Senna drew a breath for a reprimand at Anacelia’s words, but she didn’t have the heart today. Instead she reached for the little velvet bag on her dresser.
“Anacelia, stop fussing with the hair for a minute.” She turned in the chair, reaching for Anacelia’s hand. “Here. These are for you…” For a moment her throat closed shut, the words choked off. She coughed again.
“These are for you…”
The brush hit the floor with a thud. Anacelia’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, Senna. No. You can’t…” Eyes on the bag, she took a step back as if it were a viper, poised to strike. “Those are yours.”
“They are mine. And they are mine to do with as I please. And…” She stood up, taking a step, grabbing Anacelia’s hand, pressing the little bag into it. “And as Princess, I command that you take these.”
Anacelia’s eyes glistened with tears, but she reluctantly took the bag. It was clear she wanted to look inside, but she clutched it tightly, then it disappeared into the folds of her sari. “Senna. I will treasure these for the rest of my life.” The woman stepped forward, hugging Senna. They stood for a long time, arms around each other.
Finally, Anacelia pushed away. “You must dress. Quickly. There are men in the hall waiting.”
“Let them wait.” But she dropped the shawl as Anacelia went to the wardrobe, pulling out the hated traveling silks, handing over the white silk shift. Anacelia turned away as Senna dropped her robe, pulled the silk over her head. It fluttered around her body, and for a moment she longed for Gabriel to appear in the archway, climb over and take her away from all of this.
But he didn’t, and Anacelia helped her into the complicated layers of silks, and finally her own corset. Anacelia laced and tightened it, but instead of stays poking her in unfortunate places, the garment molded to her, waste cinched in above the flair of her hips, the rise of her breasts covered with layers of bright silk. Anacelia reached up, restraining the last thick coils of hair up with pins. Then she helped Senna into detested silk veils, and then the overcoat.
“I feel like I’m wearing enough clothes for an army.” Already she was perspiring beneath the corset. “I’m going to melt before I get to the train.”
Anacelia slapped a fan into Senna’s hand. “Here. You know how to use this. And once the train starts moving, there will be air moving. You’ll survive.”
Anacelia bustled to the door, flinging it open. “In, in.” The men, leaning against the wall, looked up in surprise, moving slowly into the room. “Hurry. Stop lazing around out there.” She clapped her hands, and the men came to life. Senna stood aside as Anacelia directed who was to take what, admonishing them to be careful.
Finally, the men had taken all her worldly possessions away. Oddly, once they were gone, the boxes and trunks, the silks and gems and books, brass rolls of music and windu-p music box—the music she fought over with her father, those things he found so scandalous—once gone, they seemed trivial, meaningless. All she wanted in the world was a man she could not have. And a man who, quite possibly, now did not want her.
“You must leave now, or you’ll be late. The Ottway’s train will surely be here by now.”
Senna let Anacelia bustle around, draping a jeweled shawl around her shoulders, pressing the oft-forgotten sunshade into Senna’s hands. Then she stepped back, casting a practiced eye over her charge.
“Fine. You’ll do. Now, you need to hurry. Your carriage is waiting for you.” Anacelia opened the door to the hall, all but pushing Senna ahead of her.
“Anacelia, is the Ottway paying you to get me to the train on time?”
“No. But it will fall on my head if you’re not dressed in the right clothes, and at least in your carriage on time.”
Senna hurried down the hall, afraid the woman would resort to pinching her to get her moving.
But Anacelia wasn’t following her. She was standing in the doorway to the room. The woman’s intent gaze was familiar, but behind that Senna saw the shine of tears in the woman’s brown eyes. Senna backtracked.
“Anacelia. What is it?”
“Nothing. Or…everything.”
Anacelia looked up, letting the tears fall. “I don’t know how to say good-bye to you. I don’t want to. I want to just close the door and pretend you’re in the garden, or with your father…”
Senna dropped the sunshade, and pulled the woman into her arms. “I know…I feel the same. There is so much here…everything that matters to me. I don’t want to go…I don’t want to leave you.”
