The heart always won.
Chapter 3
Peter watched the future King struggle through the sphere tunnel, his gait beleaguered and knew, without any forewarning, that the sickness of the Pathway travel was not mere theory but an absolute.
He found himself hating the Guardians with an abiding passion. To say so was sacrilegious but no matter, telepathy did not exist so he was safe keeping company with his own musings.
Peter gazed out a window of convex glass from the inside of the carriage, the image of Prince Raymond distorted.
Presently, said Prince was being all but hauled back to the carriage which awaited him. There was no doubt in Peter's mind that their Prince could not walk the near-mile stretch this day as he typically did, his normal vigor was now compromised by the Pathway. It was typical for him to take his exercise each morn before he attended the oyster beds in their freshwater sea beyond the bounds of the tunnel in which they now rode.
Although the tempo of the carriage was graceful and consistent, Prince Raymond looked like if there had been lunch in his stomach, it would even now be upon the hammered brass floorboards.
“My lord,” Peter began and Raymond held up a hand.
Peter became silent, but plucked out a kerchief that was strategically damp and handed it silently to Raymond.
Raymond took the offering and used it to dab at the moist and chilled skin of his brow. He felt ghastly and judging by the look his manservant gave him, he looked as awful as he felt.
Splendid.
Though he felt ill from the travel in the Pathway, a trip which felt as if one eternally fell through heated ice, he was beginning to feel much better as they made their way to the Royal Manse. He leaned his head back on the velvet-encased seat. Already his mind was crowded with thoughts of his next trip.
He would like to self-delude but that had never been a strong suit of his. In fact, he was barely within the social norms of the sphere, his behavior was considered too outspoken by many. It was very good he was royal or there might have been social exclusion. When he spoke to Peter, he did not flinch, so accustomed was he to the forthright manner of this royal.
“Is she here this day?”
Raymond prayed not. Yet it was realistic to assume that Princess Ada of the sphere of West Virginia would even now be traveling for their initial meeting.
It was as if déjà vu had descended on Raymond. He gave a low chuckle and Peter's brows raised. He knew better than to ask a royal his thoughts, but he waited patiently. Raymond was free with his words and Peter had great faith that trait would continue as long as he drew breath. The royal's confidences were secure with Peter, after all, he was the third generation in his family to have the privilege to serve the Royal Manse.
Raymond did not lift his head from the seat but merely rolled it to face Peter. “It is a day of meeting females I must juggle, my dear Peter.”
Peter smiled and Raymond sighed, his features clouding with the memories of what had occurred. Of what he must yet accomplish.
When he opened his mouth to speak Peter nodded and he said thoughtfully, “She is not the primitive of lore, Peter.”
Peter's shock was visible. All knew that those who resided Outside were varying degrees of Savage. It was a fact.
Raymond saw his face and shook his head. “She is beautiful,” he whispered.
Peter gave a soft intake of breath.
He searched Peter's features and shook his head a second time. “I could not consummate the union.”
“But... your Majesty,” Peter paused, thinking of stepping over that line. He did not step, he leapt. “You sicken.”
They stared at each other. “Aye.”
“Then why? Is it such a misery to lay with a woman?” Peter could not imagine. He found it the finest thing he had ever accomplished. To be held within the soft heat of a female... it was beyond comparison. Words were no apt descriptor for the act.
Raymond watched Peter's expression and took his head from the contoured head rest, laughing from deep within his belly. “Aye, my friend. It is everything I want and more... to lay with her,” his voice became soft as he remembered her beauty.
Yet it was her fragile uncertainty that superseded his lust for her. There was something frail about Rowenna, it would elicit his protection more than his lust. Though there was plenty of that to be had.
“I do want her... badly,” Prince Raymond admitted, hesitating. “Yet, I do not want her fear on my head.”
Peter's brows rose. “Is she, untried? Or...”
“She is but ten and six or thereabouts,” Peter said, laying his head against the seat, his forearm covering his closed eyes. He listened while the steam released and felt the heavy wheels transition from the packed dirt of the sphere tunnel path to the cobblestones which lay within the streets of the main structure.
“And fierce like a young lioness...” Raymond said, cracking a smile despite his malaise.
“You like her...” Peter stated, shocked. This had been all about a business arrangement for securing their future viability. The very continuation of the species depended on this. Their future King was shortening his very life seeing it come to fruition.
Raymond sighed. “I do. Much more than I should.”
“This is not good,” Peter said.
“Aye,” Raymond agreed.
“You must... keep emotions out of this, if I may be blunt, your Highness.”
Raymond barked out a laugh, leveling dark eyes on his manservant, which was a misnomer, Peter was his premier confidant, so much more than a personal attendant. “And I am so proficient at that!” he said, slapping his thigh in emphasis. A puff of the dryness and dust of Outside flew off his trousers.
Peter watched the dirt make a small cloud inside the carriage as it jerked to a halt outside the manse, the iron gate rising in grim spikes against the opulent stone façade.
“What was it like?” Peter whispered, unable to help himself or discipline his words into a proper silence.
Raymond smiled at Peter and it was almost like a snarl.
