The Pale Waters (#1 Reclaimed Souls)

by Della Roth

“I can manage on my own.”

  “Doubtful.” She clucks her tongue, places the communicator tablet on Roland’s bed with such ease that I get the feeling she’s used to being in here, and pries the towel out of my hands.

  Inspecting me, she makes a small remark about the cuts on my face. Her eyes move lower. Her gaze makes me feel warm.

  “No markings?” she asks in reference to my lack of tattoos.

  “I am not branded,” I hiss, but then I immediately regret my choice of words. Cat, with the tattoos on the back of her neck and around her breasts, was undeniably marked by someone, bound to them for life through their visual identifications. Most hid their markings. Cat does not; she proudly displays her tattoos through her sheer fabriskin robes, but she visibly flinches at my statement.

  “I am not ashamed of my past,” she declares. “Can you say the same?”

  I could have said anything. I could have been defensive. I could have kept quiet, but I say the one thing that she doesn’t expect me to say.

  “I’m sorry, Cat.”

  She searches my face intently, and I get the feeling she can read my mind. “Yes, I can see that you are. Now, let me assist you. Roland will not appreciate our tardiness.” Cat, standing in front of me, mere inches away, directs her hands to my wet hair, whips it around, and expertly crafts it into a sophisticated bun without the aid of any pins. “Lovely,” she states warmly. Her breath reminds me of brandy and her earthy, exotic floral scent intoxicates me.

  I sway into her.

  She knows what she’s doing to me.

  Her spiky fingernails trail down the side of my neck, over my clavicle, and down my breastbone. Almost the same path that Roland’s fingers explored before removing my trousers. She draws little circles there. I quiver at her touch. It aches and burns. I inhale her scent.

  Cat leans in and her lips gently brush against mine. It isn’t passionate or intense. Her kiss seems to be more of an action she cannot stop herself from doing.

  I suck in a frenzied breath. Then her hand goes lower.

  ***

  My legs weaken and virtually go out on me. I collapse to the bed. Cat is on me in a flash; the diamonds on her fabriskin robe scratch me.

  “Do you want me to stop?” she asks.

  “No,” I moan. Vaguely, I am aware that she holds, in one hand, a jeweled dagger.

  ***

  I’m conflicted on whether to cry out in pain or pleasure. It all feels the same at this point.

  Cat leans up and watches me writhe in intense pleasure, a wicked smile on her feline face. Using the jeweled dagger, she carves a pattern into the skin just below my breast. But I don’t care. Even that feels good.

  “I will claim you,” she says into my mouth.

  ***

  I sag against the bed, spent, as Cat’s tongue begins to lick the wound under my breast. Her saliva stings, but I’m too exhausted to say anything. I watch as she rubs a healing balm over the carving.

  “I knew you would be delectable,” she says a moment later, after she straightens her fabriskin robe and pulls me to my feet. Cat looks impeccable; not even one hair out of place. She fixes my hair, which is everywhere. I feel drugged, intoxicated, and delirious all at once.

  There is no way I can even stand up on my own, much less attend some sort of formal event. I say as much to Cat.

  “Nonsense,” she declares in her authoritative tone. “But we must get going. We are almost nearly fashionably late.” She winks at me.

  She drapes the silky-soft sterling silver fabriskin robe over my shoulders and fastens it down my front with lightning speed. The metal is cool against my skin, but seems to warm up quickly as it molds to my curves. I feel like a moving chandelier. I step into matching slippers.

  Movement at Roland’s bedroom door catches my eye. I suddenly stop. The shadow retreats.

  “What is it?” Cat asks, a slight worry in her brow. She retrieves her communicator tablet and resumes her chief of staff stance. I wonder what she would do if she knew Roland watched our entire lovemaking session.

  “Nothing,” I say with a quick smile. “Nothing at all.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I’M HYPER AWARE OF CAT AS we descend Roland’s apartments, take the lift to the fourth floor, and walk down a long, yet densely decorated hallway filled with paintings of the city’s long, distinguished past. She moves effortlessly, confidently, and seductively. And she’s not even trying. I know what her trying looks like now, and it’s enough to kill a person weaker than me.

