by Jill Myles
“Clearly you have not heard my singing,” Graeme said. “It’s more like torture.” At her giggle, he glanced up at her. “Actually, I thought we could just talk.”
“Talking’s nice.”
He nodded, his fingers brushing over hers as she played with his curls. “I repealed a law today.”
“Oh?” She kept her voice deceptively mild.
“The one where Vidari are to be taxed at three times the rate of Athonite citizens. I see no distinction between Vidari citizens and Athonite citizens, as you are all part of the Athonite empire.”
“Have you announced it yet?” Seri’s father asked. “I imagine the Vidari will take it as welcome news.”
“Yes, I sent word earlier today. My father is sure to write me an angry missive,” he commented.
Worry threaded through her. His tone was casual, but she could feel the trace of unease in him. Her fingers dragged through his thick black hair. “And will he repeal the law?”
“No. My father gave me the Vidara lands when I came of age. Even though my official title is prince, I am king here. He will not say a thing publicly. Privately, he will tell me I am led about by my trousers.” He met her eyes. “Are you not happy?”
“Did you change the law for me or because you thought it was unfair?”
“Can it not be both?” he asked, knitting his brows.
“It can,” Seri acknowledged. But it was more complicated than that. Because even though she’d grown closer to Graeme, fully giving herself over to him still felt like a betrayal, almost like she’d allowed herself to be bought.
“Well, I for one think it’s a step toward peace.” Seri’s father gave her a meaningful glance, as if encouraging her to accept Graeme’s kindness.
“I want your help, Seri,” he said, then sat up and gestured to Seri’s family. “I want all of your help. I want to understand, and I want to make this a better place for your people. I am also hoping this will ease tensions.” Graeme’s expression darkened. “There are rumblings. Something is afoot, though I cannot find information as to what.”
Seri knew just what was afoot. Rebellion. Insurgence. Guiltily, she looked over at her father for help. He had a sad expression on his face, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was—people they knew were going to get killed. But what could she do? Even if she told Graeme of Rilen’s plans, the Vidari would still fight. The Athonites would further arm themselves against them. Her position was a losing one.
If she spoke up, she was preparing the Athonites and choosing them over her people.
If she said nothing, she was helping the Vidari, because integral to their plan was the element of surprise.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, and Seri exchanged another worried look with her father.
“It’s funny,” Josdi said brightly, oblivious to the tension. “I was walking the halls of the castle the other day and I could have sworn I heard Rilen’s voice.”
Seri stiffened. Was it possible that the rebellion had begun already?
“You must be mistaken, love,” Father said and passed Josdi a piece of blue fabric for her pillow. “You know we are the only three Vidari in the castle.”
“Of course. It’s difficult to tell sometimes.” Josdi gave him a shy smile.
Her thoughts turning dark again, Seri sighed. “May we please talk of something else, Graeme?”
“Shall we talk of the ball, then?” he said lightly, though their connection vibrated with tension.
Seri heaved a sigh. “This is the last one, is it not?”
“It is. The celebrations of our union officially end tomorrow night,” Graeme confirmed.
“So much fanfare with all these celebrations. It’s easier as a Vidari,” Father said. “Will you two be handfasting in the Vidari way?”
Seri blinked. She hadn’t given it much thought. A joining was a joining, wasn’t it?
“That is entirely up to my wife,” Graeme said. His words were bland but she could feel a wave of longing and possessiveness. Did he want her to claim him in the Vidari fashion? Her hands twisted in her lap and as she pictured Graeme with a flowered wreath on his head, sewing his expensive hem to hers and then kissing her sweetly under the light of the sun. . . .
But they would have none of those things, would they? Graeme could never see the sunlight. The flowers were not in season. And Graeme didn’t even believe in her gods.
Graeme’s polite smile returned and he flicked imaginary lint off his tunic. “We don’t have to have a Vidari ceremony if it upsets you, Seri.”