“Magnificent,” he said fiercely and popped the copper handle on the side door before the footman could open it for him.
It was Prince Raymond's way. He did not like to be fussed over or coddled.
Very much like his future daughter, Clara, would one day be.
Through design or by genetics; destiny had a sense of humor.
*
Rowenna was uncharacteristically silent throughout the return journey to the clan and Rolland kept his own council, which was typical of him.
He did not like the melancholy that had stolen the spark from his future mate. Yet, it was unavoidable. When you took a girl that was barely a woman, forced her into an unforgiving position, such as the one that had been foisted on Rowenna, it was not without consequence. The proof of which sat silently behind him, her steed rolling its girth upon the familiar path that led to the Clan of Cape Cod.
Rolland remembered the time when Rowenna had been but a wee child and watched him spar with his bandmates, her lavender eyes big in her small face, her body covered in the usual grime that accompanied her. For she had dearly enjoyed running about, climbing anything vertical and being a general nuisance.
She had never been one to adhere to the lady-like protocol set forth by the clans. As a rare female Band, a select, there were certain expectations.
She dismissed them all, badgering the Band to spar with her until they relented. After years, she became an adept fighter. Rowenna wished to fight, she wished to be included in battle.
Every male on the eastern seaboard wished to tame her.
Yet, it was Rolland whom she had chosen. Actually, their unique chemistry, inherent to that of the select and blood of the Band had chosen for them in the Rite of the Select that had been but ten months past. Rowenna was nearing her day of birth and it was then she would be allowed to mate with him.
Then the terrible and final news of her status as Cho
sen came. It had shattered their easy camaraderie into a million pieces.
The worst of it was that Rolland's duties as lead scout of the Band did not cease simply because his cherished future mate must sacrifice the precious gift of her purity for the future of their race. No, he must still defend his clan and that of the ones who overlapped their borders.
The Fragment were always about, they cared not for the tenuous underpinnings of the clans.
Rolland glowered as he handed his reins off to the mixed-blood stable boy. He did not turn around and see Rowenna. He needed time to put her obligation in perspective. However, all he wished to do was travel the Pathway himself and feel the Prince's throat beneath his fingers.
It was not the Prince's fault that the Travelers had chosen him. It could have been any male. It was the Travelers who deserved his rage. Nevertheless, they would not be sharing the body of a female he swore to protect. To love and honor.
Rolland was not honoring her in allowing the Prince to lay with her. He felt the coward.
He stalked off as Rowenna watched his anger come off him in waves.
She was miserable and Rolland's righteous anger made it worse. She slid off her mount and with her shoulders locked in defeat she made her way to the ocean by herself. Rowenna did not wish to see the whites of her parents' eyes just yet.
She would let the ocean lull her into a familiar comfort while she ruminated on her time with Raymond, Prince of the sphere-dwellers.
There was much to think about. Beginning with the way she had felt when he had pressed his mouth against hers. Was it the heated but restrained passion she had with her intended, Rolland? The secret desire she had for the one she truly loved?
As she floated on her back, her eyes seeing shapes in the soft white clouds of an indifferent sky, she felt that small hot coal of curiosity burn brighter.
She loathed the flutter of excitement that began like a butterfly unfurling its wings at the inception of its break from the prison of its cocoon. Rowenna was helpless to stop the tide of her feelings.
She would speak untruths to others if pressed, yet to herself, she would not lie.
Rowenna wished to be with Prince Raymond again, to feel those dark eyes with contained longing on her person the way she remembered with a keenness that brought instant heat to her body. To feel the gentle caress of his regard for her, the taut restraint that sung like an unbroken note while they began to know each other in the dimness of that faraway cave.
Like they were the only two people in this world.
Yes, she would be with him, and it would be more than it ought.
Much.
It was what Rowenna could have, for what she wanted could never be, she had already relinquished hope long ago. She dared not dwell on the loss of choice or she would go mad.
*
Raymond sat upon the dais, its high polish reflecting the tiniest details of his wardrobe as he sat in an unroyal-like slouch upon his throne. He drummed his fingers in acute boredom.
He loathed the pomp and circumstance that came with his position as royal. He huffed out a sigh and King Ferrell's first advisor, Stewart Pierce, glared at him.
They were often at odds. Since the beginning of his great-uncle's illness, it had degraded to a point of near-intolerance. He wished to keep things as they had always been while Raymond was insisting on change and progression.
“Prince Raymond,” Pierce started in.
“Yes, Advisor Pierce,” Raymond responded in a droll way, exactly intuiting his next words.
He was not disappointed.
“You show a flagrant disregard for your position and the procession that now enters... Would you, for the love of the Guardian, sit up in your throne,” he hissed through clenched teeth. His gaze slid over Raymond's long legs, his arms gripping the throne's carved armrests that ended in elaborate gargoyles.
Pompous ass.
Raymond threw a withering glance behind him and made an effort to sit straighter in his gilded chair. Not that it mattered, his first look at Princess Ada would have brought him up straightaway.
She was lovely, if in a remote and cold way.
