by Jill Myles
“Well, your grace,” the head healer said. She was a stout woman with a plain, ruddy face and a no-nonsense air. “It will take him time to heal, but it can be mended.”
He nodded. “Excellent. Let me know if you require anything. See that he has care at all times.”
She bowed.
Feeling restless, he headed for the library. The new vizier was there, several gutted candles around him as he studied Vidari records and old laws. He watched the man work for a moment, pondering. The vizier looked up, his gray beard and smooth cheeks drooping with a frown. “Is there something amiss, your grace?”
Graeme shook his head. How to describe the utter restlessness he felt? “Nothing. Carry on.” He turned on his heel and continued down the halls of the castle, unsure where to head to next. Eventually, he found himself at the Goddess’s chapel. Candles were lit, and he could hear the priests singing a hymn. Normally he found the sight peaceful, but tonight, it angered him. He approached the candle-strewn altar and stared at it, twitching with the need to hurl the candles from the surface and show the Goddess his frustration.
“You gave her to me,” he said quietly. “Let me keep her.”
There was no answer from the Goddess. No holy light from above. No signal that he had been heard. With a small shake of his head, he turned away. He could find rest nowhere, so he might as well return to Seri’s side, to await her return to life . . . or her descent into death.
Down the hall, he saw Lady Aynee. She flicked her fan open and fluttered it, her silver hair moving with the breeze. “My lord,” she said, sinking deep into one hip. “Is all well? You seem distressed.”
“My wife is sick,” Graeme said out of politeness for an old lover.
Aynee tilted her head. “How very terrible. She seemed well the other day when I saw her. Shame. She was such a nice girl.” She closed her fan and brushed it along his arm. “I am here for you if you need . . . anything, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed at her. He’d said she was sick, not dying. “You saw my wife recently?”
“Myself, Lady Mila, and Lady Penella visited her.” She clucked, her pretty mouth pulling down into a pout. “Poor little thing has so few friends.”
And so many enemies, he thought. Suddenly it all clicked into place. Lady Mila was all snap but no bite. Lady Penella was a fool. But Lady Aynee? His recently ousted lover? She would use poison on a rival in a heartbeat. “If you touch my wife again, I will murder every last one of your family,” he said between gritted teeth.
Aynee’s eyes widened and she took a step backward. “Why, Graeme, you don’t think—”
“That is precisely what I think,” he said. “And if you value your neck, you will find yourself gone from the premises by dawn. Do we have an understanding, my lady?”
The face that had once seemed so lovely gave him a thin smile. “All too well, my lord.”
With furious steps, Graeme returned to Seri’s room. Upon his arrival, Viktor and Josdi got up to leave. Viktor paused near Graeme. “Get some rest, my lord. You look exhausted.”
He nodded curtly and moved to Seri’s bedside. He sat heavily on the stool and reached for her again. “My sister and the queen?”
“Gone to Craelish this afternoon, my lord.”
Good. They’d be safe. “Thank you.”
The door shut and Graeme was alone with Seri once more. He caressed her hand, the tiny, blunt nails and tanned fingers. “I am so sorry,” he said softly. “To think you lie here, because of me, because of that woman . . .” He thought of Lady Aynee once more, rage tearing through him. He’d thought she’d understood what they had—that it was temporary, meaningless. Instead, she’d tried to poison the one woman he . . . Graeme looked up. The one woman he . . . loved? Was it even possible?
“Seri, please, come back to me,” he begged. “I’ll do anything. Just come back.”
And then, as if the Goddess had finally heard his prayers, Seri rolled over and opened her eyes.
Seri’s entire body felt raw and frail. Her throat hurt, her head ached, and there was a faint light at the edge of her vision that made her wince.
Graeme leaned over her. The look in his eyes was soft, and his beautiful mouth was pulled into a heartbreaking smile. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her cheek. Instinctively she stiffened, confused at the warm feeling that stirred within her at his soft touch. As though burned, he immediately pulled away from her, straightening, and the reserved mien of the prince returned.
“I’m glad to see you awake,” he said softly. “I do not wish to disturb you, so I shall take my leave.” He got up from the bed and someone else took his place, someone achingly familiar.
“Josdi,” Seri cried in a weak voice. Her eyes welled up as she took her sister’s hand. “You are here.”
“I am,” she said happily, her fingers sliding up Seri’s shoulders to touch her face. She cried with relief. “We were all so worried about you.”
“Have I been sick?” Seri asked, her mind a fog. The last thing she remembered was eating sweet buns, then feeling dreadfully tired.
A tight expression crossed Josdi’s face just as Idalla entered the room, along with another servant Seri didn’t recognize. She set a tray beside Seri’s bed, and adjusted the pillows behind Seri’s head. “Time for you to eat, my lady.”
Seri smiled at her. “No sweet buns, I hope. I’ve lost my appetite for those.”
Idalla gave her a prim look. “Soup, my lady.”
“Please give a spoonful to the gods first?” Seri asked.
“Of course.” Idalla dipped a small ceramic cup into the steaming bowl and showed it to Seri, then placed it on her altar. Seri smiled her approval, but before she had the chance to take a bite for herself, the new servant swooped in, dipped her own spoon into Seri’s soup, and sipped at it tentatively.
