The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  Kiara’s eyes grew wider as she took in the bare chests of all the men. Around their waists was the leather of animal skins, draped carelessly across their thighs and jumping up and down as they danced. Across their abdomens were scarlet lines of paint, mirroring those of the women. Each man’s hair was rough and damp, perspiration soaked the edges and ran down the planes of their muscles. They were all barefoot, their feet rising and falling upon the tiles of the brightly patterned courtyard.

  Kiara, who had been utterly mesmerised for the past few minutes following the undulating moves of the men, started as she realised what she was seeing and dropped her stare to the floor. Half-dressed men, half-dressed women. She had never seen men dressed like this before - it was not the way of the Laowyn. A woman saw her husband’s unclothed form and no one else’s. Even Kiara, who liked to break the rules, felt heat warming the edges of her face. What was the purpose of tonight?

  She tried to dismount from her wall and ended up stumbling forward. The women in front of her parted as her arms flayed them apart. Glares were directed towards her but she had not disrupted the main event. She turned, mumbling apologies, and tried to grope her way back to the main entrance. She didn’t want to be here.

  Behind her she could hear the voice of a man. It was Johan the Prince’s personal guard who looked different to the other Reluwyn. His words found their way over the crowds, the drumming never ceasing.

  “It is tradition in the Reluwyn culture for women to choose their mates. The life-mate of a Reluwyn warrior, by custom, warms his bed, pitches his tent and raises his young. But the woman must choose her mate, it is her choice whose bed she warms, whose tent she pitches, and whose young she bears and raises.”

  Kiara was at the entrance to the hallway but so were two guards. Their long staffs moved, motioning towards Kiara, forcing her to stop. She tried to move around them but they wouldn’t let her. One gestured to her and said something about returning to the ceremony.

  “Once a year, the young warriors of the clan don their war paint and perform an ancient dance ritual to show the women their prowess in fighting. The women can watch, and then they pick their mate, joining his dance as a symbol of her acceptance.

  This year is different, many of you have been summoned according to the Edict of Maidens, and many of you will choose the Prince.” A chorus of laughter broke out in the ranks of the men whilst the women looked suddenly coy.

  Kiara, after shooting venomous looks at the guards, faced the melee. She moved back towards the position she had held at the side, leaning against the wall, pressing herself against the cold stone as if it might camouflage her or at least cool her flaming body.

  “As such, the women may watch and admire,” another bout of laughter rumbled through the ranks. “They may choose a dance partner, but dancing will be all the partner can provide for tonight.”

  Breath hissed from between Kiara’s teeth. She wouldn’t be dancing with anyone, but at least if she was forced to do anything, it would be to do no more than watch.

  To her horror however, some kind of order was given and the concubines split off from the maidens and suddenly the crowd of women was thinned. Coscian was moving among them, moving them into different places, and it didn’t take Kiara long to realise he was forcing the maidens into sight of the dancing men.

  She pressed harder against the wall but the Harem Master spied her quickly and placed a gentle hand beneath her elbow to guide her to her place.

  “Do as I say, unless you want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “Not the centre,” she begged in a whisper.

  “I have my orders.” Coscian let go of her arm then, moving back and leaving her in a central position, the men only feet away.

  The Prince no doubt had done this on purpose. He had clearly been paying more attention to Kiara than she would like to admit, if he knew that drawing her to the front would cause her such discomfort. This must have been what he’d planned.

  In the emotion of the moment, Kiara had not even looked to see where the Prince was. She had seen the men moving, but they had all looked the same, bare-chested with war paint slathered across them. When she saw him, she realised that she could not be more wrong.

  He was entirely different to the others. He had been to her right, but now he moved back across the floor, his thighs tensing with the impact of the moves. She saw his bare-chest, the patterns across it rising and falling with the lines of muscles, contracting and releasing with the movement. The pattern was as bright red on him as it was on the others, but it was less of a contrast against his olive skin. The pattern moved and swirled, and as he turned, she saw it weaving in and out of itself. Beneath the paint she could almost make out the rest of the tattoo she’d seen at the top of his neck in the library - only earlier today. Was this even the same day?

  She could not fully see it through the paint, and he had turned again before she had more time to look. His long hair glistened with sweat, the flames of the great fire outlining him. A leather loincloth covered him, the strips of it doing little to hide his thighs. She fell into a trance-like state, taking in all that she had never seen before. Her eyes rose from abdomen, to chest, to neck, and then breaking the spell, the dark eyes looking back at her.

  Heat, burning hot, flooded her body. Jarring from the shock of being caught so brazenly evaluating him, she flinched, moved backwards, hit someone. Hands pushed roughly back at her. She steadied herself. There was nowhere to run.

  He came towards her then, moving in time with the drums.

  “Come and dance with me, Little One,” he said, the breath licking in and out between his lips, the light of amusement in his eyes. He knew exactly what she had been thinking - Kiara could see his satisfaction.

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  Kiara did not answer. Instead she looked to her left and right and saw the line of heads turned her way, the women and girls all judging her, each craning their necks that they might hear the conversation between the Prince and the Favourite.

