by Jill Myles
“You look upset,” Seri’s father stated.
She turned back to him, tears welling in her eyes. Her father reached out and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. That simple motion seemed to crumble her defenses, and she burst into sobs, leaning forward into her father’s arms and letting him comfort her like he had when she was a child, as if she were young and barefoot again and not the miserable princesse she had been of late. “I am so confused, Father.”
He stroked her hair. “Tell me. Tell me everything. What is distressing you?”
She told him everything, of Rilen’s murder of Kiane, of the Betrothal and the emotional tether that connected her to Graeme, even now. Of the Blood and the Eterna daughters that only she could give him. Of Graeme’s unfailing kindness to her, and of her being forced to choose between him and the Vidari, over and over again.
“I see,” was all Father said, listening as she poured her heart out. “Does the curse bother you? And the blood drinking?”
“At first it did. But now . . . it is part of who he is, and . . .” Her words trailed off and she felt her cheeks heat at the thought of feeding him.
“Do you love him?” her father asked.
Seri looked back at her father and blushed, then quickly averted her gaze. “I don’t know. It’s not as easy as that, Father. He’s Athonite and I’m Vidari.”
“It didn’t seem to matter to the gods, child. Why should it matter to the two of you?” He paused, then. “Does he love you?”
She thought of Graeme’s intense face, his eyes dark as his body slid against hers, and blushed again. Then she recalled the pain in his voice as he called after her this very evening, clearly regretting his harsh words. She realized now why he’d reacted so strongly. He’d been hurt, just as she was when he turned her away. What they had was delicate, complicated, but it was real.
“I think so.” She shook her head. “But Rilen . . . and the rebellion . . .” She gave her father a despairing look. “You know what they intend to do—”
“Those hotheaded fools have been planning mischief for years now. It’s just coming to fruition because of your marriage.” Her father patted her knee. “Rilen was a good boy once, but his head is easily turned by another man’s cause. I would have let you wed him because I thought it was what you wanted, but I cannot be unhappy that you have married another. Let him live out his own troubles. He does not speak for all Vidari.”
“But . . .” She lowered her voice and gave her father a look of shame. “I was supposed to kill the prince on our wedding night. I wasn’t supposed to stay married to him.”
Her father frowned. “No?”
Oh Gods, now she would have to tell him her shameful part in the botched assassination. She wasn’t ready to talk about that, though. Not yet. Not when she was still so unsure of herself. Seri swallowed hard and took her father’s hand in hers. It was craggy with calluses, rough to the touch. Her own skin was getting softer by the day. It was just another change that showed how she’d turned her back on her ways. “It’s not important, Father. What’s important is that the Athonites are our enemies. They try to suppress the Vidari. I’d be betraying everyone if I loved my husband.”
Her father gave her a kindly, understanding smile. “Our hearts don’t tell us who to love, my child. Has he been cruel to you?”
She shook her head.
“Unkind to the servants? To others around you? Josdi sings his praises. She says he is the kindest man she has ever met.”
The knot in Seri’s throat seemed to grow in size. “He is very fair.”
“And if you told him of our people’s problems, do you think he would ignore them? Or do you think he would attempt to be fair to them as well?”
It sounded so simple to hear it from his mouth. Why was it not so simple when she thought of Rilen and the insurgency?
“Think,” her father asserted. “Think of what you can do if you work with your husband for your people, instead of against him because he is not one of us. I cannot help but think he would view the Vidari in a different light if you were there to pass wisdom to him. Rilen is a fool because he sees war and death as the only way. Your way can be kinder and more effective.”
She thought of the last conversation she’d had with Graeme, how he’d been studying her people, her religion. Melene had said he’d been reading up on them for weeks, trying to understand.
“War is not the only answer, my daughter,” her father said.
“Oh, Father, do you really think so?” she whispered, hardly daring to hope he was right.
“I pray so.” He yawned sleepily and shifted in bed. “I’m sorry my daughter, but I am exhausted.”
“It’s all right,” she said, patting his shoulder and standing up. “Get some rest. I have some thinking to do.”
Her father nodded. “Come kiss your father on the cheek before you run off.”
She did, then left the room, looking at the faces of the men who passed her. By the four gods, how had she never noticed that there were so many helmeted guards in the palace at all times? Rilen and his men could be amongst the soldiers even now, destroying equipment or poisoning well water.
But if she told Graeme . . . there would be no turning back. If she turned in the Vidari, she would be forever a traitor.
That morning, sunlight pooled underneath the heavy drape in Seri’s room. She stared at it, unable to sleep. Graeme had not come to bed yet and it was growing “late.” Her head rested on a pillow that still faintly smelled of him, his hair, and the spices that made her think of his pale, warm skin. She throbbed with need, and her legs itched with restlessness.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind, no matter how she tossed and turned in the soft bed. Her father’s words echoed in her ears. Was it so wrong to want one’s husband? Was it so wrong for her to be princesse?
To be happy with the path chosen for her?