At Seri’s questioning look, Idalla gestured at the new woman. “This is Zaiya. She’s your food taster.”
Seri blinked. “Food . . . taster?”
“The prince’s orders.” Idalla looked uncomfortable.
“I see.” Seri said slowly. “So not sick, then, but poisoned.”
“We were so worried,” Josdi said.
Seri turned to Idalla, her mind reeling. “Do they know who did it?” I’d put three dru on Lady Mila, or her witch of a handmaiden, Seri thought darkly. The only other Athonite she could think of who showed true malice toward her was the queen. The rest just gave her distressed, unhappy looks.
Idalla cleared her throat. “I do not, but I am sure the prince will take care of it. We will leave you to rest now. We will be right outside your door if you need anything.”
After Idalla and Zaiya left the room, Seri took a small sip of the hot soup, pushing the information from her mind. There would be ample time to deal with her poisoner later. She was alive, and her sister was here. That was what mattered. She tugged on Josdi’s braid. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“And we you.” Josdi’s lips trembled. “We didn’t know if something terrible had happened in the castle, or if you had abandoned us.”
She frowned at her sister’s words. “You received no word? Nothing? What about Rilen? Did he not come to take care of you?”
Josdi shook her head. “Rilen came for a few days. Then he stopped. No word, no deliveries of food, nothing. We ran out of firewood. I tried to tend the geese, but I . . .” She blinked rapidly to fight back tears. “Someone came along while you were gone and took them. The pen was empty, the gate broken. Even old Bialla is gone.”
Hard, hot betrayal rushed through Seri. “Rilen abandoned you?” To think that she’d saved him and he’d condemned her family to starve for her efforts.
“We had some stale bread, but . . . I had to eat the altar offerings,” Josdi whispered in a shamed voice. “And the uncooked cornmeal for the geese. There was nothing left.�
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Seri patted her sister’s knee, forcing her voice to be even. “The gods will understand your need. It’s all right, Josdi. We are together now and everything will be much better.”
“It already is!” Josdi’s young face shone with excitement. “Oh, Seri, this is such a magical place, this palace.”
The statement brought a wry smile to Seri’s face. “Do you think so?”
“Oh yes,” Josdi breathed, eyes alight with happiness. “And your new husband is so very kind. It was he who rescued us.”
Seri sat up higher in the bed. “What?”
“He came to the farm for us. He bought a wagon from Alaren’s farm so we could bring Father with us—do you know that Alaren asked for six dru for that beat-up old wagon and the prince paid it without a second thought? Imagine!” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “I pictured poor Alaren falling over at the thought of all that money.”
Seri shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I sat with Prince Graeme as we rode back to the castle,” Josdi went on, her cheeks pinking with shyness. “His manners are so beautiful, Seri. I felt like a poor country fool when he helped me onto his horse, but he told me I should be proud as I am the sister of a princesse, and to not worry what others think.” She leaned in as if sharing a secret. “He told me that he has sent his vizier away because he did not obey his orders.”
Seri felt faint. “He said that?”
“I think he loves you very much, Seri. He stayed by your bedside while you were sick, and I could tell that he was terribly worried about you.”
“Don’t be silly, Josdi,” Seri said, her voice tight around the knot in her throat. “Prince Graeme is solicitous, no more.”
“You’re wrong,” Josdi said, and for a moment she seemed wiser than her seventeen annums. “I may be blind, but there are some things even I do not need to see.”
* * *
Seri’s eyes opened. A light shone down on the bed, and she sat up. Graeme was there at her side, the glow of the Goddess hovering over their heads. “Are you well, my Eterna?”
She was, but she ached. Her entire body ached with need for him. Why wouldn’t he touch her anymore? Why did he hold himself away from her? “I want you here with me,” she said, and pulled the covers back, inviting him into bed with her. “You’re mine and I’m yours, remember?”
He joined her in the bed, but there was so much space between them. She crawled closer to him, not caring that she was naked, or that he suddenly was, too. She wanted her body pressed against his. She needed his warmth, his touch. But he withdrew from her.
“Why won’t you touch me?” she asked.
“It has to be what you want,” Graeme told her. “Ask me and I’ll touch you.”
Of course she wanted him. Her need for him sang through her body, made her skin prickle with awareness. Every inch of her ached for his touch. She moved forward, trying to kiss him again.
“Ask me and I’ll touch you,” Graeme repeated. She was naked against him and his hands moved down her thighs. He kissed her belly, and then . . . lower. And then he stopped.
“Keep going,” she cried.
“Ask me and I’ll touch you,” he repeated again. “You never ask. You just push me away.” His mouth hovered above the most sensitive of areas, filling her with aching need. She moaned, raising her hips in a silent plea.
“Ask,” he said again, and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. And oh, she wanted to say the words so badly.
But nothing came out. Her lips moved, and she tried to speak, but . . . there was nothing.
Graeme sat up on the bed, disappointment etched on his beautiful face, his strong shoulders tense with misery. Then he disappeared, and with him, all the light vanished, leaving Seri alone in the darkness.