Guilt washed through her. She could feel his sadness; he thought she didn’t want him, when it was the opposite, truly. She was terrified of just how much she wanted him. “It’s not that.”
Both Father and Josdi had gone silent, their faces carefully averted.
Graeme took Seri’s hand in his. His mouth crooked in a faint smile and then he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “My wife, I know you didn’t choose this. Say no more. I won’t press.”
She clung to him, her hands clasping his before he could release her. “Wait. Please.” She felt shy as she reached down and gripped the hem of his tunic. “We don’t have flowers for wreaths, but we could do the rest of the ceremony.”
Josdi squealed with happiness. “Right now?”
“Right now,” Seri confirmed, gazing into Graeme’s eyes boldly. His eyes gleamed with pleasure in the moonlight, and his lips spread into a slow grin. Her knees went weak. By the four gods, but this man could wreck her with a look. “May we borrow your sewing kit, Josdi?”
Josdi nodded eagerly and in moments, Seri sat with Graeme on the blanket again. She held a needle and thread, and her fingers trembled as she reached for his hem. “Normally we stand in front of the village and recite the words.”
“I don’t mind that it’s just our family here,” Graeme said softly.
She turned and looked at her Father and Josdi. He was acknowledging them as family? She saw her father’s smile of pleasure and Josdi’s face was beaming with happiness.
“If you’re sure,” she began.
“I am. We know what it means. The gods know what it means.”
She sucked in a breath at that. He was acknowledging her gods? A surge of love rushed through her, and she smiled at him, hoping he felt it. Then, she bent her head and began to sew the hems of their tunics together.
The ceremonial stitches were only a few—it was the meaning rather than the effort. As she sewed, she said the words that she had grown up hearing hundreds of times. “Goddess Kasla, lady of rebirth, look upon our union and smile. I take this man to be my husband, and together we shall build a home in your honor.”
Then, she handed him the needle.
He took it from her, and the touch of his fingers sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her. “What do I say?”
“Just give a heartfelt blessing to your goddess as you sew your tunic to mine,” Seri suggested.
He nodded and stabbed the needle through the rich fabric. They were ruining their expensive tunics, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “Goddess,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving me this woman as my Eterna. I promise to love and cherish her for all time, no matter those that try to come between us.”
Oh Gods. Such sweet words. She watched, eyes blurred with tears, as he carefully stitched their hems and then held the needle up. “Now what, my love?”
“Now, we kiss,” she said, trembling with emotion.
“I believe this is my favorite part,” he said, and pulled her in for a long, slow kiss that made her reel with wonder.
Her father and Josdi cheered, and Idalla began to clap. Blushing, Seri pulled away and saw Viktor and the nearby attendants were grinning with approval. She couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed.
Graeme ran his thumb along
the curve of her lip. “I have a present for you, my wife.”
“You do?” She gazed up at him, still dazzled from the kiss. “It’s not part of the Vidari ceremony. We normally don’t have much to give—”
He shook his head. “It’s not part of any ceremony. I just wanted you to have it.” He got to his feet, and their joined hems tugged. He laughed and extended a hand to her. “Shall you come with me, then?”
Heart racing, Seri nodded. She bit the thread to free the needle, then stabbed it into its cushion and returned it to Josdi’s basket. Then, she let him lead her across the field, back to the carriage. Once there, he pulled a chest out from under one of the seats and presented her with a carved wooden box.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Her fingers brushed over the wood grain. “I love it.”
He chuckled. “The present is inside.”
“Oh.” She nervously opened the small box and peered inside. A choked gasp escaped her. It was a comb for her hair, jeweled and intricately made with sapphires, rubies, and gold. Four symbols were worked into the metal, one for each of the four Vidari gods.
She touched her fingertips to it, then turned to him and gave him a brilliant smile. “It’s wonderful.”
