Queen of Blood

by Jill Myles

  More parties? These people loved to dress up. She wondered what they’d wear to his funeral. The thought made her hands tremble as she poured wine into his goblet. The herbs looked too obvious floating atop the liquid, so she swirled it around, and then poured herself a glass as well so it wouldn’t look suspicious. She placed both on the tray, turned around, and froze.

  The prince now sat on her side of the bed. He was shirtless, and his chest was as pale as his face and just as exquisitely made. Cords of muscles flexed beneath his skin as he removed his boots and tossed them across the room, one after the other.

  The sight of his half-clothed body set her heart racing. She’d seen Rilen shirtless many times before while farming, but it hadn’t affected her, not like this. Graeme was handsome, she had to admit to herself.

  He rested his hand on his knee and looked over at her. “Come closer,” he said. His dark eyes were fixed on her. Not on her face or her breasts, but her neck.

  Seri took a hesitant step forward, clutching the heavy tray in a death grip. “Here . . . is your drink,” she said, setting it down on the small table next to the bed and picking up his wineglass. Sick anticipation coursed through her. By the four gods, please don’t let him see the herbs.

  With trembling hands, she held the goblet out to him. He was close enough to touch, and she could feel strange heat radiating off him, almost like their connection was warmth itself. And she sensed his emotions underneath that cool mask, and she knew, suddenly, that he was as rattled as she was.

  In that moment, he wasn’t a monster or a ruthless conqueror. He was just another man, as nervous to be married to a stranger as she was.

  The prince took the goblet from her. Her breath caught in her throat, but he only placed it back on the tray. Graeme laced his fingers through hers and pulled her closer until she stood between his parted legs.

  His eyes trapped hers. “You’re frightened. I can feel your fear . . . inside me.” He placed his palm on his chest. “Here. Like it’s part of me.”

  Her mouth worked silently. “I know what you are,” she said, careful to not look at the wine. “Why wouldn’t I be frightened?”

  He stroked her cheek. “You are salvation from my curse. It is not supposed to be a misery for you, but an equal blessing.”

  It’s not, she thought fiercely.

  His hands slid to her hips, resting on the gauzy fabric, and she forgot to breathe. “You’re very beautiful, Seri.” Prince Graeme murmured. “Not like the court ladies, but very . . . lovely in your own way. Like a wild bird.” His fingers moved lower, sending skitters of pleasure through her body. Her gaze slipped to his mouth, and she wondered how it would feel against her own.

  The thought alarmed her as much as it excited her. She shook her head. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She was just going to poison the man and escape. She wasn’t supposed to stand here and let him caress her or wonder about his lips on her body.

  “Prince Graeme,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “I would prefer that you not call me prince, my wife. I know we are strangers, but I would ask that you call me by my given name.” His voice was low, soft.

  Through the shared bond, she felt a pulse of emotion—intense lust mixed with a wry affection and . . . longing? Swallowing hard, she stared down at the tray of poisoned wine. “Do I . . . do I call you Prince Graeme in public?”

  “I should prefer ‘Crown of my Heart.’”

  She raised her eyebrows at him, and when he smiled, she realized he was making a joke. A nervous, high giggle escaped her throat.

  “Just Graeme then,” he said, and squeezed her hips.

  “Graeme,” she repeated, rattled. Gods, why was she laughing with him? Why was he smiling at her and making her feel as soft as a melted candle? Her gaze darted back over to the waiting goblets, and she wondered if it was a fast poison. Would he drink it and then sweetly drift to sleep, those beautiful, cold eyes closing forever? Or would he suffer for hours? Oh Gods, she thought despairingly, picturing that. Don’t let him suffer like that.

  His gaze followed hers. “Will it make you more comfortable if I drink?” Graeme asked. “I find that I do not thirst for wine, but if you will serve me, I will be pleased to partake.” That solemn, stern mouth lifted into a half smile, setting her heart fluttering again.

  He’s trying to calm me, she realized. He thinks I’m scared of him, and of all things, he’s trying to calm me.

