by Jill Myles
A protest rose in her throat, but Idalla’s worried look silenced her.
“If I don’t do my job well, I might be sent back to the kitchens,” Idalla said with a small, apologetic smile. “So you must let me fuss over you as is proper.”
Seri acquiesced. “I don’t want to be a bother. Is Kiane coming, too? I requested her as well.”
Idalla chuckled and led her to a nearby stool as if she were an invalid. She poured water into a bowl so Seri could wash her face with one of the towels. “Kiane will be coming once Lady Mila has finished her snit.”
Seri’s mouth gaped open. “Oh no. Did I get her in trouble?”
Idalla patted Seri on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that. The prince told Lady Mila that you’d requested Kiane, and she simpered and told him that of course she would give up such a treasured friend for the new Eterna. And then as soon as he left, she started throwing things.” At Seri’s worried look, Idalla just grinned. “She’s mad because he has her and she knows it. She can’t deny the prince. No one can.”
That worried Seri, too. That a man could ask whatever he wanted and it would be granted. “I don’t wish to cause problems for her.”
“It’s not a problem,” Idalla said stoutly. “You will be the princesse. Lady Mila is just mad that it is not she.” She dampened Seri’s hair and began to twist it into one of the braided coronets favored by the ladies of the Athonite court. “Lady Aynee’s acting a sight more pleasant, at least. No tantrums out of that one. Just polite smiles. Her ladies say she’s hoping that Graeme will keep her on the side.”
“On the side?” Seri asked.
“As his mistress.” Idalla gently tugged a section of Seri’s hair aside and began to braid it. “She likes the power that comes from being with him too much to give it up.”
Seri thought of Graeme’s promises from last night. He’d sworn fidelity to her but had he spoke the truth? And why did she care? Flustered, she chewed on her lip. “And the other ladies?” Seri asked, careful not to move her head as Idalla worked on her hair. “Does everyone despise me?”
“Most don’t know what to think,” Idalla admitted. “There has never been an Eterna. The fact that the first one is a Vidari means everyone is quite confused.”
“Mmm.”
“But not to worry, you have me to smooth the way.” Idalla’s broad smile was excited. “My husband’s so proud of me. To think that I’m going to be serving the princesse!”
Seri kept smiling, though her heart sank a bit. She hoped Idalla wouldn’t be harmed when Seri murdered the prince and escaped. Her hands twisted nervously in her robes as a few more servants entered the room and began bustling about.
“You’ll be a beautiful princesse,” Idalla said happily, adding pins to Seri’s thick hair to hold the style in place. “You’ll stand out like a ray of sunshine amongst all these moon-pale ladies.”
“To the Vidari, the moon is the god of death,” Seri commented absently, and thought about the poison and the knife. She swallowed hard and sought to change the subject. “Can someone bring me something to eat?”
A young woman with curly brown hair exchanged a glance with an older servant, this one with house keys on her apron and a forbidding scowl on her face.
The woman—the head of household, if the way the other servants feared her was any indication—approached Seri. “No food in your chambers, my lady. The prince has instructed that you are to dine with him this evening.”
No food? That was a ridiculous rule. “And you are . . . ?”
“Mistress Anneve.” She gave a crisp nod and waved the brown-haired servant forward. “Vya, help the princesse with her dress.”
Just then, Kiane dashed in, her arms full of Seri’s altar figurines. “Seri! I remembered that you might—” she halted, her words dying on her tongue. She bobbed a curtsy at the frowning woman. “Mistress Anneve.”
“Address the princesse properly,” Anneve commanded in a harsh voice.
Kiane’s eyes went wide and she nodded. Her gaze dropped and she bowed deeply. “My lady, I apologize.”
Seri pointed at her. “Is that my altar?”
“It is,” Kiane assured her. “I wanted to get it before someone threw it out.”
