His hand rose, the back of it sidling down the curve of her cheek. "You already have so little purity left inside of you. You bow before a false god and it appears the family you descend has taught you nothing. I do not want to be the further cause of your corruption. I approached this night prepared to hate you, but instead I wish only to see you happy. Heed my advice, eat the pie."
And now her heart was touched, for he wished for her happiness. It would be easier to deceive him if he was no good man and if he was ready to take her as she desired. He had taken a sample and that was all he wished to have. How she longed to tell him, suddenly, that if he did not take her and play his part in her plan she would be destined for a life of unhappiness. She could never be happy again!
"Please."
The prince bent before her, face mere inches from her own. "Have you tired of addressing me properly now?"
"Please, Prince Tristian."
"So much better—you were right to do so from the start." He straightened, attention trailing away, but his features were lit by the constant spark and fade of the sky. "If you were mine, I do believe you would be easily trained." He shrugged. "But the fat lord. Destiny. Such and such."
Teasing again, this time openly.
"The party, Princess Astrid, return there. I am telling you now not to beg again."
A nod. One night had passed, one opportunity, yet she forced herself to remain optimistic and remember that there were other days and nights.
"I hope to see you again soon, Prince Tristian."
"I've no doubt about it." And there was an uncomfortable spark of knowing in his eyes as he held out his hand to escort.
9
~ A'ZUR ~
"My, risen from the cold burials and walking just fine."
A'zur was done smiling for the night. He'd been warned of the Thornston's superb talent of stretching their merriment until dawn yawned. There were chambers in their side estate, made specifically for the guests to sleep off the toll of their previous night's indulgences.
He was feeling the hour, his bones weary, or perhaps anxious.
Astrid had yet to return. The pies had been served with various side dishes of custard and delicate hashed creams. He'd downed a slice merely because he'd been left sitting alone and others were staring and whispering. It had been sweet. Too sweet. Eleanor would have demanded five more and some to go. Idly, he had wondered if such a pie would make the long duration back home, for surely things there were marked with grief amongst the remaining siblings. Then again, they had all seemed apathetic to Alan.
"But you are a silent lot, the tales did not lie."
Bodies had made their way back into the golden ballroom adjoined to the terrace, where an orchestra serenaded with an easy-to-follow violin and instrument he had never seen before, but perhaps, in another life, would have fancied learning it.
He remained partitioned off to the side, where twirling heaps of clothing did not brush against him, and—before the woman beside him had appeared—peace and solitude pervaded.
"Prince A'zur, are you hard of hearing?"
"It's selective. It's a severe condition." He kept his eyes forward. So many had approached him this night. The story was that their attendance was due to their great depletion of golden ore and seedlings for the coming winter, and that they were hoping to strike a contract to secure a reliable trade route and business arrangement between Redthorn's western lands and Thellemere's nearby islands.
"I think it is quite rude."
He slid his eyes to her. A young female, older than him and far more loquacious. She had nothing to offer him.
"It saddens me you perceive it that way."
"Do you know who I am?"
"The entire ballroom does, I fear, as I watched you make your rounds."
She huffed, but he was already moving away, through the throng of bodies, closer to the terrace where a hedge of neatly clipped bushes led into darkness. The path the prince had disappeared with Astrid onto.
"Well I do hope you enjoy your stay. Especially that sister of yours," she called out. Something about it rang suspicious and worthy of inspection, but he was pushing and weaving through the flare of dresses and whatever ribbon game had been hosted prior to the feast.
He was almost to the lift when something came knocking into him, and he realised too late he'd still been carrying the dark cherry wine he had yet to drink since picking it up in a bid to appear mundane. It sloshed and splashed onto the dark fabrics of his tunic, some spilling onto his neck, his chin, dripping.
"Fuck," came a slurred, disjointed stab from the male who'd crashed into him. The man grabbed A'zur's shoulder then, not in apology, but support.
He weighed a ton.
A sound came from his own lips. He was far too tired to make it the rest of this night. Too many faces, too many events. Smiling here, laughing there. Constantly watching what he allowed to slip from his tongue. Pinning down enemies from foes, evaluating all whom he encountered while appearing charming and stupid.
And now this.
He shoved the man away from him, but was surprised to see him maneuver away with a blinding speed. A savageness almost.
"Try again," the man taunted, and it was then A'zur saw his face. A dead runner for Prince Tristian if not for aforementioned feral properties.
"Prince Rhenan," he murmured, less irritated, even as the cool liquid was sinking deeper into the fabrics and sticking to his chest.
"Greetings... whoever you are. Tell me, you would not have happened to have seen the other me, have you? I..." The prince stood, swayed, glanced around in an entirely disoriented fashion. "I need to speak with him. About those Lymereans."
A'zur raised a brow in piqued interest. "Is that so?"
The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Very so."
"Regarding what matter, might I ask? So I could deliver it to him, of course, as you appear quite out of sorts."
The male had a darker complexion than his own, but A'zur could see when he blanched. "Tried to tell Mama, but the queen is busy and Father is very attached to watching the ball, so you see, Tristian is the only one I can tell. You wouldn't have seen him by any chance, would you?"
