by L. Penelope
“Jasminda.” He stepped closer, and she took a step back.
“That wound was healed. Does it still bother you?”
He dropped his hand to his side and drew even closer, backing her against the wall. She stared at the carpet, but he tilted her face up with a finger on her chin. Wanting to numb herself to the feeling of his skin on hers, she refused to meet his eyes and focused instead on his chest, covered in rich-looking fabric with brightly colored insignias on his uniform. He released her chin, but she stubbornly continued avoiding his face.
“Jasminda,” he repeated. Her name on his lips was more than she could bear. “If I could change who I am, I’d do it in a heartbeat. You deserved the truth. I owed you that much.”
“You can have no debt to me. I helped a captive soldier, not a prince.” As much as she tried to avoid it, she was drawn to him. Perhaps this was the last time she’d be this close to him. The tears escaped; she could not stop them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I have urgent business in my room that needs attending to. Pleasant evening.”
She slid out of the cage of his body and gave a wobbly curtsy before picking up her beautiful skirt and running. When one hallway ended, she picked another at random. She had no idea where she was going, but she’d rather be lost in the palace for a thousand years than see Prince Jack again.
Blinded by her tears, she finally stopped in a blue hallway full of mirrors. She leaned against a little table but refused to look at her face, ashamed of her reaction to him. He could no longer be Jack. He could no longer be her hope. He could be nothing to her at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Mistress of Frogs held a banquet for her closest friends.
Friendship is like a mirage in the desert, she said. It gives you great hope and encouragement when you need it the most.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
“One of the maids escorted her to her chambers,” Usher said, entering the dimly lit space. Jack paused midstep from where he’d been pacing the floor of his sitting room, only half listening to the evening news.
“Thank you, Usher. Make sure she has a servant assigned to her at all times so she doesn’t become lost again.”
The old man nodded.
“But don’t let her know that I ordered it. I don’t think she would like that.”
To his credit, Usher didn’t even raise an eyebrow. The valet had been with Jack’s family since before he was born. The old man’s kindly face was a warmer, more familiar sight than his own father’s had been. Jack switched off the radiophonic, silencing the newsreader midsentence, then fell into an armchair in front of the fireplace. He could not begrudge Jasminda her anger and pain. It had been unacceptable for him to keep the truth from her.
But each chance he’d had to tell her—that night at the base, or the morning before they’d left for Rosira when he could have found a quiet place to explain—he’d avoided it. Reality was coming faster than he had wanted, and he’d been certain he could outpace it.
His return had been chaotic, with the secret coronation last night and then a flurry of briefings. He’d ordered the bulk of the armed forces to the eastern border in preparation for the breach, and logistics had taken up much of his time.
Aside from the pending disaster with Lagrimar, he’d had calls with the leaders of their allies Fremia and Yaly, letters to read and sign, introductions to staff and security personnel to make. He’d hardly looked up when he was being called for dinner, and then it was too late.
He’d been a fool—and worse, a cowardly one. His desire to put off any change to the way she saw him had won out over his good sense, and Jasminda had suffered. The weight of the crown threatened to press him down into the earth.
But her expression as she’d stood in the dining hall, the devastation marring her lovely face, made him feel like a villain. It gutted him. The guilt and shame were heavier than the crown.
Somehow, he could not keep the women in his life from hating him.
“Has word been sent to my mother?”
“Yes, sir. But it may be some time before she receives the message.”
The last he’d heard, his mother was cloistered in a jungle sanctuary, hours from the nearest Fremian city. “She finally has her wish—her son is the Prince Regent. Too late to do her any good.”
The little he’d heard of the news report had confirmed his fears that his coronation was being met with more than a few misgivings. His mother’s defection to Fremia, Elsira’s southern neighbor, twelve years earlier had cast a long shadow, especially on her only son.
“I only hope she’s found peace,” Usher said.
Jack hoped so as well. He stared at the crackling fire until the flames burned themselves into his vision. His fingers picked at the fringe on his jacket, unraveling one of the threads, and he tapped an impatient rhythm on his knee.
“Say what you must,” he said, after the silence had grown more oppressive than companionable.
Usher’s bushy gray eyebrows rose. “What makes you think I have something to say?”
“Twenty-two years of knowing you, old man. And I suspect I won’t like whatever it is, so spit it out.”
“I believe I said everything I had to say before you left on your foolhardy mission.”
Jack raked a hand through his hair. “Protecting Elsira is my only mission, and I would do anything, even sacrifice myself, to see that happen. The opportunity was once in a lifetime, too great to miss.”
“The opportunity for the army’s High Commander to go undercover in enemy territory? It is unheard of.”
“I was the only one for it. The only Elsiran to speak their bloody language well enough to blend in with them. If I hadn’t gone and verified what they were planning, the Council would never release funds for the preparation we need. We would have been blindsided by the breach.” Although if he’d acted with more circumspection, the cornerstone might still be intact, but he could not say those words out loud.
“You paid a heavy cost for that information, young sir.”