She took the figures from Kiane gratefully. “Thank you so much.” Her fingers moved over the familiar carvings, of the flame and the moon, the flower and the stag. “I would have been devastated to lose these.”
Mistress Anneve snapped her fingers at Kiane. “Don’t just sit there. Get my lady her new clothing.” Kiane nodded and jumped up. A few moments later, she approached with a handful of corsets and skirts.
“Those are mine?” Seri asked. They looked hot and itchy.
Anneve looked startled and stepped in front of the cowering Kiane. “Pardon?”
“All of those are mine? How is that possible?”
The housekeeper struggled to keep her face calm. “They belong to you, Princesse. The tailors have been working to create suitable gowns for you.”
Seri stared at the pieces with undisguised horror. So many laces and hooks and heavy fabrics that would constrict her body. “How many layers are there?”
“Seven,” Mistress Anneve said proudly. “And an overcorset.”
A corset to go over the existing corset? Seri shook her head. “No. I won’t wear such things.”
Anneve sputtered. “Every good Athonite woman—”
Seri quirked an eyebrow, challenging the woman. “Indeed.”
The mistress tried a different tactic. “You will need the corsets for the court gowns to fit over your figure.”
Seri kept her face calm. “Then I shall not wear the court gowns.”
Mistress Anneve looked shocked. “What shall you wear?”
“Whatever I choose, I imagine.”
“I shall inform the prince of your mutiny,” Anneve said, outraged.
“Oh, please do.” The room grew silent, and Seri felt all eyes on her. She hid a smile. If she truly was the princesse for a few days, she would play the part. She flicked her wrist at Mistress Anneve in her best imitation of Lady Mila’s imperious ways. “You can go.”
Anneve stiffened, and then she sank into a low bow, before stalking from the room in a swirl of gray skirts and jangling keys. As soon as Anneve was gone, the tense maidservants focused their eyes on Seri.
“Shut the door after her, please. And someone bring me something to eat,” Seri said.
“I’ll get it,” Idalla said, patting Seri’s now-finished braid. The servants hesitated, but only for a moment, then moved into action. One left the room, and another followed and shut the door behind them, leaving Seri alone with Kiane.
The girl’s lips twitched with amusement. “I think we shall be hearing many angry words from Mistress Anneve in the kitchens tonight.”
Seri snorted. “She’s a horrible woman.”
“Indeed,” Kiane said, holding up the fluffy skirts in her arms. “What shall I do with these?”
“Burn them?” Seri asked hopefully.
Kiane giggled and shook her head. “I shall take them back to the tailor and tell him you did not approve. He will be very distressed.”
“Seven layers,” Seri said, gesturing at the mountain of clothes in Kiane’s arms. “When it’s already so hot? It’s madness. I should rather wear something like the men do.” The belted tunics were long, but they were only one layer and there was no corset involved.
“Shall I tell the tailor that we need men’s tunics . . . for a woman?” Kiane’s eyes shone with mischief.
Why not? At least then, Seri would be able to move around. “Tell him to bring his fabrics and anything he has made at the moment. And if you want that dress, you can have it.”
Kiane gave her a look of glee. She got to her feet and dropped into another low bow. “Thank you, my l
ady—”
“And stop that. Goodness. So much bowing, you’d think I was an altar.”
Kiane chuckled and dashed out of the room, and Seri got up from her chair and set up her altar. She bowed in front of it and sent a swift prayer to the four gods. Please let me get this right. Don’t let me fail in what I need to do. Allow me to kill the prince and return to Rilen and my family, where I belong.
* * *
A short time later, Seri ate sausage-stuffed breads and listened to the tailor chatter as his assistants stuck her with pins. Another woman held up fabric and looked to Seri for approval, as a third hastily hemmed the ice-blue tunic being fitted to her body. The tailor had made it for one of the Blood who hadn’t approved of the embroidery, so Seri had claimed it for herself, along with a matching pair of silver trousers.