They were both crying now and Senna thought it would be so easy to just push Anacelia inside, lock them both in her room and ignore anyone who came looking for them. They had capons and wine and date cake…
“Senna! Daughter. What are you doing, still here? I’ve been waiting at your carriage.”
Anacelia pulled out of Senna’s arms, stepping back into Senna’s room. Senna turned to face her father, pulling herself up, straightening her shoulders. Her father hated what he called weak posture. Now he took a step forward, bent down and picked up the sunshade. He looked at it in puzzlement, then handed it to Senna.
“Thank you. I was just…coming down. I…I forgot my sunshade.” Short of brandishing it like a sword, she held it out for her father to see.
Her father’s puzzlement grew, but he held out his arm. Senna took it and he escorted her down the hall. Escort was what it might look like to everyone standing in the hall or on the wide stairs, but to Senna it felt like the grip of steel cuffs, a foreshadowing of her life with the Ottway. She walked past the palace luminaries, the staff in the background—the dark looming figure of the Prime Minister – without glancing at any of them.
But she held her head high, and in a swirl of silks she let her father escort her out of the palace onto the wide terrace. Beyond, the sun was shining brightly and she gently disengaged her arm from her father’s. He scowled, but she waved the sunshade, then opened it.
She took the first steps down toward her carriage, leaving her father behind. There were people watching from behind railings, but she ignored them, focusing on her carriage, on the footman waiting with the little embroidered stool. The man glanced up, then looked down, set the stool on the ground and stepped back, waiting.
Then the whole scene blurred in a film of tears. Among all the people assembled, , the one face she wanted to see was not there. Not among the shifters, not masquerading as her footman, not the man wearing shiny goggles, ready to drive her carriage. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.
“Your Highness.” The footman bowed, held out his arm. She set her hand on his sleeve and stepped up into the carriage. And it was empty. She struggled for a moment with the sunshade, wishing suddenly to just throw it under the carriage and have done with it. But she’d carry it, if for no other reason than Anacelia had pressed it into her hands.
The footman closed the door, then disappeared. A moment later she felt the rock of the carriage as he climbed on the back. The driver got into his compartment, and there was the ritual of starting the engine. With a hiss of steam, the engine came to life. The driver adjusted his goggles and they lurched through the gates of the palace.
She tried to watch out the window, looking for a red sash or beret in the crowd, but they were moving too fast. Sitting back, she tried to push away the sadness and loss she felt. It was hard, but she’d be damned if she’d arrive at the Ottway’s dominion tear-stained and pining for home, and what she’d left behind. Or who.
The carriage thumped over the grate and then picked up speed on the way to the station. Dust swirled around the car, obscuring most of the view. Not that there was anything to see. Aliens had come closer and closer to the palace, and now there were these huge, ugly walls she hated. The road to the rail station, once lined with date palms and fruit sellers with carts full of brilliant colored oranges and lemons and melons, was now a dusty corridor with dead trees, more walls, all to be traveled at top speed.
All too soon, the carriage shuddered
to a stop at the station. She waited for someone to open the door, peering through the dust at the Ottway’s train, belching great clouds of steam into the hot morning air. It had already been turned around on the great roundabout, facing back the way it had come.
Finally, the door opened and she leaned out, setting her hand on the footman’s arm, setting her foot onto the stony ground. With the sunshade hooked over her arm, she let the man escort her to the car she would be riding in to her new home.
He set the footstool down and helped her up the steps. The door closed behind her, and she was alone in the dim compartment. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust.
And once they did, she realized she was in the same car she’d ridden home in the last time she’d been on this train. The tapestries covering the divan were the same, the rugs on the floor still bearing the imprints of the heels of her slippers from her journey home. She was relieved to see her travel bag sitting on the dusty carpet by the side of the divan. A small plate of cheeses and fruit sat on a small table, along with a bottle of wine wrapped in a plain silver container. It was basic, common, something far below her station. And the car was dirty.
“He could have cleaned the car, at least.”
“At least.”
