by Anne Wheeler
“He was just curious,” she said.
“Yes. This way.” He pointed out toward the tree with the misshapen limbs. “But he hurt you.”
“He is Vilarian.” Ryllis darted away from a chicken that had made its way around the house. The bird squawked, then half flew, half jumped to a perch in a low bush and eyed them warily. “He can’t help it.”
“He should.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave the ground a morose look. “I help it, don’t I?”
She favored him with the cautious smile he’d come to expect when she meant to taunt him. “Most of the time.”
“Ryllis!”
She laughed out loud at his mock exasperation and brushed another curious hen from their path. The bird scattered without protest, and Kresten frowned at them both. “Don’t tell me the chickens love you, too.”
His face went red in horror, but he caught himself before he stumbled to the ground in humiliation. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she’d forget immediately. Maybe he hadn’t completely humiliated himself.
Ryllis froze for the briefest moment, her fingers at her throat, then recovered. “They know you’re afraid of them, Your Highness. They’ll take advantage of that. They won’t follow us into the cave, will they? If you think they might, we can just head back now.”
“No.” He felt like gasping for air—or digging a hole and burying himself in it. “They’re curious, but they won’t stray that far from their food.”
“How far is it to the cave?”
“A fifteen-minute walk.”
“It’s nice weather for it.”
Kresten wanted to hug for her letting his blunder go. He couldn’t love her. He barely knew her, and not a single Vilarian made the mistake of falling in love with an off-worlder, especially not from Cereth and the like. Well, it did happen, he supposed, but not among Fleet officers. Not among his family. He might enjoy her company and find her appearance pleasing and be thankful their paths had crossed, even in such a manner as they had, but he didn’t love her.
Love isn’t an emotion, and you’ve always been an expert at fooling yourself.
Elise’s voice echoed in his head as clearly as it had when he’d been inside hers. Some things never changed, even her affectionate reproach. Was she right? Perhaps. Things between them hadn’t always been easy—between his disclosure of his telepathy, his almost-pariah status in the imperial family, and the frequent partings due to his Fleet work, no one would have blamed them for going their separate ways. He and Elise had never entertained the thought, though.
Desperate to forget her memory, if even for a moment, he grabbed Ryllis’s fingers by the tips. They swung their arms between them as they walked, even though his misgivings were growing by the second. Her touch calmed him, and more importantly, it reassured her that he wasn’t angry, but this was a bad idea. The worst idea he’d ever had—if not only for him, for her. He couldn’t lead her to believe they had a future together. He wouldn’t hurt her like that.
“The entrance is just around this corner,” he said. “It goes fairly deep, but without a light, we’ll need to stay by the entrance.”
He pointed her toward the hole in the rocks, surrounded by gnarled trees and the ever-present ferns. Ryllis hopped across the last few roots covering the trail and stared up at the ceiling.
“It doesn’t look that big,” she said.
“Not from here.” A few drops of water dripped on the back of his neck when he joined her, and he suppressed a shiver. “But if you turn right after that large pink vein of granite, you can get lost. There’s a cavern about a hundred paces down that passageway, and if we’d planned better, we could have visited. But not now.”
“Getting lost doesn’t sound appealing.”
“No.” He smiled. “I used to come up here when I didn’t want Lina to find me at the waterfall. I bet there are still cans of water back there.”
“Let’s not find out.” Ryllis brushed the water off his neck and smiled back.
By the stars. Her silhouette, dark in the backlight illumination of the cave’s entrance, sent flashes of something unfamiliar through his body, and her touch—he couldn’t remember this kind of haziness in his mind. Ever. He took a step closer, and she didn’t move as he reached a finger toward her cheek in a silent request for her blessing.