"It was quite some time ago."
Prince Rhenan stabbed his chest with his finger and squinted at him. "You tell him those damn noble girls are getting out of hand."
"Out of hand how?" It was like talking to a child, trying to weed out small information.
"With those damn Lymereans. The girl." The prince bent over and hurled.
A most effective way to disperse the small crowd at the terrace.
Lymereans. A'zur frowned, swiped his foot on the near walling and watched the purge drag on. There were but two Lymereans attending this festivity, and he himself was looking for one of them. Only when the man was somewhat composed did A'zur dig further. "This girl, where is she?"
Gold blazed over at him, spittle dripping into his beard. "In her chambers, I would assume."
Her chambers. Why had he not thought of that? The encounter with Prince Tristian could have gone horribly wrong, and his sister, fragile glass she was, could have fled to her assigned bedchambers, dropped on the duvets with hands to face, sobbing and retreating into that place he never wished for her to go. The place where she was foolishly convinced she was flawed and imperfect.
He set his glass of wine aside and left the inebriated prince to the next passerby, locating the exit doors and the iron guards who allowed departure but no reentry. If she weren't in her bedchambers, then he would be unable to return to the event, the gardens.
He hesitated at the doors, casting one last glance about the room, but seeing no one of merit, he started for her chambers, walking the halls by memory. They were surprisingly empty and his own guards were who knew where after he'd shooed them away.
The same could be said when he reached the second floor of the guest estates, the double doors at the end of their rocky corridors filled with Thornston engraved sigi
ls and golden crests: no guards.
Then he recalled they'd have accompanied the princess from a distance, for her life was more valuable than the chests of her belongings inside the room. And if they were not here, then neither was Astrid.
Perhaps she had actually followed through on her plan. His fervent worry could have all been for naught, for this very moment the prince could have her spread before him—and what if he retreated before the deed was done? How could they have glossed over that scenario? Her maidenhood could be tarnished and her worth doubled down to nothing. Not all men finished inside.
He set his lips. It was the night. It was getting to him, skewering his line of reasoning.
He pushed into Astrid's chamber which smelled nothing like the one back in their homeland. This one smelled of book pages and mineral rocks. Neglect. But the chamber was tidy, the bed made, the floors swept, the furniture all having likely cost a small fortune.
A'zur let his feet take him to her trunk, set at the foot of the bed, where before he had promised to assist in her unpacking.
Tomorrow, perhaps.
It was when he'd let the day bleed from his body as he crawled onto the sheets, mind sinking into a lower state of consciousness, that he felt the paper rasp his cheek from the pillow.
He sat up, assessed the environment as though an assassin perched somewhere unseen, but when quiet answered, he snatched up the folded papyrus. A letter. Crimson Thornston seal.
Clearly not intended for him.
Truly, he was prepared to return it to the space beside his head as he lay in wait for his sister's return, but something from his periphery caught his eyes. Something black and large.
Again, he sat up and this time he glanced at the door. What he saw had him tearing open the letter in an instant, reading quickly and feeling murderous intent well inside of him after the last period.
~ ASTRID ~
She was certain there was not a pair of eyes that did not turn in her direction. Paused conversations, narrowed eyes and the occasional person, likely with a mind clouded from drink who found it appropriate to point. Although the crucial step of her plan was not yet in play, there was an element of smugness hidden behind her neutral expression, for one day she may well be many of these gossiping guests' queen. Such an idea would have occurred to none of them. It was almost amusing.
There was little need to knock upon the door to their assigned chambers, for if A'zur did happen to dwell within she would likely be an expected arrival. She turned the handle, but immediately felt resistance.
"Just a moment." A'zur's voice and the sound of something scraping on the floor.
Her brother opened the door for her, and at first she was struck by the bizarre scene before her. Her brother, Prince A'zur, wearing breeches rolled up to the calves, a shirt rolled to the elbows—and a scarf wrapped around his forehead, pushing hair from his face.
Then there was the scent, floral but slightly ancrid.
She coughed almost as soon as she had inhaled and stared in disbelief at her brother. A flash of panic, then fear, then confusion, then fear again crossed her eyes.
"Big Brother? What is this?"
The inside of her chamber was completely thrashed. Bed spreads and duvets hauled up, the mattress lopped over the side of its support beams. Drawers thrown open, window shutters hanging wide. Her trunk's mouth was gaped, contents gutted and strewn all throughout the room. And the more she drew in, the more she smelled the scent of something burning, yet the only light was that of the candle on her vanity and the two sconces on either side of the doorway.
He kicked the door closed with a bare foot to reveal a small pail of foamy water and—
At first she couldn't depict the black markings on the door, but on closer inspection, and perhaps this could be concluded from her brother's grim expression, she recognised their Lymerean crest, slashed in interrupted, oily paint from one side of the door to the other. Though it was weeping, the byproduct of water and chemicals and the rag A'zur took to it again.
"They hate you," he said gently. "And had someone discovered this here, do you know what they would have done to you? To us?"