“I wanted you to have something special to wear to the final ceremonial ball, something you,” he said. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” she told him truthfully. Even so, she felt guilty at the sight of it. It reminded her that the comb could feed the entire Vidari community for an annum. It reminded her that she was keeping the secret of the brewing rebellion from him, a secret that could destroy everyone she cared about—Vidari and Athonite alike.
She’d promised Rilen not to tell, but what would happen if Graeme found out that she’d been keeping the secret from him? Would he be angry, or would he understand?
Seri looked back at her father and Josdi. Viktor bent near them, offering Josdi a cup of wine as she chattered happily. Her father looked content and healthy, nibbling on a piece of fruit and supervising his younger daughter. Graeme had given her this, had saved her family. Hot tears blurred her eyes.
Rilen had forgotten her family in his zeal for freedom. Graeme, who had dozens of duties as prince, who was so far above them in station that she couldn’t fathom it, had taken the time to make her sister and father welcome. He had handfasted with her and paid respect to her gods.
Perhaps Seri didn’t have to choose after all. Perhaps she just had to place her trust in her husband, to hope that he could help her find a way to once again save the people she loved.
She moved forward and kissed the prince. “Graeme?”
“Yes?”
“I must tell you something.” Her stomach clenched with worry, she said a quick prayer to the gods, then told Graeme everything she knew.
Seri paced in their bedroom, her hands clenched tight against her sides. Maybe she’d made a mistake in confessing about the Vidari rebellion. She’d told him every bit of information she could think of, but Graeme had been silent. The picnic had immediately been called off, and the ride back home was silent. From there, Graeme had closeted himself with his councillors, and it had been hours since she’d seen him. Dawn was due soon, and he needed his sleep. And when they woke up again, it’d be time for the celebration ball.
She paused by her dressing table that held the carved wooden box he’d given her. She opened it, touching the jeweled symbols for each of the gods. It was such a thoughtful, albeit extravagant, present. He wanted her to have something to wear to proclaim to all of the Athonite nobles that she was Vidari. That she was their princesse, but she was also from her people.
Unable to wait to see Graeme for a moment longer, she shrugged on her dressing gown and tied it tight at her waist, then opened the door to the bedroom. If he would not come to her, she’d go to him. They needed to talk—and to plan. She was so tired of all the fighting and sabotage.
When she opened the door, the guardsman bowed at her.
She nodded at him. “Have you seen my husband?”
“I have not, Princesse. Shall I go find him for you?”
“No, it’s all right. I’ll find him.” She headed down the hall, mentally picturing the different locations Graeme might be. His study? The chapel?
The castle was nearly deserted, and she passed a few yawning servants who tried to bow as she swept through. Graeme was not in any of the usual locations, however, and she worried when she found his study empty. Where was he if not there? Frustrated, she began to head back to her chambers. An unfamiliar servant in a red uniform had a tray of wine and was chatting with one of the gray-garbed Vidari servants. Seri stopped them. The wine made her think of the Blood, who liked to sip it at social functions when it was impolite to take a neck. “Where are you going with that?”
The servants bowed. “To the throne room, Princesse.” The new servant’s eyes were wide as she gazed at Seri.
The throne room? What was he doing there? She turned and headed in that direction, walking ahead of the servants. The throne room doubled as the ballroom, and by now it should have been closed so the servants could decorate it for the upcoming celebration ball. She’d seen endless streams of fake silk flowers and woven garlands that would fill the room with color, all in the Goddess’s sacred yellow. There were banners to be hung and the floors should have been swept and mopped until they gleamed. As a former servant, she felt it thoughtless of him to be in there when they had so much work to do, and—
She pushed open the doors and all thoughts fled from her mind at the sight before her.
Graeme wasn’t alone. He sat on the throne, Seri’s chair removed entirely. Her heart pounded at the sight. A dozen men were also in the room, on a knee, bowing before him. From their clothing, she knew them to be advisers, the new vizier, and several priests. To a man, they turned to look at her, and one figure stood at the front of the room. He was wearing the same dark jerkin that Graeme had been wearing earlier that evening and . . .
