Lycan Alpha Claim 3 (102 page)

CHAPTER 6

Clara put her hands across her face, prepared to take a blow even knowing that Ada never beat her where it showed. The Queen prowled closer. In her left hand swung an emerald green decanter, which glistened wetly, bumping her hip.

Clara thought it made a fine weapon for bludgeoning.

When she neared Clara, Ava shoved her right hand upon Clara's stomach, pushing with drunken might. Clara fell on the wood floor. She looked up at Olive, who winced as she landed, trembling and angry in equal parts. But Olive knew her role, had always known her role.

“Insolent girl,” Queen Ada roared. “How like your father you've become. You must work the oyster fields. You must
show your gratitude for the masses.” She swaggered away, steadying herself as she walked by Clara's bedpost, the same one she used to brace against the lacing of stays.

Clara stood, gingerly and covertly feeling her ribs, which she had landed on, feeling grateful she had not been abused further. She and Olive exchanged a look. Better that Ada not set her attention on Clara again.

No such luck. Ada turned, her purple skirts swirling about her legs. “You will do what I ask. You will not embarrass me in front of our subjects.”

Clara knew it was useless to defend herself but tried nonetheless, “My Queen…” Clara took a breath to continue. A rib squawked. “I like showing gratitude to our subjects, as I think they remain loyal and joyous when they are treated well.”

“Yes, you would,” Ada said with derision, her chest rising and falling, the liquor a wave of rotten fruit smell filling the room.

Ada came toward her with purpose now, swinging the decanter in such a way that Clara's eyes became mesmerized by it.

“Dear Guardian,” Olive whispered.

Claraʼs thoughts echoed Olive’s words.

Ada came closer, her hips swaying in time with the decanter, her dark eyes glittering with resolve. This might be something that Clara would not recover from. She was resigned to the Queen's drunken rages, kept them secret.

But Ada had not wielded an object before.

The chamber door burst open, causing all to jump, except Ada, who was as calm as the dead when deep in drink.

“Who enters?” Her tone said,
who dares to enter?

“It is we, Queen Ada: King Otto and Prince Frederic.”

Clara looked away from the Queen to see the two monarchs and should not have. She felt the Queen's hand sink into her hair and was wrenched backward, the strand of pearls in her hair tearing. They broke free like birds scattered in the fields. A hundred shimmering gems bounced and rolled across the glossy floor, pooling around everyone's feet.

Clara's neck was bent at a tortuous angle as the Queen held her lips above Clara's ear. “Do not forget who is sovereign here, my daughter. Now get ye gone from my sight.”

With a mighty push, the Queen released Clara. She stumbled over the pearls, which ran like an iridescent stream on the burnished wood and tumbled into Olive's arms.

The king rushed over to dispatch assistance. “Do not touch her, King Otto. She needs help from no one. Do you, Princess?”

Leaning into Olive she whispered, “No.”

Ada's gaze narrowed. “Olive, sweet Olive, how you hate me. I see my abuse upon your face.” Olive lowered her eyes, never able to hide her expression from the Queen. “Best you not show your feelings,
servant
. Take her away.”

King Otto said, “Is this not her chamber?”

Prince Frederic stood beside his father, looking at Clara with a contemplative expression.

“It is.” She said it to the king but gave the full weight of her stare to Frederic. “Your son understands discipline, do you not?”

Frederic suffered another look at Clara, dismissing her. “Yes, I think Clara and I have an understanding of how things will be once we are joined.”

Clara fantasized a way for harm to befall him from that moment onward. A seed took root, germinating inside the dark recesses of her heart.

She could not be under this man's authority.

Her mother's drunken ire was something she bore because there was no choice. But his? She needed to formulate a plan and did not yet know what. She would confer with Charles.

The King gave her a look that may have been sympathy. However, he was weak
.
Her mother's pearls meant more than Clara's harm at the hands of the Queen and later, his own son.

“Let us take our leave of her chamber, Queen Ada. There is much for us to discuss. I have brought some of my most prized grapes that I wish for you to sample.”

Clara watched Ada's expression take on the familiar greed as she looked down at her decanter, its weight less now that she had stripped it of its contents. “Yes, I need not be here.” She swayed, and King Otto steadied her by grasping her elbow.

Clara backed away with Olive's arm around her waist. Olive was her touchstone. King Otto led Ada away, steadying her several times. With each step she took, Clara's breathing quieted.

Prince Frederic stalked to where she and Olive stood, and she felt Olive stiffen behind her. “Your hair, it is everywhere. You had better clean it up.” He reached out to stroke a piece that had been released when the Queen tore it free of its pearl bindings. Clara jerked away from his touch.

Frederic's hand fell away, his gaze darkening, and then his hands were suddenly around her ribcage, jerking her forward. He wrenched her out of Olive's embrace, against his body, and a small pained sound escaped her mouth. He smiled. His hands moved down lower, encircling her waist. “You will like my touch... very much.” He bent down to force his hated mouth against hers.

“Release her, Prince Frederic.” Charles's expression as he stood in the doorway was like contained thunder. He and Olive looked at each other, and she gave him helpless eyes.

Frederic shoved her away from him, and she shuddered. Charles would pay for that comment. Charles did not care as of yet. He suspected Frederic's character, but Clara had more than suspicion.

She had foreknowledge.

He turned to Charles. “Have a care, Mr. Pierce. Our interaction is none of your concern.” He spoke with quiet menace. He was showing restraint. Clara did not believe it. It was so unlike him.

Charles's hands were fisted. “If you were not Prince, I would beat you senseless.”

“Ah... but I am, am I not?” Prince Frederic said, a cruel smile sliding into place.