She coughed again and shook her head, appearing confused despite her frantic examination of the scene. It came as a surprise that she was completely unsurprised that she was hated, for she was foreign and from a feared land, but greater insight into the source of the hate would have been appreciated.
"Who are 'they', big brother?"
He continued to scrub, suddenly appearing incredibly tired. "They burn and beat and torture heretics here. To have one in their home, vandalising their property with "conversion tactics"—which would indeed be their argument come trial—would be an offence not even the royal family could overlook. They knew that. All the men and women at the feast who sat and watched you fling yourself at their crown prince. And so they did this."
He flicked a finger back to the vanity, the corner. A small strip of paper. "I doubt I have found them all; I figured I had more time before you arrived, but you are free to read what they think of my sister."
And suddenly he was angry, steel hardening to granite as he impaled her with the fury. "I assumed it need not be stressed you do not act in such a manner before dozens of sharks. Sharks who all had their agenda with that prince this night. Your behaviour was forgivable. Your disobedience was not. There are times and there are places to employ ulterior conduct. You followed your own path and ignored mine."
The rag was thrown into the bucket of water, her brother's mouth tight. "And for what? Did you succeed with the prince?"
Already she resembled a crushed and ruined creature. Certainly, she feared what they would do to her, and especially her darling A'zur, but to think that she had angered and disappointed him. That delivered the greater blow. She clutched her hands together and shook her head, as a salty drop trailed from the corner of her eye, down her cheek and then to the end of her nose.
"I thought... I thought... If people saw, he could not deny me when I return here. I did not mean to be bad or make you angry, big brother."
"You know not to think anymore, Astrid. They need only see you together, not see you sell your dignity to that man. And this," He gestured at the door, the letter. "I suppose will keep me busy while you..."
He sighed. "I know you are not ignorant, sister. In fact, you are quite cunning at times, so I do believe you were wholly aware of your wrong while you were committing it. Though perhaps you knew not the damage it would endow. It is fine if they hate you after the marriage, for you will have leashed the largest shark of them all. But right now? You're but an insignificant, bleeding carp. Do you understand that?"
His words cut through her, sliced through the skin she wished to present as perfect for the prince and left her exposed. On trial already for her foolishness. A'zur's words made sense, as they always did, but he did not realise the connection she had already made with Prince Tristian. She straightened her back and looked him in the eye.
"But he said he wants me to be happy. We kissed and talked, but he wants me to be happy. It must mean something, yes?"
He looked at her with a familiar expression: disbelief, then dismissal. He bent and retrieved the rag. "Go to bed. You so clearly need the rest."
A huff passed her lips. Certainly she required the rest, but so did he and she was quite prepared to make him realise that. "I'll go to bed but I want you to come to bed with me."
The comment left his lips set in a peculiar compression, his eyes burning as he scrubbed the door harder. "The two of you kissed."
"Yes. But you and I have kissed too."
Nestled against each other, in each other's embrace. Warmth shared and delicate pecks adoring lips with sweet adoration. The hunger she had experienced with Tristian was not there, but rather timeless purity. A love that was unconditional and present.
He scrubbed harder. "I apologise about your room. You are welcome to sleep in my chamber."
Her voice piqued up. L
ight. Airy. Hopeful. After this she did not feel entirely safe sleeping alone. "With you?"
He looked from the corner of his eyes, through the bronze lop of hair curling into his stare. "I will try to hurry and finish up here."
"Then I will stay here and keep you company until you do."
Her words were coupled with an action as she hurried forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind. Pulling herself closer, nuzzling his back with her cheek like some love-struck feline. "Big brother."
Moments traipsed on and she felt his chest rise beneath her embrace as he took in a shuddering breath and held it. After the familiar countdown from ten, those moments he took to control himself, he released it and said softly, "You mean to undo me."
She had to laugh, for at times he was terribly amusing when he misunderstood her. "Not undo, big brother. Just cuddle. And kiss if you please."
"Then who will tend to the mess we have?" His motions were slowing, though his body remained a rigid beam.
"You always tend to our mess." It had been the way for years. If there was ever a problem, A'zur would be the one to mend things. He had the solution to all problems and frankly was more a mother than Queen Marianne was to them.
"Can I help?"
"Did he move you, sister?"
"Move me?"
He spun around and dropped the blackened rag. Seared greys begged her for something, something she couldn't discern for his hands had caught her by the waist and was pulling her against him.
"Move you," he said in a low voice, followed by the personalised disdain he carried for Redthorn's crown prince.
"As in stir you, sister," he went on, lips grazing her brow, a hand against the tender surface of her stomach finding its way lower. It was a gradual, contained trek. Her Big Brother, who always moved with stern purpose, did not cease his descent until his fingers cupped between her thighs and his gaze cooled to ice. "Did he arouse you here?"
Already she was a shuddering mess with breaths that emerged half-broken and husky from the pit of her chest. In truth the prince did and she was left with a hunger for more but she was wise enough to know that men were jealous creatures. It came naturally to them as they wished to protect those they considered to belong solely to them.
Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1) Page 14