She met his eyes, licked her lips, and nodded, as if she’d understood him without words. Heart racing at the vulnerability and strength in her expression, he slid his free hand around her waist and drew her against him. He’d held her before, yes, but not like this. Her soft body fit against his perfectly, and unlike the night when she’d slept with her head on his lap, she was clean and warm and dry. His breath quickened as he watched her breathe, firing off a desperate longing he hadn’t realized he possessed. Before he had the chance to think better of what he was about to do, he leaned in and gently tilted her head toward him.
She tasted better than he could have ever imagined, like pine and honey and yellow gold tea. He gripped her harder, unable to let go, and she sighed against his mouth. Her hands found the back of his neck, and suddenly she was running her fingers through his hair, returning his kiss with a ferocity he’d never expected. None of his dreams had prepared him for this.
He broke away after too short a time, certain his heart would explode if he didn’t. Ryllis glanced at the dirt at the interruption, and he lifted her chin with a shaking finger. In the twilight of the cave, her eyes were dark, but the delight she’d tried to hide in whatever misplaced embarrassment she felt was unmistakable.
“I should regret that,” he said with some difficulty. “But I don’t.”
She shook her head, looking almost dazed. “Will you regret it a second time?”
He didn’t deserve her. With a smile that almost split his mouth, he lifted her onto a small ledge in the cave wall. At his height now, she cupped his face between her hands, and he had the futile thought that perhaps he should have shaved, but she didn’t seem to mind. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he knew.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “But we should try once more, just to make sure.”
She smiled at him, exquisite and shy, then her lips were on his again, warmer and gentler than before, like she’d quenched her desire the first time and could now linger as long as she wanted, savoring him. He wasn’t nearly as satisfied, but he let her lead, reveling in the innocence of her touch. If only this could last forever. If only he could do it whenever he wanted. If only they could go further. If only—
Ryllis pulled back, then leaned her forehead against his. “I can scarcely breathe.”
She had no idea. He caressed her cheek as he waited for his breath—and the rest of his body—to return to normal. “Me either. But if it’s the choice between breathing well and you doing that to me, I know which one I’ll choose, every time.”
“Men are so predictable.” Her laughter rang off the walls of the cave, light and breezy, as she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his. “I was afraid at first.”
“Are you still?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned back and looked into her eyes. The tears took him by surprise. “Ryllis? What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid that this was a mistake, perhaps.”
“Oh, my darling star.” He wiped off the tears, but she tilted her face away from him. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
“But I can’t let myself feel anything for you,” she said, more to herself than him, he suspected.
“Why not?” He chanced a smile—along with everything else. “Have you already forgotten what I asked about the chickens?”
Her cheeks grew red. “You didn’t mean it.”
“One doesn’t accidentally lie.” He knew that. Accidentally telling the truth was what got people in trouble. Accidentally lying? If it happened, he’d never seen it.
“If that’s so”—her voice broke—“then perhaps it was you who made the mistake, Your Highness.”
His chest tighte
ned. “And you don’t mean that.”
“You may think you love me, but love isn’t always enough. It’s certainly not enough to overcome our realities. It’s not enough to change who you are or how the Star Realm sees me”—her hand brushed across her scalp—“or that love born in our circumstance is hopeless from the start.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said stubbornly. “I want you. And even though you won’t admit it, I think you feel the same way.”
“Are you used to always getting what you want?”
She couldn’t possibly think—well, she did, and no surprise. But even outside of the oath, that wasn’t him.
“I won’t pressure you into anything. I swear it on my father’s name. But can I ask that you not rebuff this immediately?”
Ryllis rested her head on his shoulder. “I care for you. I could love you, easily. But I refuse to be someone’s secret—or worse, their mistress. I know what that means for my future, and while it breaks my heart to think of the years of loneliness ahead, I knew that was the outcome when I left Cereth. I’ve had plenty of time to accept my fate. I know you’ll marry again, and that I’ll be sent from your household to who knows where, and that you won’t waste another second thinking of me after I leave.”