Charles's frustration was evident, his impotence clear. “Have you no honor? She is a woman, for Guardian's sake.”

“Yes, I am very
aware, and she is soon to be mine.”

“She is not a possession... a thing to own!” Charles threw his hands up in the air.

Silence fell upon them. The only sound was of the steam sconces, their flickering flames along the chamber walls hissing their presence, and the timepiece on the wall, clicking the seconds as they passed into before.

Prince Frederic suddenly laughed, “I will let this interchange disappear. I can afford to be gracious with those beneath me. After all,” his gaze slid possessively over Clara, “soon, I will see to it that her eyes never behold you again.”

Stinging heat bit into Clara's eyes, and she knew they were tears burning for release.

“You cannot take away her companions.”

“You will not go away. You will simply be
unwelcome
in our kingdom.” Prince Frederic spread his palms away from his body.

Clara gasped. “We have not yet chosen where we may settle.” She felt her eyes brim and held them wide so those tears would not fall. Olive moved up beside her, clasping her hand.

Charles gave her an anguished look. He alone could intuit what near servitude it would be in this loveless match, the abuse she would suffer with Frederic. Something unimagined but balancing on the chasm of her consciousness. Far worse than the Queen's drunken efforts.

Frederic gave a brilliant smile, tipping his hat at Clara and Olive, who stood stunned at his bizarre behavior then he gave a small bow to Charles.

Charles and Frederic stared at each other, one pale and one dark, evil encased in light.

Frederic walked out without a word, leaving the massive door ajar.

Clara glided over to her fainting couch and slowly lowered her body onto it. Silent tears glided down her face, partially covered by a curtain of hair. She watched dully as Olive, broom and receptacle in hand, gathered the fallen pearls that littered the floor like glittering tears.

A satin waistcoat appeared in her watery field of vision as Charles sat beside her. “Dearest Clara.” He placed a light hand at the base of her neck, wrapping it with long fingers that circled almost to the front of her throat. Such strength in that large hand, but what tenderness as he held her neck in his palm.

He pushed her head under his chin, and the sobs came, great, silent, hiccupping wails held quiet by habit. She could not get Frederic's wretched face out of her mind's eye. His smug patience, knowing it was a matter of time... a matter of
when
, not if.

She would not be powerless
.
Her father's teachings had not fallen on deaf ears. She had not built his empire to let it fall under by a Prince Frederic. Charles whispered sweet endearments into ears, stung by the night, a night that had been less celebration than survival.

“I cannot protect you... but somehow I must. He is dangerous. I fear he will hurt you.” Charles ran his thumb up and down her throat.

“Charles is correct. He is not a real Prince of his people, my lady. He wishes to marry for power, for the pearls. He wishes to be drunk like the Queen.” Olive lowered her voice to a whisper, tucking her voluminous skirts under her knees as she knelt before Clara. “Not by wine... by greed.”

She was so right. Dear Olive was absolutely right. They knew what was happening, but what to do with that knowledge?

“Refuse the crown,” Charles said suddenly.

Clara wiped her eyes and sat up straighter. “Whatever do you mean?”

Charles had a stroke of insight and waved her lack of understanding away. “Queen Ada commanded you
would not
be Queen if you refused this arranged marriage, yes?”

Clara nodded, that had been so.

“Then refuse the crown. You do not care for all this.” He gestured around the room with its extravagant appointments, every surface velvet, satin or silk. Precious metals gleamed in a room holding every manner of comfort.

That was true. Her richest treasures were with her now, breathing the same air she did. She looked at Olive and Charles, knowing what she would say next would upset them. “I do have that choice.” Clara swallowed. This was most difficult, “I am royal. It is more than a hollow allowance. I am the caretaker of my people, my subjects. If I am not Princess Clara for them, they will be left to the devices of the Queen. That, I cannot abide.”

“Clara,” Charles moaned in defeat, “think on it. Do not martyr yourself for us. What good can you do as Princess to his Prince if he  means your death?”

Olive sucked in her breath. Charles had spoken their mutual fear out loud. It would be easy for something to befall Clara with Prince Frederic the ruler of both spheres, the failing Kingdom of Kentucky and her own. Her head ached.

Her gaze suddenly wandered to the sphere wall and she thought of the
savage
she had seen Outside. How she longed for a new way, a way to save her people from the hardship of this forced union.

Charles stood. Olive rested her head upon Clara's shoulder, “Let me think on it. There must be another way.”

Charles leaned forward, releasing her hands and putting one on each side of Clara's face, palming the entirety of it. He placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I cannot bear and bring to wellness in a fore-night or two.”

“The Queen,” he hissed.

She nodded. He closed his eyes and finally... Charles pulled away, his forehead breaking contact with Clara's.

He began to walk to the door then stopped. He pulled something out of his pocket: a small, velvet bag in deepest blue, cinched with an icy blue ribbon. He walked back over and placed it inside Clara's palm, “This is what I meant to do when I came upon... when I came upon... the circumstance.”

Clara nodded.

She slipped the ribbon open, its gauzy weight as light as a feather, and scooped out a chain of precious silver. At its end hung a large, single pearl, held in a spider web. Complicated filigree surrounded it like an embrace.

Clara's head jerked up, and she looked into Charles dark eyes. “A Samuel Pearl.” She breathed out in reverence. The rarity was beyond compare. In her water sphere fields, there was a tiny field for raising the rare Samuel's Pearls. They were named for her grandfather's grand-sire, a man who had never set foot in the sphere, but had perished in the Outside in the time when the earth was covered in ash.

Charles's beautiful smile broke across his face like the Outside sun breaking free of clouds, “I knew you would love it.”