She bolted upright in bed, panting.
Josdi lifted her head from the cot placed next to Seri’s bed. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
It was just a dream, but her body ached and throbbed with the memory of it. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Graeme’s skin against her own, the scent of him in her nose, the warmth of his body pressing hers down into the bed.
You never ask. You just push me away.
She shook her head to clear it. “I’m fine.” She reached out and patted Josdi’s hand. “Go back to sleep.”
Josdi made a sleepy sound and lay down again.
After a moment, Seri closed her eyes again. But in her mind, she still saw the light pouring down from above the bed. It felt strange to not feel Graeme there in bed with her. “Josdi?”
“Hmm?”
“Has . . . has Graeme been by?”
Her sister yawned. “Not recently. Shall I get him?”
“No, it’s all right.” Seri settled into the pillows again. She closed her eyes and reached for their connection, curious to see what she would feel there. Her mind touched his, and longing, hunger, and need flowed through her.
Why didn’t he come to see her, then?
You just push me away.
Was that what she did? She cupped her aching breasts. Her nipples were hard with the memory of her dream, and her pulse throbbed between her legs, reminding her of his body and how she wanted his touch. Her face heated in a blush. She did push him away, didn’t she? He was her husband and she was his wife. If nothing else, they could share beds and ease the ache the Goddess had made them suffer.
Fine, then. She would seek him out in the morning. And this time, if he tried to kiss her, she would let him.
The sky was still dark when Seri next awoke, but she could stay in bed no longer. With Idalla’s help, Seri dressed in a soft tunic and pants, and set out to talk to her husband. On shaky legs, she made her way to his study and found him there, chin propped as he studied a massive book opened on his desk. Behind him, the window was open, showing the night sky. A cool breeze poured through the room, making the lanterns on the walls sway. The sun would rise soon, but for now, deep shadows covered his face.
By the four gods, but he looked exhausted. A twinge of guilt shot through her at the sight of his hollow eyes. It was like the more strength she regained, the weaker he became. Still, even weak, he was heartbreakingly beautiful. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his broad shoulders and strong arms.
Graeme lifted his head and stood at the sight of her, their connection flaring with emotion. He moved around the desk and offered her his arm. “You are feeling better?”
She ignored his offer, frustrated with the way he treated her, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. “I’m fine,” she said lightly, stepping into the room. “What are you reading?”
He gestured at the book. “A text on the geography of the region. Nothing important.”
Seri looked over at the tome, recognizing the flower of Kasla. “Studying the Vidari, I see.”
“A subject of which I lack sufficient knowledge, I confess.” He gestured at the chair across from the desk. “Please, sit.”
She sat, and brushed her hair off her shoulders. Graeme’s gaze went to her neck immediately, and she flushed. She touched her collar and she fiddled with the buttons. Was she brave enough to open it and invite him to drink? She glanced around the room, then said, “If you wanted to know more about the Vidari, you should have asked me.”
“I did not wish to disturb you while you were unwell,” he said politely.
“Mmm.” She cast about for something to say, distracted by his full lips and the way his dark hair curled over his collar. “I have food tasters now.”
He nodded. “You do. It’s for your safety.”
“Do you know who did it?”
He turned back to the desk and sat down in the chair again, all elegant, controlled gestures. “The guilty party has been removed from court.”
“I see,” she said, mulling his words
over. “Removed but not condemned. Or is that a fate reserved only for the uneducated Vidari?”
He gave her a cold look. “I seem to recall one particular Vidari woman who attempted to murder someone and was not condemned.”
Shame flushed her cheeks. “You should have killed me, then.”
“And yet, I did not. Just like I will not do to this woman. It has been taken care of. Do not concern yourself with it any longer.”
Seri blew out a breath. She felt strange and reckless. Too full of energy. To be this close to Graeme and not able to touch him was agony. Even now, her fingers twitched at the thought of skimming those hard muscles. “Where is your sister? I have not seen her for a few days.”
He turned back to his book and turned a page. “She is with her mother, visiting the coast.”
She’d been sent away? Seri gasped. “Not—”
Graeme looked up, startled. “No. Not Melene. It’s unrelated, I assure you.” A smile touched his face. “My sister likes you quite a bit.”
Relief flooded through Seri. “I like her, too. Will she be returning?”
“When things have calmed down. Right now, there are too many rebels. It is not a safe time for young women.”
Seri flinched. “I suppose I deserved that.”
He rubbed his brow. “It was not meant to wound. I apologize. Normally I am more careful with my words.”
“It’s all right.” She studied him. There were deep shadows under his eyes. He looked thin, too. Paler than usual. “You seem . . . unwell.” There was a carafe of deep red liquid at the edge of the desk but it remained untouched. “Are you . . . are you eating? Drinking?”
His gaze flew to hers, and his eyes darkened as they flicked to her throat, then back to her face. He seemed to stiffen in his chair. “I cannot drink from anyone but my Eterna and I would not attack you in your sickbed, my wife.”
“What about Lady Aynee?” she said, unable to keep the jealous note out of her voice. “I’m sure she’d be happy to service you in all that you need.”