All of the fuss was rather . . . fun. To think that at home, she’d have sewed her handfast dress by candlelight and hoped that the fabric wouldn’t look too cheap. Here, she had a handful of people offering her foods and showing her sumptuous fabrics, determined to see if the sea green was a better match for her hair than turquoise.
The thought struck her as a selfish one, and she pinched off a bite of her food and tossed it into the fire as an apology to the gods. Her simple life was just fine. She was momentarily dazzled, that was all.
“What about this green tunic, my lady?” The tailor asked, holding up one covered with golden embroidery. “The fit was not right for the original owner, but we can trim it down to your size. Shall we try it on?”
She nodded and was just about to undo the collar of her tunic when a knock came at the door. Before anyone could answer it, the door was bashed open by one of the prince’s guards.
The seamstresses squealed, but Seri simply crossed her arms over her chest.
Prince Graeme entered the room, dark eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He halted at the sight of Seri wearing a tunic.
She lifted her chin. “May I help you, my lord?”
Prince Graeme merely eyed her. “Your presence was requested at the dinner table a half hour ago.”
Seri shrugged. “I was busy.” She took a large, deliberate bite out of the sausage roll.
“And may I inquire as to why you chose to deliberately disobey me?” he asked.
She adjusted her tunic. “I do not answer to you.”
“Not for two more days, no.”
She could sense his frustration like it was an itching, palpable thing, yet all he did was offer her his arm to help her down off the stool.
She took his arm warily, clutching the tunic close to her body.
“Would you prefer to have supper in your chambers?” he said.
Seri hesitated. “Are you going to remain here with me?”
A faint smile touched his mouth, the first one she had ever seen, and it nearly stole her breath away. Suddenly his lips were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. I am going mad, she thought and forced herself to look away.
Graeme gazed about the room before looking at her. “Will it fill you with rage if I stay?”
She couldn’t tell if his tone was flirtatious or challenging. Seri shifted uncomfortably. “You may stay if you like,” she said grudgingly.
The prince indicated that the guards should leave them, and the room burst into a flurry of activity. The maids ushered Seri behind a dressing screen and proceeded to unpin her from her tunic and change her into a flowing garment with a high collar. In mere moments she was left alone with Graeme again, along with a new tray of food boasting roasted chicken, tasty little fried vegetable pies covered with a spicy sauce, and sticky dessert buns. Seri lifted one of the sweets off the serving plate and moved it to her own, licking her fingers. “Perhaps I should invite you to eat with me more often,” she said drily.
“If you wish,” Prince Graeme said.
She didn’t know what she wished. All she knew was that the thought of spending more time in his presence made her heart flutter traitorously. As she filled her plate and ate the delicious items set before her, she noticed the prince did not move. He merely sipped at a goblet of water and regarded her through heavily lidded eyes.
“Do your kind eat?” Seri asked.
“Nothing on that tray, I’m sorry to say.” He gave her a ghost of a smile.
“Just blood then?” She glanced at the innocent looking lips that hid his fangs.
He inclined his head.
Another awkward silence fell. Seri licked her fingers, then stopped when she realized he was watching her hands.
He extended his toward her. “May I see?”
“M-my hands?”
Graeme nodded.
Reluctantly, she put her hands out. He took hers in his and studied them for a long moment, saying nothing.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“They are not a lady’s hands. Your nails are shorn and your hands are callused and scarred.” She tried to snatch them back, but he locked his fingers around her wrist. “It was not meant as an insult.” As she watched, he traced his fingers lightly down the center of her palm. “Just an interesting observation.”
Shivers raced through her body at his simple touch. “May I have my hand back?” She meant it lightly, but the strangled tone of her voice ruined the effect.
He gave her a somber look. “You are reluctant to give anything of yourself, are you not?”
She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Why should I give when all you do is take?”
He lifted a brow. “Have I personally treated you cruelly?”
“You won’t let me leave!” Seri pointed out.