Oh.
She gazed at the man on the throne again, and saw the longer hair, the tight-lipped smile of amusement.
The king. Her eyes went wide. She was here in front of these men in her dressing gown, her hair down and loose, and the king was here? King Lucan of Athon? Graeme’s father? She gave Graeme a helpless look as he moved to her side.
“My father has arrived in time for our celebration ball,” he murmured.
The king tilted his head and studied Seri as Graeme led her forward. “Does she not bow?” His voice, now that she heard it, was sharper than Graeme’s. More world-weary.
“It is against her religion, my king. I will not ask it of her.”
The king smiled thinly at Seri and Graeme. “Indeed.” He studied her for a long moment as her heart pounded furiously in her breast. This was the man who had conquered Vidara and slaughtered so many of her people. This was the cruel dictator, her husband’s father.
He looked no more than days older than her husband. It was deeply unsettling.
“I was not aware you would be coming,” Seri said bravely, lifting her chin when the king continued to give her a narrow-eyed stare.
“Clearly,” the king said flatly. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be here except I’m the unfortunate bearer of some terrible news.”
She shot a worried look at Graeme. Her husband’s face was strained, and she could feel unhappiness radiating through their bond. Impulsively, she reached out and gripped his hand in hers, offering him her strength.
“My brother is dead,” Graeme said.
Seri gasped. “What? How?”
“How do any of the Blood meet their fate? He was a victim of foul play.” The king’s voice was sharp with irritation. “And now it seems I have a bigger problem, as I am down to only one son. This one.” He pointed carelessly at Graeme.
Seri bit back her angry response. This was not the re
action of a man reeling from his son’s death. He sounded more put out that he only had Graeme left than sad that one of his sons had died. How could any father be so cruel and uncaring?
“Which brings me to why I am here,” King Lucan said. “To speak to my remaining son. Which I was about to do before we were so rudely interrupted.”
She felt Graeme stiffen against her. “Seri is my wife and the princesse,” Graeme said. His arm went around her waist, pulling her against him. “There is nothing that can be said in front of advisers that cannot be said in front of her.”
“Such unfailing loyalty,” the king said sarcastically, and Seri felt another stab of guilt. Did he know what she had withheld from Graeme? Or was he just choosing those words out of the air? “Very well.” The king shifted in his throne and nodded toward Graeme. “Since you are my only remaining heir, I have decided that it might be more beneficial for the kingdom if you were to have a strategic marriage.”
A low murmur rippled through the room. Seri felt a flash of Graeme’s anger. She clung to him, unsure of what she was hearing.
“I am already married, Father.” Graeme trembled with fury, but his tone was cool and detached. “Our final ceremonial ball is to be tomorrow eve.”
“Which is why I am here just in time.” King Lucan drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne. “You can still put aside the wild girl and marry an Athonite woman who is fit to be a queen of the Blood.”
Seri swallowed her cry of outrage, unwilling to give the king the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her. She could feel Graeme seething, even though he kept his composure. “You cannot do that, Father. The Goddess has chosen her.”
“Ah, but I am the king,” Lucan said, leaning forward on his throne. “I can do as I please, and you all have no choice but to fall in line.”
Seri trembled as Idalla braided her hair. She sat in front of her dressing table, the small, gleaming mirror showing a lady dressed in beautiful finery. The dress she wore was silver shot with golden threads, eight layers of rustling petticoats underneath a jewel-encrusted bodice. The neck of the dress was chokingly high, with even more jewels ringing the collar, and the fabric curved out in a collared fan under her ears. Above it, Idalla was twining Seri’s golden hair with ropes of pearls and adding artful tiny braids. As a finishing touch, Idalla added the comb that Graeme had given Seri as a token of his love.
