by Jayla Jasso
Kitran came in the back door with a dishpan full of water, setting it down on the washtable off to the side. She bowed slightly to Graciella, but with a sour expression. “Anything else, milady?”
“Yes, Kitran, please draw a fresh jug of water for drinking as well.” Graciella rolled out another slab of dumpling dough so she and Wilten could cut more dumplings for the soup.
The kitchen door opened, and Yavi entered. “Hello, Graciella. Hard at work, I see.”
Graciella blushed, not having expected to see him before dinner. Her hair was a jumbled mess pinned carelessly on top of her head, and she was wearing her ugliest plain white muslin dress with a stained apron over the skirt. She curtsied to him lamely. “Hello, Emperor Yavi.”
He came closer to see what she and Wilten were doing, and indicated the bowl of cut dumplings. “What are these?”
“Dumplings, made of dough. I’m making my mother’s recipe for chicken dumpling soup. The chicken and vegetables are cooking in the broth in those kettles.”
He smiled. “It smells wonderful.”
The back door opened, and Kitran came in carrying a large jug of water. She halted when she saw Yavi, then shot a resentful glance at Graciella.
“Kitran, you can just bring the drinking water over here to the worktable, if you please.” Graciella looked at Yavi. “Would you like a cup of water?”
“Yes, that would be most appreciated.” He smiled.
Suddenly a splash of icy-cold water hit Graciella’s face and chest. She yelped, then sucked in a sharp breath.
“I’m so sorry, milady. I tripped,” Kitran explained.
Graciella held her hands out and looked down at her soaked dress. The fabric was clinging to her breasts as if she had nothing on at all.
Wilten quickly grabbed a cloth and tossed it to her, and Graciella pressed it to her chest. “Oh dear, some of it got on the dumplings!”
“I dry dumpling, milady. You go get new dress.” Wilten hurried to the buffet to get another dishcloth.
“Please excuse me, Sire.” Red-faced, Graciella rushed past Yavi and out the door as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her.
§
Yavi retreated to his room as well, stalking to the looking-glass over his washstand to splash cold water on his face. His erection pressed against his leather trousers, hard. Three seconds of staring at Graciella’s sweetly full and upturned breasts, taut pink nipples clearly visible against the wet, white muslin, was almost more than he could withstand—oath or no oath.
He turned his back to the washstand and ran an agitated hand through his hair, then went to open a window, welcoming the blast of cold air that hit his face. He peered down at the stables, trying to force his thoughts elsewhere—anywhere but on the arousing outline of her body through that wet dress.
He suspected Kitran had dumped the water on Graciella on purpose, although he wasn’t sure, since he’d already been so distracted by how beautiful Graciella looked to notice what Kitran was doing. Graciella’s normally tidily-twisted bun was all but unraveled, and most of her hair had escaped to fall down her back and over her shoulders. It was longer than he’d realized, too; he’d never seen it down since she’d arrived. Her face was radiant with color from all the steam and heat in the kitchen as she cooked, and she was arm-deep in flour, like the other day. Then, without warning, she was doused in water—no doubt freezing cold from the way her nipples hardened—and he was treated to a glorious view of her delectable body from neckline to waist. He didn’t know whether to scold Kitran or thank her.
The cold air from the open window wasn’t working to soothe his arousal, and neither was his mental replaying of the water incident. He shut the window and paced to his armoire, withdrawing a shirt and a pair of trousers to wear to dinner. He stripped off his leather armor and returned to the washstand to sponge-bathe. He lathered his hands with soap and stroked it onto his swollen, aching shaft, covering the tip with a towel as he climaxed a few moments later.
By the time he dressed for dinner, much to his annoyance, he was already fully erect again. It was going to be a long evening.
§
Graciella stared at her chest in her looking-glass, mortified. Her soaked bodice left nothing, absolutely nothing, to the imagination, and Yavi had definitely had full view of her before Wilten threw her a towel. Her apron and skirt clung awkwardly to her legs, and her hair was drenched as well. Not that it wasn’t already a mess, but now she looked like a shivering, drowned rat. So much for impressing the emperor.
