breasts and slipped it over her shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to lace it up on her own, but at least this way she wasn’t exposed.
Bethany moved to the fire, which was already burning. Evidently someone had been in to tend to it, but didn’t think it necessary to wake her.
What must they think of me? Seeing me lying on the floor, half undressed?
A deep blush rose to her cheeks.
Before she could dwell on what could not be changed, the door opened and Flora entered with her breakfast. Bethany ate in silence while Flora tidied up the already clean room and picked out a dress for her. The princess glanced at it, only half caring; it was unlikely that anyone would come visit her.
Bethany tried to think of a reason to care about her appearance; it had once been her life’s greatest pursuit to be beautiful, but now she couldn’t force herself to care. Long before she could come to terms with this change, Flora approached her with the gown she had chosen. It was a simple red dress.
Bethany let the slave help her out of the gown she had worn the day before and ignored Flora when she noticed the burn mark. Bethany was not in the mood to explain her recent interaction with the king and his trusted knight. Bethany felt her stomach tighten as she thought about the scarred man. She had thought he had become her friend, of sorts, but it was clear that she had been gravely mistaken.
Flora had just left her to her seclusion when her door opened again—this time revealing Prince Féderic and Sir Caldry. Though Bethany would have rather been left to cry out her fears and insecurities in solitude, she refused to let them see it in her. She would not let them break her, no matter what the king or prince did to her.
Bethany lifted her head in defiance and pressed her lips together. The prince’s mouth turned up into a smile, but the knight’s face hardened into cold lines as he watched her transformation from his place in the doorway.
“I don’t think I’ll need your help right now, Sir Caldry,” said the prince. “You’re dismissed.”
“As you wish,” murmured the knight. “I will be out in the corridor, if you should need me.”
Caldry pulled the door shut with a bang, and Bethany heard his footsteps as he moved away from the door. She was nearly thankful; she didn’t want an audience for whatever was about to happen. As they listened to his receding strides, Bethany took a discreet step back. Sadly, the prince noticed. He marched forward and took her gently by the shoulders.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.
Bethany felt her stomach drop in surprise. This was not what she had been expecting.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you really are? Do you really think I wouldn’t have helped you? And don’t give me that bull shit about how well my father keeps his prisoners. You had to have known it would be better than the life of a slave.”
“I have no idea what you would have done, but I had my doubts.”
Féderic’s fine blond eyebrows drew together as he stared down at her. He let his hands trail down her arms until his fingers laced into hers. “I would have helped you.”
It almost sounded like a question.
“I couldn't be sure of that.”
The frown deepened. “Why do you say that?”
Bethany pulled her hands free of his grasp and stepped back. “I have seen how you treat women. How was I to know that rank would have an effect? When I was a slave in your eyes, you tried to force yourself on me. How could I know that my lineage would protect me?”
To her astonishment, the prince blushed, making his dirty blond hair stand out against the red tone of his skin.
“I was wrong to have done that to you. Very wrong.”
Bethany swallowed the lump forming in her throat and remained silent. She didn’t know what he expected her to say. She wasn’t about to forgive him or make him feel better in any way. If the prince truly felt ashamed for his past actions, than she was pleased to let him stew in it for a while. Besides, he hadn't actually apologized for it. Saying you were wrong and saying you were sorry for being wrong,
were two very different things in her mind.
The silence lengthened until Féderic finally spoke. “I take it your answer to my request has not changed.”
“To be your mistress?” Bethany asked, more to give herself time to think than to clarify.
“Yes. I still want you. More than I have wanted any woman I have ever met.”
“That is simply because I said no to you.”
“You really think that’s your only charm?” asked the prince.
“Whatever charms I may possess, they will fade after you have had what you want.”
“How can I prove that that won’t happen?” he asked.
Bethany struggled not to laugh at him. “I don’t think you can prove it.”
The prince was silent for a long time, his eyes on the wood slats of the floor. Finally, he looked up, and closed the distance between them. “Then marry me.”
The butterflies dancing around her stomach suddenly turned into stone and fell into her feet. For a short moment, Bethany couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Was he serious? He couldn’t be. She was his father’s captive. It was impossible that King Wolfric, who had just tried to seduce her himself, would agree with it. This revelation steadied her.
“Your father would never allow it.”
To her further surprise, Féderic smiled.
“That’s not a no,” he purred, his hands returning to her shoulders before one of them reached up to cup her cheek.
Bethany swallowed the new lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected the prince’s level of excitement. She had intended on dissuading him immediately. “Nor is it a yes. I do not wish to marry you.”
“Your mouth says no, but everything else says yes.”
Again, Bethany pulled away, freeing her face from his warm grasp. “I don’t know what you mean. I have no wish to marry you. You forget, Prince Féderic, you are my enemy.”
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 23