  That small kindness made her tremble. But she had to do this. She had to. A small kindness was nothing in the face of the oppression of her people. Steeling herself, Seri stood and reached for the wineglass, fingers shaking.

  When she turned back around, Graeme was on his feet, standing right behind her. His hand skimmed her shoulder, then moved down her back.

  She gasped, startled at the tender touch, and the goblet escaped her clammy grip and slopped wine down the front of her filmy gown. Oh, by the four gods. Seri looked at the prince in mute horror.

  His eyes narrowed and he stared at her for a long moment. Her heart beat faster, her terror fusing with his confusion . . . and anger. He turned abruptly, then stalked out of the room.

  Seri collapsed, pulling at her wet gown, hot tears scorched her eyes. Did he know? Had he felt her plan, just as he’d felt her fear? Was he off now, calling in the guards to slaughter her here in this too-rich room she didn’t belong in?

  She jerked off the gauzy dress, now splattered with the poisoned wine, and threw it on the fire. It caught flame and filled the room with acrid smoke. She opened the window, and the smoke curled out into the cold night. For one frantic moment, she considered following it, but the ground was dizzyingly far away. Graeme’s room was on the top floor, and she would not survive the fall.

  She shook her head, ashamed at her cowardice. To think about jumping from a window instead of facing her fate like a strong Vidari. She crossed her arms, hugging herself, and waited next to the bed. The door opened once more, and Seri’s breath came in short, hard rasps. Her last moments were fast upon her. She had to be strong. She clutched the blanket to her naked body and willed herself not to shake like a leaf.

  “Seri,” Graeme called, coughing from the smoke. He radiated unhappiness. “What have you done?”

  She tried to say something, but it came out as a choked whimper. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him, to be brave.

  And that was when she saw that he had returned not with a squadron of guards, but with a pair of towels.

  Oh.

  “You didn’t have to burn your dress.” He knelt near her naked body, sending a nervous chill down her spine. She braced herself, but all he did was stroke her skin with the damp towel, washing away the poisoned wine.

  When she was clean, he stood and took her hand in his again, the same reassuring grasp she had clung to all night at the official ceremony. He looked into her fearful, confused eyes. “Seri,” he said, his voice low. His thumb stroked her palm, soothing her as if she were a spooked rabbit. “I know this will be your first time. Do not be so frightened of me.”

  A hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to erupt in her throat. Was that what he thought she was afraid of? Sex? She couldn’t tell him that she’d nearly killed him. That she’d disappointed her people and betrayed them. That Rilen would be furious.

  A thousand emotions welled up inside her, and she resisted the urge to dissolve into tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just feel very . . .” Alone, she wanted to say. Naked. Vulnerable.

  He cupped her face and kissed her. Not the gentle, subtle brush of lips like before, but a hard, possessive kiss unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His mouth was sweet against hers, and he tasted like the dinner wine. When his tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth, she opened and gave in to the unspoken demand.

  The feel of his lips on hers was nothing short
of blissful. A moan escaped her throat, and she pressed her fists against his warm, naked chest. He was pale, but so warm and hard against her. It felt far too good. He pulled her closer, his lips caressing hers, over and over. Rilen kissed hard and fierce, as if the meeting of their mouths was a conquering that he had to win. Prince Graeme kissed as if he were seducing her, as if he were light and warmth itself, and he could persuade and woo with the caress of his mouth.

  Unbidden, hot need uncurled through her body, filling her with a tingling that had nothing to do with the wine she’d drunk earlier and everything to do with this man. Graeme’s hands slid to the sides of her neck, thumbs playing against the soft skin there. He bit gently at her lower lip, a gesture that caused an excited shiver to shoot through her. His forehead pressed against hers, and she heard his breath rasp hard, like her own.

  “Are you still scared of me, Seri?”

  Seri shook her head, fists uncurling to spread over his chest. It was hard and firm underneath her fingers, covered with a dozen old scars that she wanted to ask about. She hadn’t pegged him as a warrior, but he bore many marks of battle. She trailed her fingers over him, fascinated. Why had she thought that all Athonites were soft? This man was anything but.