Seri slipped from her bed and shrugged on a flowing silk dressing gown. She clutched the neck of it closed and headed to the heavy door of her room, peeking out.
A guardsman stood at the door, bolting alert and looking over at her. “May I help you, Princesse?” He touched his forehead in a respectful gesture. “Shall I call your maidservant?”
“No,” she said, a little too quickly. A flush rose on her skin. How to best phrase this? She paused for a moment, then sighed, embarrassed. “I am looking for my husband.”
“Of course.” The guard did not acknowledge her humiliation. “If you will follow me, I will take you to him.”
She hitched the high collar of the dress closer against her skin. “Thank you.” She sounded stiff even to her own ears.
The rumors would fly come morning, but she didn’t care. The guard paused at a room at the far end of the hall and one flight down. Two more guards flanked this room, setting it apart from all the others down the corridor. This was the royal residence, of that she had no doubt. It looked oddly familiar to her, and she recognized it when the guards parted to let her pass.
It was her old room.
Of all the chambers in the castle, Graeme had chosen to sleep in hers.
She thanked the guards with a nod and shut the door behind her. The room was empty of all servants, the drapes tightly shut. She lit a small candle in the darkness, the flame illuminating the quarters. Her steps quiet and muffled in the thick carpet, she moved to the bedside and stared down at the outline of Graeme’s sleeping figure.
He lay atop the covers. His clothing was askew, the neck of his shirt open revealing part of his chest, and his thick, dark hair hanging in messy locks. It startled her to see him so unguarded like this. Heat curled through her, and she gently sat on the edge of the bed, placing the candle on the bedside table.
Graeme awakened instantly, the hard look in his eyes softening with sleepy recognition. He propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed his fa
ce. “Seri? What is it?”
She drew in a deep breath, willing her courage not to fail her, and then released the stranglehold she had on the neck of her gown. The slippery material pooled around her shoulders, then fell to her waist, leaving her body exposed to him.
She heard his breath suck in, and her own froze in her lungs. Would he reject what she offered as she sat inches away from his body, naked and exposed? The minutes seemed endlessly long as she watched his face.
Finally, he rolled over to her side of the bed and sat up. “Do not do this.”
She’d expected that this time, expected the coldly polite prince to look at her and dismiss her like he had before. But there was a husky note in his voice that vibrated through her body and made their connection pulse, and when he reached to pull her dress over her shoulders, she leaned against him, brushing her breast against his hand. “This is not charity.”
He stiffened against her, his fingers twitching, his eyes meeting hers.
“This is a wife coming to her husband because she needs him. Graeme, I want this.” Her words hung in the air between them. She stroked his arm, moving toward the exposed flesh at his neck, her fingers dancing along the hollow of his throat. His eyes darkened, focused on her own neck, and she sensed the need and hunger inside him. “I want you.”
“Why?” he asked simply.
Excitement unfurled through her, and she shifted on the bed, kicking the gown to the floor. He pulled away from her naked body, but she knew she had him. She pushed his shoulders gently until he fell backward on the bed, and leaned over him, her fingers digging into the lacings of his shirt.
“Don’t you feel it?” she asked. “That awful need that gets worse every moment we are apart? It makes me ache.” She leaned over and kissed the soft flesh at his throat. “It makes me restless, uneasy. And I know the only way to appease it is to be with you. This thing that drives us together makes us unable to be at peace until we satisfy what it demands.” His shirt fell open, revealing his scarred chest, and she pushed the cloth backward, baring his skin.
He hesitated a mere moment, then she felt his hand slide along the curve of her hip, and pleasure rolled through her body. Before he could say anything else, she placed his hand back on her breast and slung her leg to straddle the waistband of his pants.
A hiss escaped him and his lips parted, fangs lengthening as she watched. His fingers stroked across her nipple, and she ground her hips suggestively against his.
Oh yes, this was what she wanted. What she needed. “Yes,” she moaned, and he groaned along with her.
Then his mouth was on hers, and she felt the hard scrape of his teeth along her tongue and her lips. “You want me, wife?”
She nodded, frantic with need.
Before she could think, his hands clenched hard around her hips and he flipped her over on the bed, pinning her beneath him. He shoved his pants off and she caressed his naked chest, wanting to touch him everywhere. His body covered hers, and she eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him against her. Yes. Yes. Yes.
He hesitated at her entrance, holding his body over hers. His gaze sought hers, and Seri whimpered when he didn’t move.
Finally, he shifted between her legs and pushed into her and Seri cried out, clutching at his body. The heavy, marvelous warmth of him rocked between her legs, driving them both wild with desire. Her hands moved over him and she encouraged him with small kisses of her own, with the drag of her nails down his back, the movements of her hips against his.
But even as he moved against her, it wasn’t enough. She needed more, she needed the connection that brought them together. She pushed his face against her neck, arching her back, but he wouldn’t drink. He only scraped his fangs against her throat.
“Please, Graeme,” she murmured.
“I won’t do that to you,” he said, pushing away from her throat. His mouth moved to her shoulder and he kissed her skin instead. “Just because I am compelled doesn’t mean you have to be. Let me love you without forcing my curse upon you.”