  “Are you afraid, Little One?”

  Yes, she was. Here he was, parading himself and she… she had been admiring him. She had felt stirrings, deep within the pit of her stomach, as she had looked upon the barbarian Prince.

  “I will not dance like a whore.”

  The Prince made a face which signified amusement rather than chagrin. He stopped dancing, moving over to where his confidant Johan stood. He whispered something into his ear and soon another announcement was made.

  “The Prince is allowing the women to join the dance floor.”

  That was it, the only command. The other women, unlike Kiara, leapt at the chance, moving forward like one penetrating force. The concubines led the charge, swiftly finding admiring men to dance with, the patterns of their dance clearly marked, no doubt Reluwyn. The maidens followed suit, no less eagerly, mimicking the dancing of their more experienced peers.

  The Prince was still in front of Kiara, and before any other woman could move in on him he stepped forwards, taking her firmly by the arm. Her reflexes had not diminished with her captivity, she lurched away. He went for her again, no doubt trying to gain the proximity that so many of the men were currently enjoying with the other women on the dance floor.

  Kiara didn’t trust herself to get that close, but before she knew it, his offensive and her defensive were forming some kind of dance of their own. Other dancers moved away from them, out of the line of the violent movements, and soon they had created their own circular space before the fire. It was like they were fighting again, on the dirt track, beside the carriage, as they had done all those nights ago, but the weaponry was unfamiliar to Kiara, and the danger more terrifying.

  The drumbeat was quickening, reaching a crescendo, and just as it dropped out completely, the Prince made contact, his fingers wrapping themselves around her forearm. He pulled her towards him with a sharpness that shocked her, and without warning kissed her forcefully.

&nbs
p; Feelings which Kiara had until now been unable to identify burst forward into bloom within her. It flooded her limbs and sent a shiver up her spine. His lips were warm and demanding upon her own. He retracted just as quickly, a wide smile breaking out upon his face.

  Kiara was left breathless, the Prince’s hold the only support keeping her upright for a few seconds. Her mouth felt hot and swollen, but it was nothing compared to the heat searing within her.

  “You’re right, Little One.” The drumming had ceased, and the circle they had created for themselves now felt like a prison with hundreds of faces staring in at them. “You are no dancing whore, only a true maid could blush like that.” The joke rang out loud and clear. The men present immediately erupted into laughter, as did many of the women.

  Before Kiara was able to give any retort, the drumming had struck up again, and the majority returned to their partners.

  The ceremony was supposed to continue all night. The men were to keep on dancing, gradually pairing off with the women who joined them, and feasting tables were set out for an evening of eating and drinking. Kiara did not stay for any of it. The heat still burning in her cheeks, she made her way rapidly back through the crowds, the Prince not stopping her.

  She made it to the hallway before she knew where she was. This time the guards let her through, although Kiara was oblivious to the nod that signalled for them to do so. It came from Johan, who had watched the scene with rising sympathy, and who understood the maiden’s need for escape.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning Kiara had mostly regained the composure that she had let drop so completely the night before. Gone were the feelings she was unsure of, she had banished them. But the feeling of humiliation still reverberated within her, accompanied by a violent anger.

  She had played by his rules, been his prey, but today it would end. Yesterday she had been unsure of the strategy he used. After a night spent alone and brooding, she had drawn her own conclusions about how to fight back. Let the battle continue, it was her turn to inflict some damage.

  She was making her way to a part of the palace that she had heard about but never seen. She was a woman, that was why she had not seen it, but thanks to the Prince’s marked favour she was finding herself able to traverse the palace with increasing ease. Guards moved out of her way, allowing her passage, and even when she entered a wing of the palace reserved for the men she was allowed.

  One of the guards raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth as if to say something, but the other gave him a look which quelled his protest. They moved away and Kiara continued. She wasn’t sure what was motivating her, what was pushing her on, all she desired was revenge for the humiliation. If the Prince was bent on using sex as a weapon against Kiara, then she would use it against him.

  She entered an antechamber inhabited by a young man who sat writing at a golden desk. He did not look up as Kiara drew near, she was touching the desk with her fingertips as he spoke.

  “Family name and sparring level?”

  Kiara’s heart was racing a little but she didn’t look away from the top of the fight-master’s head.

  “The Prince calls me his ‘Little One’.”

  The head jerked sharply up at this, his mouth falling open when he saw who it was.

  “And as for sparring level, I am competent with blades, but my footwork could do with some improvement.” Kiara felt a surge of boldness. She fell into the attitude she had seen practiced and used in the harem. She leant forward toward the man, fluttered her hand over his that still held the quill, and changed the look in her eyes from wary to warm and inviting. “Will you teach me?”

  “I…” the words died on the young man’s lips. He looked past her to the door where guards were watching.

  “They let me through,” said Kiara carelessly, she withdrew her hand from his and sighed as if bored. “The Prince has allowed me to go wherever I may please in the palace.” She dropped playful eyes on the young man’s face again. “It pleases me to fight,” then she gave the practiced laugh of the courtesans she had heard so often. “What’s your name?” she asked before the man could utter a protest.