She spun around. Gabriel stood in the corner, cast in shadow. For a moment all she could do was stare in disbelief. Then she dropped the sunshade and ran to him. He caught her, pulling her further into the shadowed recess of the door.
“Careful. We are not alone on this train.” But despite the warning, he didn’t let her go. Instead, he pulled her closer, reaching to caress her cheek, to undo the veil that covered her face. Slowly he bent his head, his lips meeting hers. Everything…the car, the train, the Ottway…it all faded away. All that remained was Gabriel, the kiss, the touch of his hand. The love she felt.
He gently pushed her away and she went reluctantly, eyes closed, face still turned up to his, aching for another kiss. When she realized he wasn’t going to continue kissing her, she opened her eyes.
“Where were you? You broke my heart, you know.” A swirl of emotions rose up with the question, and she was surprised that she was quite put out with him. “I waited…all night. I got ready, had a bath…perfumed…” She sniffed, tears welling up, washing away the anger. “And a robe…scarlet…” It was hopeless; she let the tears fall.
“And for breaking your heart, I am sorry, so very sorry.” He brushed his finger across her cheek. “There are too many tears here. Each one is a spear to my heart because I am the cause of them.”
“But where were you? Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Come. Sit. The train is going to depart soon.” As if someone heard his words, there was a huff of steam, followed by the whistle’s shriek. Outside, men shouted and she looked through the curtained window, watching a group of men struggling with one of her larger trunks.
“Someone will be coming soon to make sure you are settled.”
She let him lead her to the divan, let him sit her down. He remained standing and she took in everything about him as if she’d been away from him for months, instead of far less time. But she frowned.
“What are you wearing? That’s not your uniform.” His purple tunic was edged in gold, but the sash was missing. The hat he wore was nothing but a billed cloth cap. For a moment she thought he’d cut his hair, but she realized it was tucked up under the cap.
Gabriel glanced down at his clothes, frowning. “These are the Ottway’s colors.”
“I know that. What are you doing in them?”
He looked up, lips curling in a sudden smile. “I liberated them from someone who won’t be missed. At least I hope he won’t be missed. Or found.”
“What are you saying?” There were more shouts from outside, another hiss of steam. Typical to the Ottway, no one had come to see if she was settled, much less comfortable. “How can you be here? The Ottway forbids anyone from my father’s palace to be here. Except me.”
“The Ottway has never seen me.” Gabriel leaned against the side of the compartment, arms crossed over his chest. The tunic pulled across his arms, and she thought it might split at the seams.
“Foolish man. He’s controlling and paranoid, but he overlooks the obvious. So I waited in the sheds here, until the train arrived, and when the shifters disembarked, I knocked one out and took his uniform.” His smile widened. “I was lucky he was close to my size.”
“And that was lucky?”
“It was. The Ottway employs rather undersized shifters. It was a struggle to get this over my armour.”
The tension inside her started to lessen and she grinned up at him. Maybe this was going to be alright, in the end. He’d find a way to get her out of this whole ridiculous situation.
“So you knocked out a shifter and stole his clothes, and waited here for me.” It was utterly romantic; beyond anything she could have imagined. “And that’s why you didn’t come to me last night.”
“Yes.” His answer was cut short at the sound of someone turning the door handle to her compartment. Instantly Gabriel’s whole demeanor changed. He straightened, dropped his eyes, seemed to recede into the tapestry-covered wall behind him. Senna closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and prepared to face whatever shifter of the Ottway’s had entered. She was prepared to give that poor man an earful about the conditions of her carriage.
But when she opened her eyes it was not a shifter sent to see to her. It was the Ottway. She gasped, eyes going wide, stomach clenching. She thought for a moment, she would be sick on the silk rug. All she could do was stare.
“You have forgotten your place, Princess.” The Ottway stood looking down at her, pulling himself up to his full height, which, sadly wasn’t all that. His light-blue satin tunic stretched tightly over his fat stomach, his short legs covered in loose pants of a darker blue.