  “Have you seen Roland yet?” I ask her. I want to know if she’s seen the transformation and her thoughts about it.

  “Briefly,” she says noncommittally as she types something into her tablet. “He said he needed complete privacy before the formal welcome ceremony.”

  “Formal welcome ceremony? Has someone returned?”

  Cat smiles.

  “You can say that. It will be Roland’s first public appearance in twelve years. Everyone who is Anyone will be here.”

  “Would he have kept the ceremony scheduled if the prototype didn’t work?”

  She turns and looks at me sharply. I can tell this is news to her. Her features soften.

  “Roland has a way of keeping his scars, physical or otherwise, close to the chest.”

  I sigh at her non-answer.

  “Is this one of those conversations where I have to guess your meaning, or can we save some time and you tell me outright?”

  “I can see why he admires you. Yes, he would have kept the ceremony. It happens each year whether or not he attends.”

  “Why?”

  “The city’s elevated citizens celebrate his father’s birthday. Roland normally sits in his rooms, gets drunk, and comes to the party just as it dies down. No one knows it is him. He secretly listens to the elders and the other royals discuss their undying faith and loyalty to the former king.”

  “But his father was a true barbarian!” I know this firsthand.

  “True,” Cat says with a sense of hesitancy, as if maybe she isn’t ready to declare her true feelings to me. “The elders enjoyed their leisure and rich lifestyle during Roland’s father’s reign. Roland, upon his assumption of his father’s role, which, by the way has never been declared or abolished, cut them off, eased the taxes on the population, and sought a way to repair his father’s messes. He’s done a lot of good, but not nearly as much as he’d like. He needs their support, and I have a feeling that tonight may change the course of our future.”

  “Why isn’t Roland king?” I have always thought of him as a rogue prince, but now that the conversation came up, it does seem logical that Roland would be the king.

  “Roland doesn’t have the backing of all of the royals because his seat is contested by Roland’s maternal uncle, Lord Theodore Jaucey. But, thus far, Jaucey hasn’t done much other than voice his objection, so the status quo remains.” She looks at me as if I should already know this. Cat appears puzzled for a brief second before the look vanishes.

  We reach the end of the hallway, near the door to The Gardens, and I can hear the buzz of a hundred voices talking at once. Behind us, five service robots zip by in convoy form, holding various trays of food and drinks. They slip into a hidden panel in the wall that moves aside just as they reach it and moves back after the last one enters.

  “Why will our futures change? Do you mean the Palace Skyscraper’s future, or the future of the citizens of the continent?”

  Cat begins to answer me just as we are interrupted.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “I’d like a moment alone with Rahda,” someone says from behind us.

  Roland. I would never mistake his voice.

  I hear Cat’s audible gasp as she stares at Roland.

  “Amazing,” she says. “Great work, Rahda.” Cat briefly squeezes my hand, her eyes bright, then, before she enters The Gardens’ secret door, she gives Roland a knowing look. He nods at her, and Cat disappears.

  I wat
ch her go and then turn my attention to Roland.

  He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look pissed, either. Sometimes I think that Roland has a dark side that he cannot hide.

  ***

  Roland stands tall, rigid, and striking in a dark, metallic charcoal-colored suit and matching shoes. His brown hair is slicked back, pulled tight into a knot at the base of his neck. I notice the small tubular bump in his front pocket: the prototype, but cleverly hidden behind a white triangular silk scarf. His skin is clear and blemish free.

  Just then the five service robots return through their secret portal, empty trays in their metal hands, ready to be replenished. Briefly, I wonder who cooks the food.

  “Before we go in there, I should explain a few things,” he says. “This is a political and royal party to celebrate my father’s birthday. It disgusts me to no end but I have no desire to end it since I learn more in one night than I do throughout the year. This year is different. My uncle seeks the support of the royal elders to remove me from power and declare his daughter the rightful heir.”