“Kitran wants war?” she muttered to herself in the mirror as she stripped off her apron. “Two can play that game, my little dear.”
She tossed the apron and wet dress to the floor, then threw open the doors to her armoire. She had already worn her new pink gown twice in the three days she’d been there, but she had another that was almost as pretty, a light blue one with a lace-up bodice. She could pull the laces tight to emphasize her waist, and pull her chemise down a bit inside the bodice to emphasize her cleavage. Yes, that should do the trick for tonight’s dinner.
Her hair, on the other hand, was going to take some time to dry so she could re-arrange it on top of her head, and she needed a fire for that, plus dinner preparations weren’t finished downstairs.
She picked up her wet clothing and hung it to dry on the bed posts, then put on her other white muslin gown. She pulled her boots back on and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Wilten was finishing up cutting the dumplings, the chicken soup was boiling nicely, and Kitran was nowhere to be seen.
Good. Less temptation to yank her sleek platinum-blonde hair out of her head.
Wilten curtsied. “Milady, dumpling almost ready.”
“Yes, perfect work, Wilten. I must go dry my hair and dress for dinner. Look.” Graciella carried the bowl of dumplings to one of the kettles while the girl watched. “Drop these into the boiling soup one by one, and stir so they don’t stick together.”
“Yes,” Wilten nodded. “I do this.”
“Put half the dumplings in each kettle.” Graciella set the bowl back on their worktable. “Then put these lemon-custard tarts in the oven while the dumplings cook. Watch the tarts carefully, and take them out when the edges are brown.”
“Yes, milady. I can do this. You dress for dinner, no worry.”
Graciella smiled at the younger girl, and placed a hand on her slender shoulder. “Thank you, Wilten. You are such a good helper.”
Wilten beamed and curtsied sweetly.
Graciella left to go find someone to make a fire in her room so she could dry her hair.
§
Terijin and Uman carried in the limp fox carcasses they had caught in the forest and sat down at the table in the dining hall to feast hungrily on their fresh, bloody flesh.
“Sire,” Terijin said as they ate, “two hundred men took the elixir and the oath, but they must die to become Vyrkune, isn’t that so?”
“Yes.”
“How do you plan to—to have them die?”
Uman grinned, blood dripping from his teeth and lips. “Simple. We march them to Darpan and order them to attack whomever they come across in the streets. The Zulfikars and their Black Army guards will rip them to shreds as soon as they realize what’s happening. You and I return here and wait for my army of Vyrkune to return to me, bloodthirsty and immortal.”
Terijin chuckled. This was why he’d chosen to follow Uman. He was bloody brilliant.
§
There. Graciella secured the last hairpin into her re-twisted coil of hair, and pulled out a few strands to frame her face and neck. She checked her neckline in the mirror. She’d tugged the chemise down until the upper swell of her breasts was visible, then laced her bodice as tightly as she could over it to hold it in place. She smoothed her skirt down with her hands, took a deep breath, and went to open the door.
Jiandra and the twins were already standing in the dining room waiting for her, sipping from goblets of wine and chatting. Yavi saw he
r coming down the stairs and paused with his wine halfway to his lips, watching as she descended. Victory surged through Graciella’s veins at seeing the clear look of appreciation on his face.
Jiandra set her goblet down and came to take Graciella’s hands in hers. “Finally you’re here, sister, and looking ravishing! We’ve been tortured by the smell of the dumpling soup for the past twenty minutes, and we are starving to eat it.”
Yajna toasted her with his goblet. “Good evening, sister-in-law. We heard there was a mishap in the kitchen.”
Graciella avoided Yavi’s gaze. “Yes, there was a bit of a water spill. Sorry I’m late—I had to dry my hair.”
“How did Kitran manage to spill water on your hair?” Jiandra frowned.
“She tripped.” Graciella hazarded a quick glance at Yavi’s face.
