A heavy knock came at the door, reminding Seri why she’d awoken, and she pulled the covers over her nude body. Graeme opened the door and a flood of people entered, carrying the decorative lanterns so popular in the court and the blessing-bowls used by the priests. The lofty chamber was filled with light.
The entourage approached the bed and Seri retreated backward, pulling the coverlets up to her chin and looking at Graeme with a betrayed expression. He stood to one side as his personal servant approached with a robe for him, allowing the man to dress him as if this were any other day and he had not married the night before.
This went beyond humiliation. Seri glared at the priests who surrounded the bed. “What do you want with me?”
The head priest—the kindly, gray-haired man who had held her arm the night before—colored a little and glanced at the prince. “Princesse, we only wish to examine you. It is customary for a betrothal.” When she did not move, he cleared his throat. “We need to verify that the prince has consummated the relationship, Princesse. It is important to the evening’s ceremonies.”
Mortified, Seri looked at Graeme in disgust, clutching the blankets closer about her body. “And you say my people are barbarians.”
The clergy looked more embarrassed than before. “Princesse, we only wish to examine your neck, no more.”
What had happened last night between herself and Graeme had been painfully intimate. To have to show someone proof of that seemed somehow wrong. But when everyone merely sat and watched her, she forced herself to lower the blankets and pull back her hair, revealing the incriminating bite marks to the men at the bedside.
There was a low murmur of approval. The men did not comment on the state of her neck itself, but she caught the flash of a few hopeful smiles. “Thank you, Princesse,” the priest said with a small bow. “We are done here.”
Eventually the troop made their way back out of the room, speaking in an excited hush and ignoring Seri completely. Graeme lingered for a moment, looking thoughtfully over at the bed as if he wished to say something and was prevented by good manners. After a moment, a servant rushed in with a message for him, and he turned and left.
Seri was left alone in the strange bedroom, lost amid a sea of covers that still carried the strange perfume of the night before, an ache in her heart.
She had failed this all rather miserably.
A hand knocked at the door, and Idalla entered the room with a quick curtsy, clearly excited to see her mistress. “Are you ready to awaken, Princesse?”
She actually wanted nothing more than to hide in bed all day, to pull the covers over her eyes and never have to think about the prince or the sneering Athoni court ever again. Or the hurt in Rilen’s eyes when he found out she had been too cowardly, too caught up with her own problems, to do as he asked. With a reluctant sigh, Seri pulled herself out of bed, leaving the comfort behind. It wasn’t in her to hide from the world anyway, as much as she would have liked.
When Seri arose and shrugged on a dressing gown, Idalla sprang into action. Vya and Kiane were called into the room, and one worked on preparing her a bath while the other pulled out clothing for Seri to wear for the evening’s court.
Seri sank into the warm bathwater, allowing it to soothe the unfamiliar aches in her body from her wedding night, which made her blush just to think about. Kiane waited nearby, handing Seri soaps and washcloths as necessary. She found she couldn’t concentrate on the girl’s soft chatter about Seri’s duties for the day, but rather her thoughts flew back to Rilen over and over again. Was he still waiting for her? Had he realized what had happened last night? Had he waited all through the day and grown angry when she didn’t appear? Would he understand what she had gone through?
A cold feeling settled in her chest and she lowered into the water with misery. No, Rilen wouldn’t understand. He’d be furious with her, furious that she’d ruined his plans and now found herself married to the prince—who was an unnatural monster—and at the mercy of the Athonites they hated so much.
Kiane offered Seri a towel when she stood and helped her dry off. “Is there anything else I can assist you with, Princesse?” The girl’s high, sweet voice broke through Seri’s muddled thoughts and inspiration struck.
She clasped the hands of the servant and glanced around the room. Idalla was still gone to the kitchens in search of the sticky buns Seri was so fond of, and Vya had gone to Seri’s chambers to retrieve a “suitable” gown for her mistress. It was just herself and Kiane in the room.
“Will you do me a favor, Kiane?” Seri asked, squeezing the girl’s hands. “It’s very important to me.”
Hope shone in Kiane’s face. “Oh yes, Princesse. Anything you ask.”
“I need you to go down to my village and find a man named Rilen.”