“But it’s hurting you,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “I can feel your pain. Your hunger.”
The look in his eyes was tormented. “I don’t want you to think that’s all you are to me.”
The sweet words cracked the shell around Seri’s heart. “I don’t think that,” she said softly. She cupped the back of his neck. “Please, Graeme. Taste me.”
With one last groan, he sank his teeth into her throat.
She screamed when she came, arching her body with the intense relief that flooded through her, a reprieve from the endless restlessness she’d felt since their Betrothal. He wasn’t long behind her, his body surging with a burst of energy, only to collapse on top of hers a few moments later with a sharp groan.
She could feel the tether between them reverberating with intense satisfaction.
“So what is this between us?” he asked, tracing small circles on her naked skin.
She hugged him, pulling his body against her own. Gods, she loved touching him. Loved his strong, supple body. “A truce for now. I don’t want to be Athonite or Vidari. I don’t want to be prince and princesse. I want to just be us.”
I want to love you and just be loved in return.
He pressed a kiss against the side of her neck, and his leg twined with hers. “I think I can manage that. But . . . you must know that Graeme is crazy about his bride. He might keep her in his bed all night long instead of spending time at court.”
She laughed, snuggling back against him. For the first time in a long time, she felt light and . . . happy. Joyous. Was he truly crazy about her? Her heart pounded with excitement at the thought.
“In bed all night long?” she said with a smile. “I think his bride would like that.”
“This is silly,” Seri teased Graeme as they stepped into a carriage.
“What, my lady, don’t your people take nighttime picnics?”
She chuckled. “At this hour, all good Vidari are in their beds.”
Graeme grinned. “That is ridiculous. Have you not noticed how hot it gets in the daytime?”
She swatted him as he sat next to her in the carriage. It seemed foolish to take a horse-drawn carriage, but even three weeks after Seri’s recovery, Graeme was extremely careful with her. Her walks were to be short, her food was to be tasted, and she was not to be strained in any way or fashion. It should have been annoying, but as it wasn’t; she rather enjoyed his attention.
The carriage started moving, and Graeme twined his fingers through hers. For the past few weeks, they’d had a careful truce. They’d settled into the marriage, and Seri was trying to acclimate to her new life.
By day, she slept. By night, she was a princesse of the Blood and Graeme’s new wife. She attended parties with him—endless parties celebrating their Goddess-blessed relationship. She rode through the countryside with him, surveying the land and visiting important nobles. She sat with him in the courtroom when justice was meted out. And once the final celebration ball was completed, they would finally be left on their own. No more galas. No more daily prayer meetings with the Goddess’s priests. It would be just Seri and Graeme, ruling over the land.
She was looking forward to that, though life would no doubt continue to have its bumps.
No one quite knew what to do with a Vidari Eterna. Even the people of Vidara City, who were used to seeing the Vidari on a regular basis, stared at her as if they expected her to bite. Seri herself still struggled with it. She was not Athonite, and she would always remember her roots, her people. But when Graeme took her to bed and held her so sweetly? It was hard to rebel.
She was torn. Endlessly, endlessly torn. And as she slid into her new life, guilt was a constant companion. Guilt over keeping Rilen’s plans from Graeme, and guilt over wanting to share them with him in the first place.
Even now, she felt guilty for having a simple pleasurable outing, and Graeme’s grip on her tightened. No doubt he sensed her disquiet.
They didn’t speak as they rode out to the cliffs, and the carriages stopped a short distance away. Servants bearing lanterns and baskets of food swarmed over the hilltop, and Idalla set a blanket down with a few pillows. At her side, Zaiya was at the ready for the food tasting. An adjacent blanket was laid out for Josdi and her father.
Seri sat as the lanterns were lit. She watched, smiling, as Josdi settled amongst the pillows, her sewing implements in her lap. Father sat next to her, and Viktor dashed off to get food and drink for them. The night breeze was cool and the skies were clear, the stars and moon shining brightly overhead. The cliffs ahead of them were sheer, but in the distance, she could see the tiny, winking lights of Vidara City and the plumes from chimneys as the occupants readied themselves for sleep. “It is lovely,” she admitted.
“Yes, it is.”
When she turned to look at Graeme, he was gazing at her. Heat scalded through their connection, and Seri adjusted the hem of her tunic, trying not to smile. The physical side of their relationship had been exceedingly satisfying. She found she looked forward to stolen moments with Graeme, kisses snuck between meetings.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, lying down on the blanket crosswise from her.
Her lips twitched with amusement when he laid his head in her lap. She took the not-so-subtle hint and began to toy with his hair. “Not hungry yet. I’d like to just enjoy the view for a time.”
“Mmm.”
“So what do Athonite nobles do on these nighttime picnics?”
“I believe this is the part where I am supposed to spout poetry and sing songs of your beauty.”
“Oh? Then we are in for a treat, aren’t we?” she teased, unable to stop touching him, tracing her fingers over his strong jaw. Josdi laughed softly and their father grinned.
