Sterling (4 page)

I scowled as I watched him flirt with the girl. I wanted to crawl into a corner and scream. I hated watching Papa flirt with a stranger as much as I hated imagining him with Ghilene Entila. As I turned away from Papa’s disheartening spectacle, I spied my betrothed approaching his mistress, the woman I’d freed in the library, with her pale hair and her bright crimson gown. Oh, why had she returned? Amatos, the entire country would see me as a laughingstock if he dallied with his mistress openly here. I should have left her tied up in the library.

My fists clenched as Erich whispered something to her. She scowled at him and shook her head. Thank the gods, he turned away from her and moved towards the dessert sideboard.

I exhaled at my reprieve and retreated into a quiet corner of the ballroom near some windows to assess the situation, turning my back on the fluttering fans and whispered innuendos. I pushed aside the drapes to stare into the darkening night.

“
S
terling
.” The blue velvet drape flicked from my hand and snapped closed. I turned and my lips met a chocolate-dipped madeleine cake. My favorite. I blinked up into a smirking face.

“Have a bite,” Erich Talata said. Sleek muscles rippled in his arm as he pushed the madeleine against my mouth.

Flustered, I did as he said, trying to keep my bite dainty. But he let go the cake, as though afraid I might bite
him
, and half fell to the ground.

We both stared at the fallen cake and said nothing. I lifted my gaze first.

He did indeed wear gold dust in his hair. That spoke of a desire to appear rich and sophisticated, even if he had selected a slave’s costume. I suspected he’d only picked the costume because he knew how well it showed off his perfect form; the man was vain.
And why shouldn’t he be?

“My mistress says you freed her from her ... situation ... in the library,” he said as he finally looked up.

His eyes, gazing out from the mask that covered so little, slayed me. Every proud intention to put him in his place for bringing up his mistress only moments after our betrothal flew right out the window when I looked at his eyes. I considered debasing myself with any kind of disgusting animalistic activities with him, if only the gods would guarantee my children had his eyes. They were a medium blue, untouched by green or grey or violet. Almond-shaped, with long lashes. If I had carried scissors in my pocket, I would have cut off those lashes to steal for myself.

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t have left her trapped like that,” I said distractedly, peering around him to monitor the ball. Another dancing set was starting. The viols screeched with the fast rhythm of a darfossa, and couples lined up to whirl through the ballroom in barely-controlled passes.

I spotted Papa departing from the main doors, holding the arm of the black-haired navel-dancer. I turned all the way around to get a better look at them through the dancing crowd. The woman was smaller than Ghilene—it couldn’t be her.

“She deserved it.” Erich stepped in front of me, blocking my view. He seemed uncomfortable; he kicked at the fallen madeleine and ran his gloved hands through that gold-dusted hair. The cellos thrummed a relentless bass line. Erich nearly had to shout, “You should know, she means nothing to me. My mistress, I mean. You don’t—”

“I thought you rather liked the scent of her thighs,” I said.

Erich froze with his hand mid-air. His head tilted. “
What?”

Oh, why did my tongue always run out of my control? Thank Amassis for my mask, which mostly covered my raging blush.

Even Erich had the good sense to flush, though I suspected such color did not come often to those well-sculpted cheeks. He leaned close to me so he didn’t have to speak so loudly over the music. “What did you see?”

I couldn’t tell if he was amused or angry. “Ah—everything.”

He laughed, that same dry laugh he had offered his paramour in the library. “Did I give you second thoughts?”

“I know my duty,” I said stiffly, pushing my back against the drapes and side-stepping so I could see around Erich, wishing we were not so visible in the ballroom. Though many of the guests were occupied with the dance, there were plenty of others watching us: Tirienne Talata, for one, with narrowed eyes and white fingers clutching her wine flute. She stood near the dais, flanked by two House mages in their plain white robes. All her attention was focused on her son, but I could not read her face.

Erich again blocked my view of the room—in what I felt was a very controlling manner. “You’d still marry a man you caught
in flagrante delicto
?”

I ducked past him and headed towards a wine-laden servant, dodging wide skirts, coat-tails, and whispers.

I grabbed a glass from the servant’s tray and squeezed against the papered wall between a matron with a tall feathered mask and a young man who murmured, “Princess Sterling” and gave me room.

“You surprise me,” Erich said, once again standing directly in front of me, heedless of our neighbors’ stares. “How can you not mind?”

I hated that he was pursuing this conversation in public.