“My Lord, apologies.” Senna rose, then dipped one knee, going down into a low curtsey. From here she had a bird’s eye view of the Ottway’s shoes, silly heeled pumps. They were misshapen from carrying the Ottway’s great weight, the sides worn and split. For a moment a terrible urge to laugh rose up and she bit the inside of her cheek to avoid making any noise. Keeping her eyes on the carpet seemed to be the best course. Definitely the safest.
The Ottway coughed, and she glanced up, only to be presented with his extended hand. Rings covered his fat fingers, and for a moment she feared she was supposed to kiss one of them. But he twitched his fingers and with an audible sigh of relief, she reached up, and with the very least amount of contact between them, let him help her stand.
“It’s time to depart.” For the first time, the Ottway noticed Gabriel. The older man frowned, waved his hand in the shifter’s direction. For a moment Senna’s heart threatened to stop. But he nodded officiously.
“Good. You have an escort. See to it, shifter, that no harm comes to the Princess. Or I will see to it that you pay for that mistake with your life.”
Senna shot a glance at Gabriel. He stood, head lowered, then bowed. “Yes, Ottway. As you command.”
“Then I leave you, Princess.” The Ottway closed his eyes, leaning forward, obviously expecting a kiss. Senna took a step to the side, presenting her cheek. At the touch of his lips on her face, not her lips, he pulled back.
“You vex me, girl.” With speed she didn’t think he possessed, the Ottway slapped her across the cheek, then reached out, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes darkened dramatically, brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. “I excused your behavior at our first meeting as that of a young, immature girl. Now…” He jerked her chin higher, forcing her to look into his eyes. Her heart beat painfully in her chest, her cheek burned. She longed to look at Gabriel but knew that would mean certain death for him, and worse than a slap for her.
“Now you will learn what it means to be obedient. You are a spoiled girl, and once I have you in my palace that will be corrected, one way or another.” He kissed her then,
lips bruising hers against her clenched teeth. Garlic, onions, stale wine…even though closed lips, she tasted them all. He stepped back and let her go. Weak-kneed, she sank onto the divan.
“See to it she has no visitors and does not leave this car.” He nodded to the travel bag. “You have everything you need. Meals will be brought to you.”
The Ottway turned, and strode toward the door of the car. The train lurched again and he staggered awkwardly. Normally Senna would have found it amusing, but today she dropped her eyes as the Ottway caught his balance. It wasn’t until she heard the snick of the latch, followed by the click of the lock, that she looked up. That she dared look at Gabriel.
He stood, fists clenched, dark eyes narrowed. Everything about him radiated rage. He stared at the closed—and locked—door, then brought his gaze to her.
She wanted him to hug her, kiss her cheek, make it all better. Or kick down the door and throw her off the train—gently, of course—and run away with her. But the train had started moving, and through the window on the other side of the car, she could see those who had come to see the train off waving.
A few of the Ottway’s shifters ran alongside before grabbing the railings of her car, swinging easily up onto the train. She heard footsteps overhead; they would ride on the top of the car, behind small metal-clad shelters, watching all the time for aliens. But the footsteps ran across the roof, and then faded away The guards had left her car, moving to another.
Finally, Gabriel spoke.
“Are you hurt?” The words came out through gritted teeth.
“Yes…no. Only my pride and my feelings, really. The sting has passed.”
“I wanted to kill him, on the spot.” With obvious effort he unclenched his fists. But he still looked as if he wished to punch something, or someone. “No man should treat any woman as he does. Especially to the woman he’s to marry.”
“Please…” She held up her hand. “I don’t want to be reminded I’m to marry that pig. And he is a pig.”
The train was gaining speed now, passing through the last set of big iron gates, getting ready to start the sprint across the desert toward the Ottway’s realm. Her car must be the last on the train. The gates were already starting to swing closed as her car passed through. Even though they were inside the speeding train, the deep clang of the gates crashing shut reached her, the vibrations coming through the soles of her slippers. It was most certainly like a death knell.
Wild Things (BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance): Shifter Lovers Romance Page 7