  “I’m going to touch you,” he told her.

  “Graeme—” she began, but he ended her protests with another slow, drugging kiss that made her eyes close. A soft moan rose in her throat, and she could feel intense desire radiating from him. His need made her own flicker to life.

  She bit down on his lip in a gentle imitation of the gesture that had won her over, and he gave a ragged groan. In one fluid motion, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She gasped and her arms went around his neck. He gently set her on the edge of the mattress and pressed another kiss to her open mouth.

  She forgot everything but his touch. Her world consisted of Graeme and Graeme alone, his pale skin and dark hair and burning eyes.

  “My bride,” he murmured. “My Eterna. My blessing from the Goddess.”

  She wanted to protest that she was none of those things, but his hands were on her and she lost track of everything but his skin against hers. He seemed to know instinctively where to touch her, that the brush of his fingers along the tip of her breast would send shock waves down her body, that the hard scrape of his teeth against the same tender spot would nearly lift her off the bedcovers with desire. He kissed and caressed every inch of her skin, exploring her body.

  His mouth dipped lower, to her breast, her belly, her thighs. His teeth scraped against her sensitive skin and she shuddered. She was lost in an ocean of feeling and when he moved over her, the feel of his bare skin against hers was utter madness. Seri moaned aloud, clinging to him. She needed more. Always more.

  Graeme’s mouth claimed her own as his naked body pressed hers into the bed. His hand moved between her legs, easing her thighs open. Near mindless with the sensation flowing between them, she eagerly complied.

  He shifted his weight on top of her, and something hard and hot nudged against her core. Seri tensed, and then he pierced her, deep, and she gasped, clinging to him for support.

  “Shh,” he murmured, then took her mouth again.

  His mind touched hers and she felt his passion, his hunger, and it licked at her until she was consumed with it, reveling in his need.

  Locking her legs around his hips, she pulled him closer to her, and he moved again, stroking into her. She gasped, surprised at how good it felt once more. She tightened her body around his and wrapped her arms around his neck as he began to move again, creating a rhythm that pulled her along with him. Something was building, sweet and urgent, and she uttered a soft, wordless plea.

  “I have you,” he told her. “I have you, Seri.”

  Graeme was relentless as he pounded into her soft flesh, his fingers locked in a death grip on her hips, his face stern and tight as she stared into his eyes, but she knew—oh, she knew—behind that carefully controlled, beautiful demeanor, he was raging inside and close to spiraling out of control.

  Then everything in her body tightened and pulsed with pleasure, and she gasped, startled at how intense—and utterly incredible—it felt. Emotion exploded through her mind, and their connection sang, stronger than ever. She cried out his name, and he fell on top of her, still tense and moving inside of her. Seri wrapped her slick arms around his neck, pulling him closer and in for a kiss, but he didn’t meet her mouth.

  Instead, he plunged harder into her, pressing desperate kisses around her collarbone. She closed her eyes and arched against him, giving herself to him, wanting him to feel the same shattering release she did. She wanted him there with her, in this land of endless emotion.

  The piercing, sweet pain in her neck came as a surprise, one that made her gasp in shock and claw at his back as his teeth punctured her skin.

  The emotion between them crescendoed, until his need and thirst was thundering through her mind, drowning out her own thoughts.

  “Graeme?” she cried, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Horror mixed with lust as she felt blood spill down her neck. Then he shuddered inside her and sucked at her neck, and the sensation threw her into another burst of frightening pleasure, this one more intense than the last.

  She nearly lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the feel of him deep inside her body, his mouth on her neck, drinking her lifeblood as he groaned her name.

  The next morning, Seri awakened with a jolt. The room was pitch dark, the bed unfamiliar. The scent of male skin and the feel of the body next to hers was wrong. Terribly wrong. Seri bolted out of the bed, flashes of memory dragging through her still-sleepy mind. Graeme’s body over hers, their slick limbs twined together, his teeth in her neck . . .