  “It’s, well, it’s Mosian, I must check…”

  “Mosian,” said Kiara, as if rolling the name around in her mouth. She laughed again, “I like that name, but I prefer my name, the one the Prince gave to me, ‘Little One’…” Her eyes were darting covertly back to the young man at the desk as she wandered around the room. She felt a surge of satisfaction seeing the transfixed look in his eyes. They were roving over her frame, over her markings from the night before. “I will need some more appropriate clothing.” She traced a hand from her stomach to her thighs, the move suggestive. “I am sure the Prince will be along this morning and I wish to practice before he sees me. I would hate to disappoint him.” She looked pained but her voice was still light and appealing. “May I go in now?”

  She moved towards the door before waiting for an answer and the young man opened it. As she stepped over the threshold into the Fighting Hall she felt a thrill run through her. Let the Prince try to manipulate her all he wanted, she would not bend to his will.

  The Fighting Hall, Kiara had learned, was a place reserved for the men of the court. Here they sparred, trained and learned the warrior ways of the Reluwyn. The very fact a woman was even in the same area of the palace, let alone crossing the threshold of this room ruptured the social rules. These women might be given more authority than Laowyn women, but they had the same social rules, and this was no place for women.

  Rather than the men rising up to throw her out, however, they simply stopped their training and turned, watching her as she walked through. A few whispered, but the majority of the stares were not malicious, only intrigued.

  Two men were sparring in the middle of a tiled circle on the floor. When one caught sight of Kiara, a blow from his opponent sent him reeling across the floor. Before he could steady himself, one foot had crossed the red line. A horn sounded and the man gestured to Kiara in frustration.

  “An unfair victory.”

  The other man, young and handsome, had already taken Kiara in. “You can’t keep your defensive parries up when a woman turns your head, Yulesh?”

  “Shut up, Gorian.” Yulesh took off the bandages that had encased his hands and threw them at a waiting servant. He stalked off to the side for refreshment, the only man in the room to ignore the woman in their midst.

  “A bit far from home are you not, Favourite?”

  “I prefer Little One,” replied Kiara. The man had no idea how right he was.

  An attractive smile spread across the clean-shaven face causing drips of perspiration to skirt around his mouth.

  “Little One.” He mock bowed, walking over to her, the other men watching. “Tell me,” he said, looking down at her and appraising her form without shame. “Did you enjoy your kiss last night, maid?”

  “Not as much as I will enjoy beating you in the ring.” Kiara’s eyes had hardened and a forced smile appeared upon her lips.

  Gorian looked uncertain for a moment, intrigue battling a sense of danger.

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt a woman,” he said finally, his face marked with arrogance. “Especially one who is the Prince’s Favourite.”

  “Funny.” Kiara bent slowly to pick up a cast-off tunic by the side of the ring. It probably belonged to this Gorian who was stripped to the waist. “I wouldn’t want to hurt one of his courtiers.” She didn’t let her eyes drop below his neck when she spoke to him. Flesh was becoming familiar to her, but the discomfort she felt was still there. She slipped the tunic over her head and bound it at the waist by tying a large belt around herself.

  Gorian’s brow was raised. “Do you usually steal other people’s clothes?”

  Kiara allowed the smile onto her lips again. She could not wait for the Prince to see how many rules she had broken. She had noticed his protectiveness when she had tried to escape through the Tower Gate, and she sensed that her i
nterest in others would irk him just as much.

  “If I’m to fight you on your terms, as a man, then surely I must dress as one.”

  Gorian allowed a laugh to ripple from him. “True, your attire is perhaps a little sparse for rapid movements.” He came closer to where she had moved into the fighting circle, his eyes dropping to the open neckline of the tunic. “Isn’t it?”

  Perfect, Kiara had the attention she had been wanting, but she needed to keep him at arm’s length. She had no doubt the Prince would be here soon. Despite her manipulation of Mosian, she was sure that word of her antics would spread quickly to the Prince. Let it.

  She leant in to Gorian, pushing herself up on her toes so that her face came within inches of his own. Then, with a suddenness that shocked him, she gave him an almighty shove backwards.

  Her opponent regained his footing quickly, breaking out into laughter at her backhanded move. He began to dance on his feet, shaking his head and waggling a finger at her. “Sneaky, sneaky, Little One, not what I expected.”

  “Precisely,” Kiara was moving her feet too, but her movements were inexpert compared to Gorian’s. What she lacked in skill she made up for in speed however. She was small and her manoeuvrability was unique, a fact she had used to her advantage when raiding Reluwyn parties. She jumped forward, jabbing at her opponent, catching his side lightly as he ducked away.

  Her eyes moving rapidly around the edge of the fighting circle, Kiara was satisfied to see all occupants of the hall had their eyes on her. The fight continued, she was on the offensive from the start, Gorian responding with effective parries. As she tried to strike again, she stumbled a little; regaining her balance, she saw a pitying look in Gorian’s eyes. He had stopped his fighting dance, waiting for her to recover.

  Kiara struck up her movements once again. “Afraid of hurting a woman?”