  “I see,” I say.

  “That’s why I did everything I could to get you here this time. This,” he gestures in front of his transformed face, “is necessary so I can face them. No one wants to put his or her faith in a scarred, deformed prince. They’ve heard rumors, but none of them know the truth. Once they see me looking the way I do with you on my arm, I’ll have the royals on my side. The truth is I cannot go in there without you.” He closes the distance between us and places a hand over my heart. “I can’t do this without you.”

  “I can manipulate how you look, but I can’t be anything more. I’m not special.”

  “How can you not know what you are to me, to the continent? Don’t you feel the continent’s pain and how she calls to you, Rahda? Listen to your soul. How is it you don’t know how remarkable you are?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Like I said, time is running out. I know things that you don’t know about your own family, Rahda. After tonight I’ll tell you what I know. The rest, however, is on you.” He pauses, then, “You shouldn’t have let Cat mark you.”

  Ah, so it finally comes up.

  “You saw?”

  “Everything,” he whispers in my ear. “The way she touched you. How her long tongue licked you and explored you and tasted you. I heard every moan and whimper that came out of your mouth. I wanted those sounds all to myself.” I feel my heat rising. “I saw her dagger cut you open and mark you. Brand you. I hope you realize that as she lapped you up, sucked on you, and made love to you, that in one moment of weakness you’ve granted her the ability to try and claim part of your soul.”

  A dreadful feeling builds in my stomach. Dear Goddess, I think, I’ve messed up big time.

  He watches me closely and I see the confusion grow on his face.

  “I doubt she’ll try,” I say in a manner that sounds more convincing than it really is.

  “You actually have no idea of who you are, do you?” he asks incredulously, his handsome face bright. “At first I thought it was a ruse, but now I can see that you don’t know. Let’s get through tonight first.” Roland does a half turn, halts, and offers me his arm. “I forgot to mention that you are my date tonight. You belong here. Whatever you hear, do not, under any circumstance, reveal any emotion. No surprise. No pain. No happiness. The royals will eat you alive.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say through my teeth as I take his arm. It never occurs to me to refuse his arm. I’m not thrilled with his methods, but if I’m honest with myself, I want to be near him, I want to be on his arm. He smiles down at me and I think about his words: Don’t you feel the continent’s pain and how she calls to you, Rahda? Listen to your soul. How is it you don’t know how remarkable you are? How does one respond to something like that? Strange thing is, though, is that sometimes I do feel an intense pain that isn’t mine, and I don’t know how to process it.

  My thoughts are interrupted as the The Gardens’ door hisses open. We waltz in, Cat whispers something into Roland’s ear, and a loud announcement is made. Suddenly, the room erupts in uproarious clapping, yelling, and other congratulations aimed in our direction.

  It’s the announcement that stuns me.

  Roland smiles down upon me, as if he loves me, as if he owns me, as if it’s the happiest day of his life. I’ve been cornered into a new battle. The Grandfather never prepared me for this. How could he?

  The announcement is made again. I’m not dreaming.

  “Please welcome home Prince Roland Demetrius Eduard Rexus and his future bride, the Lady Rahda Sevradan Plesti.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE NEXT TWO HOURS ARE AGONY as Roland sweeps me around the room, introducing me to everyone who matters but no one I’ll remember, while Cat, ever-so-ready with her communicator tablet, gives me sly, yet guilty, looks every ten minutes.

  Everyone is thrilled to see Roland.

  “How were your travels?” “How many languages do you speak now?” “When did you meet your lovely bride-to-be?” “Twelve years is way too many years to be away, especially after the sudden shock of your father’s death.” “Oh, we understand that you needed to get away and mourn properly. We wouldn’t have let you, that’s for sure. Have I introduced you to my pretty niece, the Lady Claire?” The last is accompanied by a devious look at me.

  It only takes twenty-five minutes before the topic of an heir is brought up by many of the elderly ladies.