His expression was unreadable. He picked up the bottle of wine. “Would you like some wine?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
Jiandra turned to the servant boy. “Tinni, tell Kitran we are ready for dinner to be served.”
Yavi pulled Graciella’s chair out for her, then seated himself. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said as he handed a goblet of wine to her.
Her cheeks felt pleasantly warm. “Thank you.”
“I am looking forward to trying your mother’s recipe.”
“Yes, I hope you like it.”
Kitran set a large tureen of chicken and dumplings on the table next to Graciella with a loud thunk, causing Graciella to jump. She shot the serving girl a cross look, but Kitran was already headed back to the kitchen.
“Ooh, this looks wonderful.” Jiandra removed the lid and stirred the soup with a ladle. “You men are in for a treat.” She served the soup, and the four of them dug in.
Graciella was careful to watch Yavi’s face when Kitran entered later with a second tureen of soup, and again when she returned to clear some dishes, but he showed no visible reaction. He didn’t even seem to notice Kitran’s presence.
Kitran, however, had jealousy written all over her face, casting angry glances at Graciella as she brought in the tray of lemon-custard tarts. She made her way around the table to serve one to each person, starting with Jiandra, then Yajna, and then Yavi.
Yavi was explaining to Graciella a bit about the history of the Nandalan Black Armies, when without warning, a cold, sticky tart landed on her chest.
Graciella yelped, then glared up at Kitran.
Kitran looked mortified. “I’m so sorry, milady! The tart slipped.”
Graciella looked down and gingerly peeled the tart off her skin, checking to see if it had soiled her dress. Lemon custard coated the swell of one breast as well as a bit of the gathered neckline of her chemise. Embarrassed, Graciella quickly dabbed at it with her napkin.
“Kitran, you need to be more careful,” Jiandra scolded. “Go to the kitchen and get Miss Stovy a wet towel.”
The girl gave Graciella a smug glance before hurrying off.
Graciella picked up her glass of wine. “Here’s to two ruined dresses in one evening,” she said wryly.
Yavi tried to hide a smile. He lifted his glass to her. “Here’s to a girl so lovely that the condition of her attire matters not.”
“Here, here,” Yajna and Jiandra joined in.
Kitran took her time, finally returning with a wet towel several minutes later. She handed it to Graciella, who accepted the towel and then stuck her heel out just as Kitran turned to go.
Kitran tripped and tumbled to the floor with a grunt, then rolled over to glare at Graciella.
Graciella ignored her and primly sipped her wine.
“Oh, Kitran! Are you quite all right?” Jiandra rose from her seat to see over the table.
Kitran pushed herself to her feet and straightened her dress. “Yes, Your Highness. Excuse me.” She curtsied and disappeared into the kitchen.
“She’s certainly a little clumsy today,” Yavi said, amusement playing about his sexy lips as he held Graciella’s gaze.
§
Yavi invited his brother and sisters-in-law to join him in his study for an after-dinner drink, but Graciella excused herself first to go to her room and more thoroughly clean the lemon tart off her breasts. He would have loved to clean it off for her with his tongue, but figured that would be a clear violation of his oath, as well as potentially offensive to Graciella’s innocent sensibilities.
When she joined them in the study a few minutes later, he handed her a glass of katsuri and then led her to stand with him by the fireplace while his brother and Jiandra continued their conversation on the couch.
“A question for you, Graciella,” he said. “Why has Kitran decided she doesn’t like you?”
A lovely blush rose in her cheeks. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He sipped his drink. “You won’t tell me?”
“It’s just a thing between women. Sometimes we get in little tiffs.”
“I will fire her if you wish. Her behavior is unacceptable.”
Graciella’s enchanting hazel eyes searched his expression, surprised. “You would be willing to fire her?”
“Of course. I know she needs the work, but she also needs to do her job and respect her employers.”
“But…where would she go…if you fired her?”
“Probably back to Ularia, where her grandparents live. Don’t worry—she would have a place to stay. She wouldn’t be out on the streets.”