Just as quickly, the girl’s look turned to fear. Her hands tightened in Seri’s. “Into… the Vidari village, mistress? But…” She hesitated, unwilling to offend Seri. “They hate our kind, mistress.”
Seri shook her head. “They will not hurt you. Look for a man called Rilen. Ask for him—everyone will know who he is. Tell him that you carry a message from Seri.”
Kiane’s face was pale but she nodded her agreement. “Will you write the letter and give it to me, mistress?”
A light flush colored Seri’s face, heating her cheeks. “I do not know how to write. You will have to carry the message for me and speak it to him. Tell him…” She paused, thinking. What could she say to Rilen that would make this all right? “Tell him that I was unable to use one of his gifts as planned, but the other…” She paused again, her mouth dry as she thought of the dagger. “Tell him I still have the other and plan to use it.”
Kiane repeated the words back to Seri. “I will tell him, mistress.”
Her hands squeezed the younger girl’s once more. “Also, tell him… tell him to visit me if he can? Tell him I am lonely.” Tears threatened in her voice. “Tell him I am frightened and I need to see him.”
The maidservant gave her a concerned look. “My lady? But you are recently married? Should I send for Prince Graeme—”
“No.” She’d said too much. Now the little maid would question her message. Seri forced a light smile to her face. “It is not true, of course. Just a small lie to ensure that he visits me.”
Kiane’s cheeks flushed with understanding. “Of course. You are quite clever, Princesse. I will find him and tell him all that you have told me. When should I leave? At daylight?”
Seri looked to the door. “Go now,” she said, releasing the girl’s hands. “He will still see you after dark.”
The maidservant looked frightened at the prospect of heading to the Vidari village after dark, but she nodded. “I will do as you ask, mistress.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at Kiane. “You do not know how much this means to me.” The praise made the girl flush with pleasure, and she curtsied, picking up her long skirts and heading out of the room just as Idalla and Vya returned, arms laden. Idalla gave Kiane a questioning look as the girl left but said nothing.
Once Vya had helped Seri dress, her bruised neck covered by one of the high Athoni collars, Seri sat down to eat. Vya sat nearby, sewing a hem, and Idalla fussed with Seri’s hair as she ate, brushing the thick blond locks and pulling them back into an ornate jeweled clasp.
“Tell me what you know about the Blood, Idalla,” Seri said between bites.
Idalla looked startled at Seri’s request, then uneasy. “The Blood? What is it you wish to know?”
I want to know everything about this terrible curse so I may escape it
, she wanted to say, but that would be too revealing. She didn’t want the maidservant to suspect anything was amiss between herself and Graeme. “Tell me about the prince. How he is different from other men.”
“Well,” began the maidservant, the strokes of the brush through Seri’s hair slowing down. “To begin, I know that his father is a very old man.”
“How old?”
“My mother says that her grandmother served him when she was a young girl, so at least as old as all that.” She paused, then continued. “Prince Graeme was born before my time, so he is at least thirty years old, but the Blood do not age like you and I. I’ve heard stories that they can live for hundreds of years.”
Seri mulled that over, toying with the sweetened crust of one of the sticky buns. “I see.”
“Prince Graeme has always been a good boy, though.” Idalla’s smile carried through her voice even though Seri could not see her face. “I remember when he was younger and nothing but all long limbs and black hair. His mother doted on him—all the ladies at court did. Always so kind, that one. So courteous. I suppose that’s why I never understood why his father was so unkind to him.”
“Oh?” Seri tried to keep her voice casual. “Does the king not care for him?”
There was a long pause, and she felt Idalla’s hands tremble. “I did not mean to imply that, Princesse. I just… I remember seeing the two princes together. You should see Prince Velair. Such a handsome one, just like the king. He’s quick to speak, that one, and cares for nothing but war and fighting, just like his father.” She shook her head. “He was always bullying Prince Graeme, even when they were boys. He was a quiet one, our prince. Always thought before he spoke, and always went out of his way to come to the best decision that did not mean bloodshed. His brother would go in swinging first, and ask questions later, but not Prince Graeme.”
“I suppose I am lucky the gods did not see fit to marry me to Prince Velair,” Seri murmured, but she knew she lied even to herself. She could have killed that man, a man who destroyed without a thought. It was Graeme’s quiet thoughtfulness that undid her.