Jack absently rubbed the place on his chest where the bullet had pierced his flesh. The pain had been gone for days, but now there was a phantom ache. He must have been imagining it. “I don’t regret accepting the mission.”
“And being captured?” Usher’s voice was soft, without a hint of censure, but a pinprick of guilt stabbed at Jack.
The fire crackled and jumped, flames leaping upward. The vibrancy of the fire reminded him of her, on the porch with her shotgun, of the blade she kept strapped to her leg. Fearsome beauty. The pain in his chest shifted and grew. It lay mere inches from his heart.
“Being captured nearly killed me. But it also brought me a wonderful gift.”
He slumped down in his chair. When had he come to care so much for her? She had been a bright light at the end of a tunnel of pain and desperation, but what Jack felt was not merely due to the debt he owed her for saving him, not just for her kindness toward him. She was strong, with a sharp mind, passionate, and brave. So unlike the giggling, gossiping society girls who had vied for his affection for so many years. Jasminda slit a man’s throat and kept her wits about her, for Sovereign’s sake; she had a warrior’s heart.
Usher steepled his fingers below his chin. “This gift you speak of, is it the kind worth keeping?”
Jack looked up sharply.
“Is it the kind that you would regret allowing to slip through your fingers?” the old man asked.
“She is angry and hurt. I was, if not dishonest, at least not forthcoming. She has every right—”
“You do not balk at walking across enemy lines and pretending to be one of them, at great peril, I might add, yet you quiver with fear at one young woman.”
“I’m not quivering with fear,” Jack scoffed.
“I believe I see a quiver, young sir. Just there.” Usher extended his finger, waggling it about, pointing at most of Jack’s body.
A smile edged its way across Jack’s fa
ce. “The Queen Who Sleeps must have a sense of humor to send you to look after me.”
“That She must,” Usher said.
Jack regarded the fire for another moment before jumping from his seat, what he must do now suddenly clear. “And I thank Her every day for that,” he said, kissing Usher on the forehead.
He raced out of the room and down the corridor, flying up the stairs to the great alarm of several passing servants. Jasminda’s rooms in the guest wing were on the other side of the palace. He wished she were closer, though visiting her rooms, wherever they were and especially at this hour, was unseemly and could put her reputation in jeopardy. Based on the chilly reception she’d received from the gathered aristocracy at dinner, however, her current reputation was no great asset.
Jack had been caught in the dining hall after dinner by Minister Stevenot, who had profusely dispatched his condolences. Over his shoulder, through the cracked door to the adjoining parlor, he’d watched, heartsick, as Jasminda stood alone, an island in an unfriendly sea. He’d been on his way to her when Lizvette approached Jasminda, and her kindness filled him with gratitude.
As if conjured by his thoughts, Lizvette now appeared on the staircase above him in the grand hall.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtseying, an amused smile playing upon her lips.
He climbed up to the landing to stand beside her. “You know, you must try to keep a straight face when you say that.”
She nodded, her eyes alight. “I shall keep that in mind.” Her expression sobered, and she laid a hand on his arm. “I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your brother.”
“No, I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. And for your loss. Not only a husband gone, but you were to be the princess.”
Her lips pressed to a thin line. “Yes, well, Mother and Father are inconsolable.” Her voice was light, but shadows danced in her eyes.
He and Lizvette had raced around the palace as children, under the disapproving eyes of their parents. Her father had been a close friend and advisor to his, and still retained a place on the Council. She and his brother had been engaged for two years and were to be married in just a few weeks.
“And you?” Jack asked, craning his neck down to look her in the eye.
“It happened so fast.” She dipped her head and ran her fingers across the mirrors embedded in her gown, avoiding his gaze. “Alariq did love his gadgets, though. He would probably have lived in that airship if he could have.” She managed a weak smile. “I can’t imagine what was going through his mind, piloting through that kind of storm.”
“Nor I. He was always so reasonable. I just hope I’m up to the task of filling his shoes.”
“You are. Of course you are. You will be a wonderful prince.” She finally met his eyes, beaming up at him, though her smile overflowed with sadness. She took hold of his hand and squeezed. He hoped she was holding up well, despite appearing so tired. Dark circles under her eyes were starting to show through her makeup.
“I don’t want to keep you,” he said, pulling away. She held on a moment longer before releasing him.
“Whatever are you doing on this end of the palace?”
He shifted on his feet, his gaze involuntarily drawn toward the hall leading to Jasminda’s room.
Lizvette looked, then frowned slightly. She sighed. “Are you … with her?”
“I owe her an apology. One that is overdue.”
Lizvette took a step back. “The whole palace is talking. They’re watching her. Wondering.”
“I don’t have time for Rosiran busybodies.” Indignation shaded his voice.
“Jack, she will be trouble for you.”
His protective instincts kicked in. Jasminda was not anyone else’s concern. She belonged here, had more right than most who called the palace home.
The worry in Lizvette’s face cut through his rising ire. His anger was not for her. “May She bless your dreams, Vette.”
“And yours as well, Your Grace.”