“You can do whatever you want,” I said. The matron was eavesdropping. I leaned as close to Erich’s ear as I dared, but he retracted away from me sharply, a frown marring his handsome face.

“What do I care what you do?” I hissed. “Only please have the dignity to clean yourself before you touch me. Your touch
disgusted
me. I knew what your hands—gloved or not—had been up to, you see.”

“I understand.” He stepped back, a crease forming between his brows. He turned his back and crossed both arms over his chest, as though he could will me away by ignoring me.

My father had not returned to ballroom. I scanned everywhere but could not find him. Despite the crowd, I felt quite alone, especially as it did not seem Erich would dance with or even acknowledge me again.

The darfossa ended and another set began. The ballroom teemed. Men leered. Women flirted. In truth, I was a little tipsy—I’d downed that last wine far too quickly. I stepped off the wall, deciding I needed something more substantial than half a madeleine in my stomach, and wavered as I hurried towards the food sideboards. I almost ran into a couple kissing shamelessly. At the last moment I sidestepped them and lost my balance.

A gloved hand, firm and warm and tingling on my wrist, kept me from tumbling to the floor. “Sterling,” Erich murmured. “We should talk.” He yanked his hand away as soon as I regained my balance. “I want you take your mask off,” he continued. His breath smelled heavily of alcohol, stronger stuff than wine, too. Akavit? Brandy?

“I want to see you.” He reached to remove my mask.

I slapped at his hand, missing. “No! Not here!”

“Why not?”

“People are looking!” My unguarded answer revealed my true feelings. He’d know my shame to be seen publicly. Was he truly unaware that half the ballroom was tracking our every interaction?

“Let’s go somewhere else then.” Erich’s unexpected response calmed me. He led me back to the library where I’d first seen him, lighting a candelabrum by the door and carrying it deep into the room, down to the back of the bookshelves.

I followed, a mix of dread, anticipation, and relief stewing in my stomach. At least it was quiet in the library, with only the faintest strains of music reaching through the walls.

I’d known I’d have to show him my face eventually, but I’d picked the masquerade as a delay, thinking that if we could get to know each other without my horrible face in the way, he might appreciate me for my other qualities.

How naïve that plan had been. If anything, getting to know Erich had only made matters worse. Nothing could alleviate the problem of my face. He’d see me and loathe me. I sighed. It didn’t matter. He loathed me already. My footsteps in his wake were not eager.

“Sterling! Come on.” Did he think I’d run away? Couldn’t he imagine what my life had been like, a disfigured girl in a world that valued a woman’s beauty above her intelligence or kindness or skills? But no. He was too beautiful. Erich ate what he was served, and his meals had only ever been sweet. He did not know the bitter flavors.

At least candles forgave more than magelight or gaslight. He’d already removed his own mask. I’d hoped it had covered a scar or a blemish, a pimple, anything, but of course it did not. Without the mask, the perfect symmetry of his face stood out even more.

My hands shook so badly I could not lift them. I feared close scrutiny. Papa had once given me a lens for looking at my maps up close; I’d spent hours looking at them with it, but my sister Stesi had often used that same lens with excruciating patience to fry the butterflies she liked to catch.

No matter how much I’d screamed at her to stop, she’d only laughed, leaving the dead butterflies on my maps with horrible little wisps of steam wafting away on the breeze.

“Are you afraid?” Erich’s voice brought me back to reality. I felt like a butterfly burning beneath that lens.

My hands fluttered; still, they would not rise. My corset squeezed. I sipped air desperately, but a spasm erupted beneath my ribcage. I made a helpless, hiccupping sound.

“Breathe,” Erich advised in a voice that brooked no argument.

I opened my mouth and gulped air, as if his speaking had given me permission to inhale.

“Turn around,” he said. I obeyed. His gloved touch on my back sent spikes of sensation roaring across my skin.

“What are you doing?” I cried.

“Unlacing you.”

Dear gods!
I couldn’t breathe again. “Why?”

“So you don’t faint.”

My lack of air grew worse, until suddenly, I managed a full and unrestricted breath. Erich had loosened my corset.

Erich shook himself free from my clothing. “You laced your stays too tight,” he reproved, as if I didn’t know.

“I wanted you to think I had a nice body.” There my mouth went again, saying words I didn’t want him to know.

He cast me a sharp glance. “You wanted me to desire you?”

I clamped my tongue between my teeth so I could not say any other stupid, vulnerable thing.

Erich shrugged and grabbed the edge of my mask. “Do you prefer your bandages peeled off slowly or quickly?”