“He’s got a lot of his mother in him,” Idalla said. “Perhaps that is why the king…” She stopped, then patted Seri’s shoulder. “I’m done with your hair, milady.”
“The king what?” Seri twisted in the ornate chair to look into Idalla’s face. “The king what? Hates him?”
But the maid had gone pale. “I’ve said too much already, my lady. Forgive me.” She smiled brightly. “You’ve married a good man, though. He will treat you like the highest of ladies. The gods have chosen well for you.”
She said nothing to that. Instead, she looked around the room, watching as Vya took her few dresses and began to fold them neatly into the ornate, feminine trunks that seemed out of place in the prince’s masculine room. “So I am to stay here from now on?” she asked.
Idalla nodded. “You will share a bed with the prince. Your room will be made ready for visiting dignitaries. We will get everything from your room and bring it here if you desire.”
“That is quite all right,” Seri said, thinking of the dagger tucked between her mattresses. “There is something I should wish to retrieve myself.”
A short time later, she carried the red banner in her arms, the chilly length of cloth carefully folded in her arms. Safely in the folds of the fabric, the dagger nestled, hidden.
Seri would use it at dawn as they prepared for bed.
~~* * * ~~
The evening passed endlessly slow for Seri. Graeme had been closeted with a few councilors for some unknown reason, and that left Seri alone with the court as day two of the celebrations continued. She sat at the front of the room in her stiff gown, in the uncomfortable throne on the dais all by herself, a spectacle. People whispered behind their hands as they watched her, and her every move was scrutinized. Once, she yawned and the entire court burst into knowing titters.
The Athonites, she noticed, did not seem to be a very active court. The nobles spent their time dancing or playing silly parlor games that Seri had seen Vidari children play when they were young, but never adults. Then again, she did not blame them. The evening was long and there was nothing to do but watch other people. She hated life as a courtier. The thought of spending the rest of her days in this lonely ballroom with nothing but a bunch of simpering, backstabbing Athonites filled her with despair, and she plucked at the embroidery on her sleeve, trying not to cry.
“My lady,” a voice whispered at her side. Seri glanced over and noticed Graeme’s personal servant, Viktor. He had the pale skin of the Athonites, but his hair was a bright, flaming red and not the dark black that Graeme’s was. He had a sweet smile and seemed to be good-natured. She liked him.
He smiled back at her. “Prince Graeme awaits you, my lady. In his chambers.”
Seri’s hands dropped to her lap and a wave of shame struck her. So he did not even bother to come and see her out here or save her from these vicious fools who pranced around the room? Instead, he retreated and sent for her? Anger made her cheeks flush. “How very kind of him to send for me,” she drawled, anger making her voice hard.
Viktor looked surprised at her anger. “Did you wish to stay for a few more hours, my lady? I can let the prince know—”
“No,” she amended hastily, rising in a swirl of thick, long skirts. “I don’t wish to stay.” She ignored the people as the entire room bent to a knee, acknowledging the princesse’s departure.
She followed Viktor out of the stifling chamber and into the cool, dark halls of Vidara Castle, past bowing courtiers and servants alike, through the endless maze of passages until they were back at Prince Graeme’s chambers. Viktor opened the door for her and bowed but did not enter. “Good evening to you, my lady.”
When she stepped into the room, he closed the door behind her. The room was little more than shadows. The curtains were drawn, closing out all moonlight in anticipation of the rising sun, and a single light flickered next to the bed. Graeme’s form was hunched over as he sat on the edge of the bed, and she could see his shoulders rise and fall with the effort of his breathing. As if drawn by the bond that controlled them, Seri stepped forward, her skirts swishing and rustling in the darkness, the sound over-loud.
As she approached, Seri realized it was not a candle that provided the light in the room, but the blaze of Graeme’s aura. He pulsed and flickered with intensity, and her own burst in response, lighting the air around them.
Graeme looked up as she approached, and she halted at the intense look in his gray eyes. Sweat gleamed off his forehead and his normally perfect hair was mussed, clinging to his scalp in damp tendrils. The collar of his starchy shirt was opened, revealing the skin underneath, and she had to fight the urge to go to him and touch him. It wasn’t her that wanted to do so after all, she told herself. It was the gods making her do it.