“Because both of us are bound to an ancient tradition. Do you think I wish to marry simply because a goddess has decided it?” He leaned closer. “Do you think this is the culmination of my hopes and dreams? It is a nuisance more than anything else, because I would like to retire to my rooms and study, and instead I must plan a wedding. Instead of the courtiers leaving, more are going to arrive for the ceremony. Instead of avoiding my father’s scrutiny, I have been placed firmly in his sights once more, all because the Goddess has decreed that you and I are to be as one.”
Seri sat back in her chair. She hadn’t thought about it from his point of view. But she refused to have sympathy. He may have felt powerless but it was she who was truly without recourse. She tugged her arms again, and this time he let her go. Her palm tingled where he’d touched it, and she felt curiously warm and flushed all over. “Do you not like your father?”
The shrug he gave her was lazy, almost bored. “He is my king and I am his loyal subject.”
“That doesn’t mean you like him.”
“I believe you are the first person to ever ask me that.” His hard mouth curled in a hint of a smile, and her heart fluttered. She bit the inside of her cheek, because she desperately wanted to smile back at him.
“I miss my father,” she said quietly.
He straightened in his chair. “Shall we bring him to the castle then?”
Seri blinked. It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, please, but then she remembered her task. In two days’ time, she was to kill this man. She could not have her family any closer to the castle than they already were. “No,” she said softly. “He would not want to be here.”
The open, almost friendly look on his face disappeared again. “I see.”
Awkward silence fell once more.
She picked up her goblet and drank deeply, wishing it was something other than just water.
He toyed with his glass, his posture stiff and regal despite the fact that they dined alone in her sitting room. “So tell me, what is the red cloth outside your window for?”
Seri choked on her water. “I . . . I beg your pardon?” she managed between coughs, when he gestured at the window.
“The dress. You’ve had it up sin
ce yesterday.”
Oh Gods. “It’s . . . a Vidari marriage custom,” she lied, her voice strangled. “If I am getting married, I should adhere to my customs as well as yours. That is, if you can find it in your heart to grant me that one last freedom.”
He nodded curtly. The moment of understanding between them had vanished, and Seri felt that keenly. She felt his frustration, and it confused her. She shouldn’t have cared, and yet somehow she did.
Prince Graeme stood. “I must go. Duty calls, and I need to write several letters before seeing to the wedding preparations. I will likely not see you before the ceremony. If you should require anything, please send me word.”
She sat up. “What should I be doing?”
The look he gave her was formal and impassive. “There will be enough to keep you busy, trust me.” He gave her a quick bow and left the room, and Seri was alone for the first time in what felt like days.
She should have been pleased. Instead, all she felt was a curious sense of loss at his departure.
When Prince Graeme had told her she would be busy, Seri hadn’t quite imagined that it would involve dress fitting after dress fitting, and endless rounds of blessings with the Athonite priests.
For two days she’d been sent from chapel to chapel, meeting with every clergyman they could dredge from the nearby cities, each offering his blessings to her and her marriage. Seri sat, forcibly smiling, hour after endless hour as every one of the Goddess’s priests came and prayed over her.
No Vidari priests were allowed, of course. Then again, the Vidari didn’t have a formal sort of religion, whereas everything the Athonites seemed to do was full of pomp and arrogance.
When she wasn’t being anointed, she was surrounded by a constant stream of women, all poking and prodding and measuring her limbs, feet, and hands, for her wedding finery. Though Seri had protested, this time she could not get away with a tunic and pants. The dress for her wedding was to be of the highest quality fabrics and no less than ten layers of finery to show her important position to the court. There were corsets and underdresses and overdresses, a cape, a bodice, oversleeves and things she couldn’t identify that were pieced to her clothing, measured, and taken away to be sewn. Jewelry was brought from chests, and Seri was given rings for her fingers, brooches for her bust, and small jeweled clips for her hair.