My breath clamped again. “Quickly, please,” I managed.

In one rapid sweep, he tore my mask away. I closed my eyes.

My heart plummeted into the soles of my feet. Not for any price could I open my eyes. I did not want to see his face when he saw me. I did not want to witness his disappointment.

My hands inadvertently clutched my skirts. I swayed where I stood, my eyes closed. My head leaned to the right in instinctive habit to turn the better side of my face forward. I bit my lower lip—all my nervous ticks unleashed at once.

“Sterling.” I could tell nothing from his voice. “Sterling. I’m going to blow out the candle. You can open your eyes.”

Did I trust him to do as he said? I heard the
whoosh
of his breath.

I opened my eyes.

I couldn’t even see the outline of his body in the complete darkness. My knees gave, and I crumpled to the ground. He must have heard me go down. I felt him crouch beside me.

“What do you fear?” he asked.

I had never been like Stesi, good at flirtation and courtship games. I simply hadn’t had the practice. I did not know what else to do but answer honestly. “I’m afraid you won’t take me. I’m afraid you’ll reject me and I’ll fail my father.”

“Amatos,” he hissed. “Shut up, would you? Consider this: You may be ugly on the outside, but I’m ugly on the inside. Are you so certain
you
want to marry me?”

“I don’t understand. Do you mean the rumors? About your—unusual tastes? But we must marry! For Lethemia. For Papa’s peace. You can live as you please. I won’t ask you to give up your pleasures.”

“Indeed? Then we might get on quite well together, Sterling.”

Well—not exactly a resounding declaration of his love and respect, but I’d take it.

I exhaled. He would marry me. I did not need him to love me. I only needed him not to shame me. I had no idea what he meant, mirroring his mistress’s words about being ugly on the inside—unless he recognized his own tendency towards arrogance and cruelty? He’d be a rare man if he did.

“Thank you,” I said, scrabbling blindly on the floor to find my mask. I slipped it back over my face amid a wave of relief. The safety of the large, scratchy mask shrouded me. “You can do whatever you want with your mistress. I won’t complain. But please, do not shame me publicly. Have your pretty girls in private. When the world is watching, be discreet. And do not stare at my face. Never stare at my face. That’s all I ask.”

“Sterling.”

“What?” The way he said my name disarmed me, and I didn’t like it. A sudden light flared, and he relit his candle.

He blinked as though surprised that I wore the mask again. “I will ask only one favor of you,” he said, all business. “Never touch me. If you can agree to that, I’m sure we can get along together just fine.”

Tears threatened. “But how—what about children? Oh! I disgust you, don’t I?”

“It isn’t that,” he said. “It’s—you’ve felt it, haven’t you? What happens when I touch people? Just agree, won’t you? I won’t stare at your face; you won’t touch me. It will be an easy arrangement.”

He hadn’t said anything about children, though. My face and hands were hot with embarrassment, but I persisted. “What about an heir? Don’t we have to ... touch ... for that?”

Erich’s mouth flattened into a taut line. “Accept the terms or don’t, Sterling. I’m not negotiating.”

My stomach twisted. I thought of Papa, what he’d said about making sacrifices. He needed me to do this. “Fine. But remember, you cannot humiliate me in public.”

“Of course not,” Erich said. “But do you mean to imply I can humiliate you in private?” He sounded as if he jested, but since he’d already dished out a fair share of both types of humiliation this evening, I did not find him amusing.

“In private I can endure anything.”

He laughed. “Oh Sterling! I’ve never met anyone who says the things you say. You’re so—honest. I worried about marrying. It was bound to be awkward, trying to explain the touching thing to a wife. But
you
understand.”

I frowned. “No, I don’t. I felt it—whatever it is. But it wasn’t unpleasant.” I could learn to enjoy those sparks that erupted when he touched me, whatever they were.

“Don’t lie to me now, Sterling. I wish for one other thing in our marriage—that we be honest with each other. Always. Even when it hurts.”

I clasped my hands together. Though I appreciated Erich’s idealism, I knew too well how painful honesty could be with a face like mine. “I’m not lying. I could get used to your touch. I might even learn to enjoy it. We could make heirs. I wouldn’t mind even if it hurt. If you—” I broke off, hugely embarrassed. I had forgotten my face. I had forgotten how little he would
want
to touch me. This whole bargain might be a ploy so that he didn’t have to touch ugly Sterling Ricknagel,
Her Royal Hideousness.
My newfound trust in him disintegrated.