He walked away, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched until he turned the corner.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Mistress of Horses oft traversed the countryside at night singing the moon’s song. Sometimes the moon would sing back.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jack stood outside Jasminda’s door, gathering his courage before knocking rapidly. His breathing grew shallow as the seconds ticked by. When the door finally opened, he schooled his features, attempting to hide his wonder. She was radiant in the outfit she’d worn at dinner. The gorgeous golden dress highlighted the color of her skin and made him want to feel its softness. Her hair was tamed somewhat, but still wild, gorgeous, and free, like her. But her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
That phantom ache above his heart flared again. He rubbed at it unconsciously. She studied his movement, worry creasing her forehead. He swallowed the lump in his throat and bowed low, causing her to take a step back.
“Excuse me, my lady, but you inquired as to the completeness of my healing. I … I fear I may have reinjured myself and wondered if you would be so kind as to inspect it for me.”
She tilted her head up at him, her brow furrowed. He was afraid she would shut the door in his face at so flimsy an excuse. Instead, she took another step back, allowing him entry. She turned on her heel and headed to the fireplace where a chair had been dragged over quite close to the flames.
“Are the palace physicians not up to the task, Your Grace?” She motioned to the chair; he sank into it.
“They are the best in the land.”
“I’m having trouble singing here. There are too many people. But I can take a look.” The bag she’d brought from home lay on the floor, and she crouched, retrieving her jar of balm. She approached him, her focus solely on the spot beneath his clothes where the wound had been. When her eyes finally met his, something passed between them, but she firmed her mouth into a frown. “That will have to come off,” she said, motioning to his covered chest.
He unbuttoned his coat and laid it aside, then undid his dress shirt and slid out of it. Her focus never left his chest the entire time. When he’d disrobed enough, she knelt in front of him, one hand resting on his thigh, the other gently prodding the newly healed skin.
“What makes you think you’ve reinjured yourself?” she said, voice full of accusation. “Your Grace,” she added, yanking her fingers away.
“Because it hurts. Just here.” He pulled her hand back, holding it in place against his heart. “And don’t call me that. I’m still Jack.”
Her lips trembled, the pools of her eyes swam with tears. “No, you’re not just Jack anymore. You never were.”
She again tried to draw her hand away, but he held on tight, grasping the other, as well, and bringing them up to meet. He stroked her silken skin and lifted her joined hands to his lips, kissing each softly then placing a palm on each side of his face.
“I’m sorry, Jasminda.” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to take the pain evident on her face.
“What are you sorry for?”
“For not telling you. For being unable to be just Jack for you. Trust me, I never wanted any of this.”
“Why not?”
“My elder brother was groomed to rule. I was never as smart or accomplished as he. Never as good at all of this.” He waved at the lavish room. “Most of my childhood was spent in barracks, training for the army. I don’t believe I’ll ever feel like a prince, not on the inside. I should have told you … I just couldn’t bear to.”
Her thumbs skimmed his cheeks, and she slid out of his grasp to brush his forehead, his chin. A finger grazed his lips, causing him to shudder.
She kept hold of his face but rose from the ground and sat on his knee, leaning her forehead to meet his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight, never wanting to let go.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” she whispered, stroking his face, her lips a brea
th from his own. “I cannot keep you, but I cannot turn you away.”
Jack nudged her head up and drank her in. When her gaze dropped to his lips, he leaned forward, capturing her mouth. They kissed tentatively at first. He allowed her to explore, touching her lips softly to his, then with more pressure. Eventually, she tilted her head and opened for him. He caressed her tongue, his control nearly slipping when she groaned into his mouth.
She gripped the back of his head tighter, her mouth hungrily attacking his. Her taste was so sweet, the scent of her slowly driving him crazy. He pulled away, but she leaned in, not letting him go.
“Last night I … Perhaps we should slow down,” he said, shifting her in his lap, moving her away from his rapidly growing erection. His desire for her was intense, but she would likely need time to trust him. He couldn’t push. It was enough that she was in his arms again.
Her chest heaved, thrusting her breasts up seductively as she sat atop him, eyes still closed, kiss-swollen lips slightly apart. “Slow down?”
“Yes, darling. I may be a prince, but I’m only human.” That night at the base he’d lain awake, convinced every nerve ending in his body was connected to the place where their hands had touched. Now, she was so much closer and he was having an even harder time holding himself back. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
She dragged her hands through his hair, igniting sparks of pleasure that rolled down his spine.
“I want you to be certain.…” He sucked in a breath as she ran her fingers down his chest, then up again. She ducked her head and kissed his collarbone. He did not trust himself for much longer.
“Jasminda.” He groaned.
She shifted her knee ever so slightly, rubbing against his straining crotch. “Yes?” She smiled wickedly, her mouth edging closer to his nipple.
“You’re killing me.”
“Then let it be a warm death,” she said, hiking up her skirt so she could fully straddle him.
CHAPTER THIRTY
When the Master of Sharks met his beloved, he longed to gather all the roses of the world for her.
