by M. D. Laird
“Fine,” she said. “As long as you don’t leave my side for a second and we leave as soon as we can.”
Thomas held out his arm to assist Princess Eleanor from the vector. She smiled warmly at him and took his arm. She was wearing the red dress she had worn to the first Procnatus party, and though he had refused to tell her, he had not failed to notice that he liked the way she looked in it. He liked how it skimmed over every curve. His mouth watered at the thought of getting her out of the dress at the end of the night. She noticed his attention and grinned at him.
“You should probably not look at me like that once we’re inside,” he said.
“Look at you like what?” she asked, confused.
“Like you’re madly in love with me,” he said plainly. “If your father thinks you’re happy he may take action to change that. It would be wiser to regard me with a marked indifference.”
She smirked and allowed him to lead her inside. Thomas had never attended an Axandrian ball before. In fact, it was very rare he had any party invites. He had attended more parties since his marriage to the princess than he had in the last one hundred years. He let his eyes wander around the room and was immediately drawn to the opulence on display, especially amongst the female guests whose attire was so richly adorned with jewels that the room barely needed lighting.
“I thought you said there are no dresses in Axandria like Arkazatinia,” he muttered to the princess.
“There aren’t,” she replied quietly. “Those dresses are all hand made by the finest designers and seamstresses.”
“So you could have someone visit you rather than drag me along to shops?”
She chuckled. “They are far too extravagant for my tastes,” she whispered. “Even the cheapest dress costs five times as much as the dresses I bought from Arkazatinia, and that’s before they’ve purchased the jewels. It is all for show—a lord can demonstrate how wealthy he is by how well he decorates his wife.”
Thomas snorted. “I am far richer than all the lords and the king put together,” he said. “Why have you not asked me to decorate you?”
She shook her head. “I like to have something nice to wear, but these gowns are excessive. Besides, I hate everything they represent. The wives think they have a good catch if they can marry a lord who can decorate them better than their peers despite the fact that they are usually also decorated with bruises. A good wife of a lord needs to know only two things: how to keep her mouth shut and how to use make-up to conceal facial bruising.”
Thomas laughed quietly. “Surely there are some decent men amongst the lords.”
“No,” she said under her breath. “My father does not give titles to decent men. He gives titles to the kind of men who beat and rape their wives and then buy them expensive dresses and jewels so they can still make them look good. It sickens me. Not just the marriages, but all the decadence. We have families going hungry in this country and there are these selfish lords who spend enough to feed a village for a year on a few jewels to stick on a dress.”
Thomas glanced down at her and could feel the tempered rage emanating from her. “When we were in the carriage ride to my guild, and you made those demands of me, I assumed you to be another spoilt and greedy noblewoman, but I realise I misjudged you, Princess.”
“You didn’t really,” she said. “I was acting spoilt and greedy because I was frightened and I didn’t know how you’d treat me—I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t neglect me.”
“Then why ask for so little for your allowance?”
“Well I didn’t want to ask for too much in case you refused, and I don’t need very much—I didn’t realise I would need so many party dresses.”
He smirked. “That would normally be a fair assumption—demons are not usually such popular party guests.”
“You should be. You’re actually rather good company once one takes the time to know you.”
“I am flattered, Princess. There was me thinking you just wanted me for my prowess between the sheets.”
She tried to hide her smile as she whispered. “That is a rather pleasant side effect of knowing you.”
“Rather pleasant?” he asked, raising his eyebrows arrogantly. “I am usually described much more impressively.”
“What was I thinking?” she said coyly. “I had forgotten how modest you are. I, of course, find you incredible in the bedroom and were we not surrounded by people, I should be finding you incredible right now.”
Thomas grinned. He knew he was good, but he still enjoyed being complimented on his prowess even if the princess’ compliments were laced heavily with sarcasm. Thomas was about to enlighten her on how he planned to relieve her of her dress when the king’s entrance was announced. He entered the room surrounded by his attendants—including Victor who was wearing an arrogant smirk, which he aimed at the princess. The princess stiffened at Thomas’ side, and her fingers dug into his arm as she glared at Victor.
The king took a seat on his throne, he was heavily dressed in court regalia complete with an ostentatiously bejewelled crown. Far from appearing regal, he seemed quite ridiculous. His attire did little to give him a bearing of a king and was, as the princess had stated, merely a show of wealth. Thomas had seen the king many times but never dressed in such a manner, and he was decidedly unimpressed and understood the princess’ distaste for the regal clothing and jewels.
The lords and their wives began to form a line to greet the king.
“What’s happening?” asked Thomas.
“The king expects to be greeted formally by his noble guests. They approach him to thank him for the pleasure of his company, show off any recent monetary gains and ask favours of the king. Requests for lands, property, titles and marriages are initiated here.”
“Are we expected to join this line?”
“No. We will not be considered important enough. You are not a lord—he considers titles he has issued himself to be far more important than those issued by Heaven and Hell—and I am a woman and you know by now of his regard for females. When he wishes to speak to us, he will ask for us, but that will be after everyone else.”