She had no idea. She didn’t understand, and he couldn’t blame her for that. He could still feel her lips on his, and yet he wanted more. He wanted to tell her why having her as a mistress was never going to happen, that he wanted to wake up every morning next to her and see her brilliant smile beside him, that he could do whatever he wished with an Eradication Council slave, even free one, and that there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t marry her if she was cleared, if that was what she wanted.
But those dreams would mean breaking his cover. It would mean forcing her to talk, and if she confessed to the wrong things, her current standing would be academic, because he would lose her, anyway. She might lose her life.
For all this to work out? She’d have to be as innocent as she claimed, and what were the odds of that? He was caught now, trapped between his desire and his need to protect her.
“I won’t accept that,” he said.
“It’s best if you accept it,” she said, just as he was beginning to fantasize about running away and changing his name. “For both of us.”
“What if you married me?”
He’d half expected her to laugh, but she went deathly pale instead. “Is this a joke?”
“No. No joke. If you won’t be my mistress, be my wife.”
“That’s unfair to ask of me.” Her voice shook. “You know I don’t have the power to walk away from anything you propose. That’s not love. It’s—it’s control. So please, don’t suggest it.”
Her answer, too logical and heartbreaking at the same time, broke the magic. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that if she felt for him like he did for her, such things wouldn’t matter.
He looked at the ground. “Then answer one question for me.” He was burning with the need to know. “Can you ever love me?”
“Kresten.” His heart sped up at what her use of his name had to mean to her, but when he looked up, there was nothing but sadness on her face. “Stars help, but . . . maybe I already do.”
Chapter Eleven
His brother swept into the hilltop mansion the next morning, scorning Lina’s offer of tea. Just the sweet wine, please, he’d said when he arrived, and Kresten was so relieved at the rare use of the word please that he hadn’t argued that getting drunk before breakfast was unbecoming of anyone, much less the emperor’s second son. It was a waste of breath to argue with Vidar most of the time, and with his brother on some kind of mission, hopefully not assigned by the emperor himself . . . well, his only goal right now was to finish the visit and have Vidar depart as quickly as possible, leaving as little damage as possible behind him.
“So?” Vidar asked, perching on the hearth of the great room’s fireplace, his glass of wine in hand. “Where is she?”
For some reason, his brother had chosen the hearth instead of the half dozen chairs scattered around, like he intended to spring away once his task was accomplished. Maybe the large stones that made up the chimney would collapse on him, running him and that ridiculous formal jacket off quicker. What kind of man wore silk to a rustic cabin in the mountains, anyway?
Kresten waved an idle finger over his shoulder at Lina in reply. No small talk after the Cereth assignment was disappointing, for family was family, and on some base level he did love Vidar. At the same time, it was the best he could have hoped for—Vidar would do whatever he planned to do, then leave. Thank the Realm.
Lina’s footsteps clicked in the hallway, then disappeared. Kresten took another sip of his own sweet wine, grown and cellared in Governor Camden’s district, of all places. It was too strong for so early in the morning, so he closed his eyes as he swallowed and prayed Ryllis wouldn’t fight the summons. A few doors hissed in the background, and he took a bigger gulp as two pairs of footsteps returned. Lina led Ryllis into the center of the room, nodded at both him and Vidar, and disappeared. There was no doubt she was returning to her own drink somewhere far away from the whole scene.
Vidar approached Ryllis as she stood with her eyes on the floor, absolute fascination on his face. Something had surprised him, that much was clear, though whether it was the fact Ryllis existed at all or that she was wearing a dress completely inappropriate for a slave was anyone’s guess. They’d picked it out together that morning, a gray-colored piece of silk that matched both the mountain clouds and her eyes, with a skirt that hung just below her knees and enough delicate lace flowers on the hem to make one wonder about the price.