  “You’ll want to get started right away. Don’t wait for the nuptials. No one cares about that these days anyway. Plus, you cannot trust the priests.” “Give us a healthy boy, Lady Rahda. You have a lovely name. Sevradan, you say? Thought the Sevradan line died out when Amaris killed her children.” “Are you a foreigner? Don’t get too many of those anymore, mostly the half-humans. Everyone else is leaving the continent.” “Is your mother a scholar, by chance? Didn’t like them much, but I’ll reconsider on your account, ma’am.” “Only eat green goose meat for the first trimester, Your Highness—I am repeatedly called this throughout the evening—This will guarantee you a boy!” “I love your smooth skin, Lady Rahda. Do you recommend the goat’s milk cream all the rage these days or something else?”

  “Prince Roland—firm handshake here—excellent seeing you tonight. Heard the nastiest rumors about you being scarred for life, as the young ones would say, but relieved to see that it is unfounded. Plump little future bride here. Get her with child before she wanders off with a servant. Still happens, you know. Lord Jaucey is here. Excuse me please.”

  Finally, a small break.

  “How does everyone know my maternal name?” I ask Roland. I’ve never formally used the Sevradan name.

  “Because I told them.”

  “And how do you know?”

  “I told you I know things about your family.” Roland maneuvers me into a corner. “Is the prototype still working, Your Highness?” I wish I could lie to him, but I won’t. Plus, he seems to be in a better mood. He must be getting good signals from the royal elders.

  “It appears to be fine. But I don’t think we should test it for more than another hour. I would estimate that it has a four-hour lifespan.”

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

  “It’s an educated guess. Nothing more. Also, after all of this, I change my mind. I do want to kill you.”

  Roland stiffens and at first I think it’s because of what I said, but then I follow his line of seething vision.

  “Let me acquaint you with my nearest relative, Rahda,” he says sarcastically in my ear.

  An attractive man, perhaps ten years Roland’s senior, walks through a parting crowd. All eyes are on him. His clothes are impeccable: a crisp white, pearl-encrusted fabriskin robe split down the middle—much like a cape—opened to reveal a suit of such a rich blue color that I find it difficult to look away from him. If the sky were still blue, it would be that color. His short black hair has a hint of curl o
n the top, and, as he leisurely approaches us, he makes a small bow at me, ignores Roland, and takes the liberty of introducing himself.

  “My Lady Rahda, I am Theodore Jaucey, Roland’s uncle.”

  So this is the uncle.

  He may be beautiful to look at, but something about the man makes me ill at ease. There’s a curl to his lips, just the touch of a sneer that lets me know how he feels about meeting me.

  It feels best to remain quiet, so I only nod in his direction.

  The uncle turns his attention to the nephew.

  “Rexus,” he says unaffectionately, as if the name itself is distasteful to him.

  “Jaucey,” Roland says in return, just as distastefully.

  “So it’s true, then? A Sevradan heiress…” He aims a murderous look my way before he clears the expression, resumes an air of indifference, and addresses Roland. “How convenient. What’s it been, twelve years? Tough to run a kingdom when you’re absent. Not that it matters much,” he continues, shrugging. “The continent is going to hell anyway. Only citizens left are beasts, half-humans, and robots. I heard that you were, ah, injured some years ago. How fortunate to be proven wrong.” Theo takes a swig from his champagne flute. “Did you get my note?”

  “I always receive your notes. Whether they are welcomed or not is another matter.”

  “You can’t put me off any longer, Rexus. I’ve been—we’ve been—more patient than you deserve.”

  Roland’s eyes narrow.

  “You dare bring the girl into this?” Roland asks through his teeth.

  “You would deny her her birthright?”

  Both men stare at each other with daggers in their eyes. Jaucey finishes his drink and sets it down hard on a nearby table.

  “The birthright no longer lies with this line,” Roland says, his tone final.

  Jaucey looks sharply at me. His cruel expression almost makes me take a step backward.

  “Very well,” the older man says with a clipped, barbed voice. “Then my ultimatum stands. I want you to think about it. Think about what it means. Sleep on it. I’ll come back in a day or two to hear your final answer.”