“Her mother would miss her here at the palace, though.”
“Yes.”
“And perhaps you would miss her as well?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure we could find a suitable replacement.”
Graciella looked down at his chest. “I don’t think she should be fired. Maybe our tiff will blow over soon.”
“At the very least, I will speak to her and let her know that her behavior is inappropriate.” As were his thoughts at the moment, staring down at the sweet glossiness of her lower lip as well as the enticing fullness of her breasts. He could still picture her taut, upturned nipples under the wet muslin fabric, and his mouth worshipping them. He swallowed and averted his gaze, sipping a bit of the katsuri.
Graciella traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “Kitran is a pretty girl, don’t you think?”
“Pretty?”
“Yes, she has beautiful platinum-blonde hair, and…”
“Surely you wouldn’t wish to trade your dark brown hair for hers,” he smiled.
“No—no, I wouldn’t. My mother had dark brown hair and hazel eyes like me, and I’m happy I inherited her coloring.”
“You are the only one of your siblings who looks like your mother, then.”
“Yes. I mean, Jiandra has my mother’s slim nose, and Elio her hard-working spirit. Rafe has her kind heart.”
“And you have her beauty.” Yavi’s tongue was loosened by the wine and the katsuri, and he knew he was flirting too much, slipping into his old ways. He looked down at his drink and cleared his throat.
“Which of your parents do you resemble, Yavi?”
“We are the mirror image of our father, but with our mother’s eyes. My father was tall and well-built, strong as an ox. My mother was a beautiful woman, with clear, deep-set silver eyes.”
“I love your eyes,” she said.
I love yours as well, he wanted to respond. He decided to change the subject. “So how has your stay with us been so far? Are you comfortable in your room? Has it been warm enough?”
“Yes, everything has been fine.”
“Please let me know if there is anything I or my servants can do to make you more comfortable.”
“I will. Speaking of which, I’m a little tired.” She glanced over her shoulder at her sister and Yajna. “I might have to take my leave soon.”
“I can escort you to your room, if you like. No need to bother your sister.”
Graciella nodded her agreement.
Yavi set his g
lass down on the mantel and addressed the couple on the couch. “Graciella would like to retire for the evening.”
Jiandra moved to get up.
Yavi halted her. “No, sister, stay here and relax. I’ll escort her to her room.”
Jiandra glanced at Graciella. “All right. Thank you, Yavi.”
Yavi took Graciella’s glass and set it on the mantel alongside his, then offered her his arm. She rested her dainty hand inside the crook of his elbow, smiling up at him as he led her out of the study and shut the door behind them.
He walked her slowly down the hallways and into Yajna’s wing, then slowed even more as they made their way down the long passageway to her room, reluctant to bid her goodnight. Graciella didn’t seem to mind—her face bore the most charming of secretive smiles the entire way. He paused outside her door, searching for an excuse to go inside with her at the same time that he was chiding himself for wanting to.
She didn’t release his arm; she merely stood still and waited for him to open the door. He pushed it open and entered the dark room. “Bollocks, why isn’t there a fire going in here? It’s freezing cold.” He stepped out and shouted toward the back end of the hallway. “Ciren!”
“Yes, Sire,” came a faint response.
“Find Liel and tell him I want to see him in Miss Stovy’s room right away!”
“Yes, Sire.”
Externally, Yavi had just displayed his authoritative emperor side, but internally, he was grinning ear to ear. He’d just found an excuse to tarry a moment longer with his delightful female guest.
Seven
Graciella went to light the candle on her night table and then stood by the bed with her arms hugged around herself while her handsome escort knelt to build her a fire. He had just gotten a small flame going when there was a knock at the door.
“Sire, it’s me,” came Liel’s voice through the door.
“Enter.” Yavi moved a twig to spread the flames better.
Liel entered and bowed.
Yavi rose to his feet, hands on hips. “Why was there no fire in Miss Stovy’s room this evening?”
“Sire, I lit the fire myself, an hour ago. Just before dinner ended.”