Traditional Vilarian costumes were still popular in rural areas like this, and Ryllis’s contemporary dress looked as out of place on the mountain as Vidar’s jacket did, but Kresten hadn’t been able to breathe when she’d come out from her room, a shy but exhilarated smile on her face. He’d thought the outfit ridiculous when he’d purchased it last lunar cycle on a whim, but looking at her now . . . no, he hadn’t made a mistake. How women could walk in shoes like the ones that clung to Ryllis’s feet, he’d never understand, but the things they did to her calves made it worth it—for him, at least.
He looked away before his emotions became evident. Drooling all over himself would be all too humiliating, especially in front of Vidar.
“I can’t believe it,” Vidar said, looking her up and down. “I thought it was a joke when I heard, but it turns out you’re just as much of a hypocrite as the rest of us. It’s lovely to see.” His gaze swung to Kresten. “Have you not had time to educate her in basic manners? Or at the very least, remind her she’s not on Cereth any longer?”
Couldn’t he tell she was too terrified to remember her own name, much less court etiquette? Kresten steeled his tone, ignoring the shame that flooded through him. He’d warned her. She’d play along.
“Amaryllis.”
Ryllis’s head jerked up at his voice, then down toward the floor again. “I am sorry for my rudeness, Your Highnesses,” she whispered in a tone clearly intended for only one of them. She went down on one knee, as flawlessly as she’d likely been taught as a child, and Kresten took a breath. Even Vidar couldn’t find fault with that, even though the sight of her prostrating herself before his brother made him sick.
Vidar sniffed. “Best work on that, dear brother, if you plan on having her seen anywhere near Mother and Father. They would be most displeased to be treated so casually—and by a Cerethian, no less. Get up, girl.”
Ryllis rose more gracefully than Kresten would have been able to after that reprimand, the lifeless expression he despised so much on her face. It’d been a dozen, perhaps more, days since he’d last seen it, and he’d forgotten how much he hated it. It would take a long while before he forgave Vidar for making her look like this again. He clenched his fists, lest they meet his brother’s nose of their own accord.
Vidar circled her as she stoo
d, his eyebrows raised. “No mark?”
“No mark.” Kresten took a breath and ran a finger up the arm of his chair. The motion quelled his rage, but just barely. “We do things differently in the mountains.”
Vidar laughed as he brushed a finger against Ryllis’s scalp. She flinched, and her breathing grew rapid, but she didn’t move otherwise. Something, deep down, told Kresten she would have reacted differently to such a brute a solar cycle before, prince or not. How he wanted to see her that spirited again.
“I see that. What a charming anachronism.” Vidar’s hand fell to his side, and before Kresten could do a thing about it, he’d cupped it about her bottom. “But personally, I’d have chosen to put it right”—he squeezed—“here, if I were you.”
Rage rushed through Kresten’s entire body, but he forced himself to stay seated. He couldn’t do anything about the horror and disgust in Ryllis’s gray eyes, and he couldn’t murder his brother and get away with it, but he could pretend he didn’t care. Vidar was aiming for a reaction, and the more of one he got, the longer this ghastly show would continue. He took another sip of wine, though it was more like a swig this time around. Foul stuff.
“If, later on, I decide to mark her in that way,” Kresten said, forcing calm into his words, “I promise you’ll be the first invited to watch.”
But thankfully, Vidar, you are not me. And she’ll never be marked.
He looked out the windows before Ryllis’s wounded gaze swung in his direction. If he saw the pain and betrayal there, Vidar would lose some teeth, and then . . . well, he didn’t want to know what would happen then. Princes didn’t fight over slaves—it was unbecoming. Most importantly, any kind of argument would keep Vidar around, and all Kresten wanted to do was comfort her for what he’d already said and done.
Later. He’d console her later, in private, away from Lina’s prying eyes. He’d tell her how beautiful she was, and how much she meant to him, and how he loved her more than she knew, and that his bastard of a brother didn’t speak for anyone but himself. And then he would listen to her scream or cry or whatever else she wanted to do, and then he would kiss away the tears and stroke her cheek as she fell asleep.