Thomas growled under his breath. “I am not accustomed to being treated with such disrespect.”
“He will do this deliberately to annoy you.”
“I thought you were the most infuriating person I have met, but I have misjudged you again.”
“Thank you. The compliments are flowing thick and fast tonight, my prince. It is nice to know that my prowess in annoying people is appreciated by someone.”
“Yes. It is actually your most redeeming feature—I even prefer it to that thing you do with your tongue.” He winked at her as he tried to withhold his smile.
“Really?” she muttered quietly. “Now I know what to do instead.” The princess returned her gaze towards the king and his court and found the attendant’s eyes were still settled on her. The attendant grinned and gave her a friendly wave. The princess flared her nostrils angrily and whispered, “I am going to kill that man the first chance I get.”
“You would be executed,” Thomas whispered back.
“It is only a matter of time before the king tries to have me killed. I want to get to them first.”
Thomas said nothing. It was not a discussion he wished to have in the centre of the court. Instead, he led the princess to a table at the edge of the ballroom with a good view of the entire room and close to the exit.
Thomas and the princess made small talk and the princess concentrated on not looking like she was not enjoying his company, though he could sense the new smell surrounding her that had begun to appear over the last few days. It was a scent he had noticed hints of earlier in their marriage when the princess had spoken of James, but it was becoming more prominent and more frequent, and Thomas began to suspect that the princess may be in love with him. He had suggested earlier that evening that she looked at him as though she was madly in love with him a
nd she had not reacted to it. She had not confirmed or denied it or even blushed. Complex emotions were not his speciality, and he did not wish to even begin to try to understand them, but he did like the idea that the princess might love him. He liked that he had a wife—a companion for more than just the intimacy he had grown accustomed to.
Thomas had been surprised by how much he enjoyed their conversations. He usually spoke only to his demons—formal conversations to give orders or receive reports. He only ever spoke informally with his peers who, aside from Nathaniel, he saw only once every five years or so at the bidecadal when they would meet with the sons to review their decree, and to the thorian companions he had met every few weeks, who had treated him with the respect due to a prince.
Suddenly the princess was at his guild, and despite his initial insistence that she speak to him with respect, he had never enforced it and actually enjoyed the way she spoke to him. She matched him in wit and sarcasm, she became angry and shouted at him, she growled and snapped at him, she smiled at him and joked with him. She told him about her life, she told him things she told no one else, and he liked it. He had never really had a friend before, but he imagined they must be friends.
One of the King’s Guard approached their table and announced that the king had requested their presence. Thomas considered making the king wait, but he lacked the patience for games, instead he stood, offered his arm to the princess and led her to the dais.
“Your Majesty,” said Thomas.
The princess glared as she dropped into a curtsy. “Father,” she seethed.
The king was surrounded by his attendants and a few of his lords. He grinned at them. “Don’t they make a wonderful couple, my friends?” He laughed. The lords chuckled to themselves.
Thomas felt himself burn with rage. “What can I do for you, Your Majesty?” he said, stifling the snarl emerging from his throat.
“I just wished to see my daughter and son-in-law,” said the king. “I want to make sure my princess is properly cared for and ask why she wears the dress of a commoner. Should I have provided a dowry, Prince Thomas? I was under the impression you could afford to keep her.”
The prince stifled another growl. “My wealth far exceeds your own, Your Majesty, though I see no reason to parade it for all to see. Princess Eleanor is free to spend as much of my money as she pleases and she has chosen what she likes rather than what she believes will impress others.” The king’s face burned crimson, and Thomas resisted the urge to smile. “Whilst we are here, Your Majesty, I will take the opportunity to advise you of Queen Genevieve’s intention to visit Axandria. I expect her to arrive any day now and she has asked me to liaise with you to arrange a meeting.”
The king’s face returned to its normal colour. “Well, that is fortunate news,” he said. “You may inform the queen that I am eager to meet with her. When does she intend to visit?”
“I spoke with her a few weeks ago, and she wanted to visit as soon as possible. I expect her anytime soon. I shall send word when she arrives.”
“Splendid.” The king grinned. “Thank you, Prince Thomas, you are dismissed.” The king turned his gaze to the princess. “Eleanor, please make an effort to look presentable the next time you attend my court. You are clearly taking advantage of Prince Thomas’ naivety by manipulating him into letting you dress like a street beggar.” The princess glared at the king who waved her away.
Thomas led the princess out of the guild and to the vector. They travelled back to the Guild of Sonneillon in silence as they were both annoyed after their conversations with the king. Thomas could see nothing wrong with the princess’ attire and presumed the king was merely using the fact that she was not dressed in court regalia as an opportunity to humiliate her and embarrass Thomas. Thomas did not feel embarrassment—he did not care what the princess wore, he would not care if she did turn up to court dressed like an actual street beggar. He was angry that the king suggested he was neglecting the princess. Neglecting a member of his guild would breach his decree and the king hinting that the princess was not provided for angered him. Would the king try to prove Thomas was violating his decree by not lavishing the princess with expensive jewels? The idea was ludicrous, and neither Hell nor Heaven would recognise it as neglect, but he still felt enraged.