Raymond watched his intended float forward, a gown of the deepest blue, near-black, dragged behind her as a servant held the train. The season was warm, yet she wore velvet. It was a strange choice as summer had not yet fully waned. The sphere was somewhat permeable and did allow for a subtle change of seasons. When the snow fell Outside, the air became cool inside the sphere. Though not cold, it was cooler. Still, it was not yet cool enough for velvet. Raymond's eyes appraised her in the typical detached manner of the royals, his emotions carefully in check. She was thin to the point of boniness, her cheekbones too prominent in an angular face, eyes so deep a chocolate they looked like melted black candle wax. Her hair was her most outstanding feature, so deep a black it had a bruised quality under the glowing lights of gas that released their steam as she reached the base of the dais.
Ada flicked her eyes to Raymond's and then gave a smooth and deep courtesy. Raymond stood automatically, holding out his hand. The deep navy satin of her gloved palm slid into his as she rose and he was a little taken aback by her height.
It was very near Rowenna's. To his chagrin, he found his thoughts comparing, referencing, and just simply on her with more frequency than he was comfortable.
He guided his future wife to her seat on the dais and before she could settle herself inside the confines of the throne that had stood empty for a decade, her maidservant was at her elbow with a goblet.
Raymond frowned, it was a mite early for the beverage of grapes, he thought. On the heels of that he was troubled over her consuming a beverage that was typically had by persons of ten and eight or older. He knew Ada to be a mere ten and six. He gave an internal shrug. She was from another sphere, perhaps their cultural norms varied in this instance. Amongst others. Certainly there was some deviation as she was allowed to marry before ten and eight as was the habit in the Kingdom of Ohio.
Advisor Pierce stood, happy to make a speech so he might hear his own insufferable words. Raymond gave a small groan of distaste that he was sure Ada heard as a small smile twitched at her lips and Raymond cupped his hand over his mouth, feigning clearing his throat when he really wished to laugh over the self-congratulatory Pierce.
“We have come together this day to introduce the future Queen of our Kingdom.” Pierce gave Ada a look of deference that he would never bestow on Raymond, for Ada seemed most adept at protocol, royal and otherwise. Her back was ramrod straight, her deep ebony hair with every strand in perfect order and her dress covered even the hint of an ankle. Those long legs were curled and modestly tucked at attention in perfect alignment underneath the smaller version of the throne that Raymond held.
She really was the perfect choice for the kingdom. As Uncle had extolled, They were the greediest sphere by far, and the least likely to be interbred. His eyebrows had raised and he had added, and she has agreed to the falsehood of the pregnancy.
Now it was clear that the first child of the kingdom of Ohio would not be their biological child but Raymond's with a Savage of the Outside.
He listened to the Kingdom's advisor drone on like a dying bee about the benefits of their union as Ada sat stiffly in the throne beside him.
Raymond's thoughts were on another woman, in another time and place. So deeply entrenched were they that he almost embarrassed the entire kingdom by not taking his cue.
“Prince Raymond,” Pierce said in a hectoring tone and Raymond realized his mind had wandered and that he had been addressed more than once.
Thankfully, he had been drilled in royal protocol since toddlerhood and stood, as Ada's keenly intelligent eyes lit on his face, the question of his delay in leading her to the banquet table alive in those deep onyx pools.
He held out his arm and she looped hers though it.
When they arrived at the royal table, heaped high with foodstuffs of every variety, even the much-coveted t
angerines, Raymond deferred to Ada as was customary. “Where shall we sit?” he asked.
Ada's eyes were those of a hawk when she studied the table for a moment, her eyes catching the low sparkle of a cut glass decanter, the contents filling it like blood, then she answered, “At the head, of course.” Her voice was haughty with indifference.
Raymond felt a frown slide into place between his brows, following her gaze, seeing that she had spied the deep red grapes used for the wine that came with every evening meal.
His disquiet over her habits deepened. What had he entered into? And with whom?
He would soon find out that his arrangement with Rowenna was the only one that held even a drop of happiness.
Chapter 4
Rowenna was hiding in one of the many places she went to when she wished to be alone in her thoughts. It was difficult to be female in the clans, more difficult still when one was a select.
Her hair lay like a damp coil between her shoulder blades, she had barely taken the time to dry off with the small towel she kept at the ready in her rucksack. Alone time was precious.
The smell of fresh hay and a mucked out stall soothed her. She lay back on the unused bales in the loft, listening to the sounds of the noises the animals made. Soft whinnies from the horses, a swish of a tail and a stomp of a hoof were the music of the great stable where the horses of the Band were housed.
They were used each day to scout for Fragment. Oh... how Rowenna wished to be amongst them. She was female but as seasoned in daily sparring as any that rode after the vagrant group who pillaged everyone who was weaker, who did not have protectors. Rowenna had too many by far.
She was the only select in her clan. There were three in the Clan of Massachusetts. She sighed. They were all proper females, courted, and after the Rite of the Select, busy tittering about their upcoming joining.
The SAVAGE Series, Books 1-3: The Pearl Savage, The Savage Blood and The Savage Principle Page 58