  Seri’s hand flew to her neck and felt the skin there. It was tender, broken. A frightened sob escaped her throat and she staggered to a window. What time was it? She pushed aside one of the tapestries and sunlight poured into the chamber.

  “Close that,” the prince murmured, and she felt a pang of distress. Not her distress. His. The sunlight bothered him.

  Seri cursed under her breath when she saw the position of the sun in the sky. It wasn’t early morning, then, but late afternoon. By the four gods. She’d slept through Rilen’s rescue attempt. She covered her throat. She was the worst kind of traitor, wasn’t she? Not only had she married Graeme, not only had she failed to kill him, she’d fed him. Let him feed from her. And enjoyed it.

  “Is everything all right?” the prince asked. It was hard to reconcile that solicitous voice with the man who’d held her so passionately the night before. “Come back to bed.”

  “Leave me alone.” Her words were wobbly, and she pushed the tapestry back down over the window, obscuring the sunlight. She should have just jerked it down altogether and let the blazing sun do its worst. And yet . . . she couldn’t bear to hurt him. The very thought made her ill.

  And she hated that she wanted to return to the bed with him, to curl up against him and touch that pale, delicious skin again.

  Frustrated at her conflicting emotions, she moved toward the table and lit a candle with trembling fingers. She held the light up to the mirror, and the flickering, shadowy reflection revealed what she had suspected. On the column of her throat, two pinpricks shone red, deep and raw and . . . sexual. Now she understood why Athonite ladies hid their throats. She felt the intense urge to hide hers.

  Graeme appeared in the mirror behind her, and his arm slid over her shoulders. His hair was tousled and mussed, a distressingly appealing look in his sleepy dark eyes. His mouth rested against her hair in a possessive gesture and his gaze met hers in the mirror. “Does it hurt?”

  Shame filled her, that she should find him handsome after all this. That she should crave his touch. “Please don’t touch me,” she said, and shrugged his arm away. She ignored the stab of regret that shot through her, uncertain if i
t was hers or his.

  Graeme did as she asked, moving away from her. He pulled a long-sleeved shirt over his pale torso and then hitched his pants around his hips. “Time to start the day, my wife.”

  Oh Gods. That word.

  A heavy knock came at the door, and Seri scurried back to the bed and pulled the covers over her nude body just as a flood of servants and priests entered, carrying lanterns and blessing bowls.

  The crowd approached the bed and Seri leaned backward, pulling the coverlets up to her chin.

  “What is this?” Seri glared at the priests who surrounded the bed. “What do you want with me?”

  A priest with gray hair reddened a little and glanced at the prince. “Princesse, we only wish to examine you. It is customary for a Betrothal.” When she did not move, he cleared his throat. “We need to verify that the prince has consummated the relationship. It is important to the evening’s ceremonies.”

  Seri looked at Graeme with an aghast expression, clutching the blankets closer about her body. “And you say my people are barbarians.”

  The clergyman’s flush deepened. “We only wish to examine your neck, no more.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice. She pulled back her hair, revealing the incriminating bite marks to the men at the bedside. As they examined her neck, holding their lanterns close, a swift, possessive bolt of pleasure flashed through her. She shot a furious look at Graeme. That had come from him. Despite her scowl, his face remained carefully blank.

  There was a low murmur of approval from the priests. “A fresh bite,” one said.

  “On a virgin neck,” said another.

  She clenched her teeth against another flash of intense pleasure from Graeme. “Are you done examining me like livestock?”

  “Thank you, Princesse,” the priest said with a small bow. “We are done here.”

  Eventually the crowd made its way back out of the room, speaking in an excited hush. Graeme lingered for a moment, looking thoughtfully over at the bed as if he wished to say something to Seri yet was prevented by good manners. After a moment, a red-haired servant rushed in with a message for him, and he turned and left Seri alone in the strange bedroom, lost amid a sea of covers that still carried the strange perfume of the night before.