Thomas looked at the princess. He did not care what the king said, she looked very inviting in that dress and her cheeks warming with a simmering rage made her look even more appealing. He wanted to pounce on her, tear the dress from her and take her there and then and he would have done but for the fear that he may knock the vector from the sky.
It took too long to arrive at the guild. Thomas stepped out and seized the princess by the arm and led her quickly into the guild, up the stairs and into the east corridor. He did not wait for her to ask if she could sleep in his room and pushed her through his bedroom door. She stood expectantly in front of him and peered at him through her lashes. He growled. He wanted to rip the dress from her though he felt it would be a shame if he did not get to see her wear it again.
“Take off that dress before I tear it off,” he commanded.
She obeyed him and began removing it. Thomas snarled impatiently when she revealed another thinner dress and some hooped skirt contraption underneath the red dress. She fiddled with the skirt to remove it and slid off the thin dress to reveal another layer of underwear.
Thomas roared.
I’m not waiting any longer! I will shred them!
He lunged for her and grabbed her before slamming her against his bedroom wall. She gasped. Her eyes met his, they burned with lust for him. He snarled again before they both focussed their energy from their rage at the king onto each other.
“I could get used to waking up with you, Prince,” said Eleanor sleepily.
“I rather like it myself though I imagine I will not have long to enjoy it before you get yourself killed in your revolution,” said Prince Thomas.
“I may survive. I hope I will.”
“And then what? You won’t have to worry about your father anymore, I expect you will divorce me and leave my guild.”
Eleanor frowned. “Why do you think that?”
“You never wanted to marry me in the first place, and you only stay because I keep you safe from your father,” the prince replied plainly.
Eleanor raised her head from his chest, and their eyes met. She reached to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “That was the truth once,” she said softly, “but it is not the truth now. I enjoy being married to you, I don’t want to leave.”
“What if I should become tired of you?”
Eleanor felt her heart drop. “Then I shall respect that and leave if that’s what you want, but I rather hope you will not tire of me. Are you saying you want me to go?”
The prince shrugged. “I don’t care either way.”
She rolled her eyes. “A moment ago you said you like waking up with me.”
“I do, but that does not mean I will care if you are gone tomorrow.”
Eleanor nodded sadly. “Charming as always, my prince,” she said. “Do you want me to leave?”
The prince shrugged again. “I’d rather you stayed, but I don’t care if you leave.”
Eleanor smiled. That was as close to a no as she was likely to get from him. She placed a kiss on his cheek. “I want to stay with you,” she purred. “I would miss your prowess between the sheets if I left.” She smiled when she earned a grin from the prince. If she wanted to make him smile she simply had to mention his skill at intimacy and his arrogance would take over. Eleanor rested her head on his chest for a few moments until they were disturbed by Arakiel announcing that Queen Genevieve had arrived.
“Welcome, Your Majesty,” said Thomas as he greeted the queen and her party in the large hallway of the guild.
“Good morning, Prince Thomas,” said the queen. “I hope we didn’t wake you. I considered sending word of our arrival ahead of us, but
I didn’t think you would mind too much as you were expecting us.”
“I thought you planned to come weeks ago,” said Thomas.
“Lord Tharazan had some business to take care of… Have you met Lord Tharazan of Calahad?”
“No. It’s a pleasure,” Thomas replied, shaking the thorian’s hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Prince Thomas,” replied Lord Tharazan.
Tharazan was very handsome—even for a thorian. Tall, muscular and just Thomas’ type. Thomas sighed inwardly.
“I assume you know Son Jacob and my guards?” continued the queen.
“Yes,” said Thomas, turning his attention from Tharazan. “Welcome, Jacob, it’s a pleasure as always.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, brother.” Jacob smiled. “When Her Majesty informed me of this excursion I was more than happy to come along. We rarely have the opportunity for discourse at the bidecadal and it will be nice to talk.”
“Indeed. I shall invite Nathaniel for supper one evening, though I should warn you that his table manners haven’t improved.”
Jacob laughed.
“Lord Ezra was unable to join us,” said the queen, “so we are one less.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Thomas replied diplomatically, though he had no idea who Lord Ezra was or whether it was unfortunate that he wasn’t there.
“Will your wife be joining us?” asked Jacob.
“Yes. She is dressing. I will have my men get you settled into your rooms, and we can breakfast together in the parlour in half an hour if you like?”
“That would be lovely, Thomas,” said the queen. “We are all famished. I won’t need a constant guard whilst in your guild—may my men use your guild as they would their own?”
“Of course.”
Thomas gave orders to his men to show his guests around the guild and show them to their rooms. He then returned to his room to find the princess fastening her dress.
“I didn’t think it through when I offered the queen your room,” he said wickedly. “I won’t be able to play with you whilst she is here as she will hear your moans through the walls.”
