The Best Deceptions: A Lesbian Medieval Fantasy (Deception Series Book 1)

by Victoria Pink

  Nadira scoffs and finally looks up with an unrecognizable expression. "Would your Queen be killed for crying? For speaking out of turn? For laughing too loudly?"

  Her head tilts. "Killed? Of course not. She would be reprimanded and instructed to refrain from doing it again.”

  "There aren't second chances here, Fiona," Nadira interrupts. "No reprimands. You're lucky I saved you after that last outburst." She pauses and sigh escapes her lips. "They wanted your head."

  She gasps. "You said that was a joke!"

  "That was! But this," Nadira dubiously shakes her head, her hand once again lands on Fiona's leg to subconsciously rub small circles. "I was in gatherings every day trying to smooth it over. You may have rules where you are from, Fiona, but I guarantee they are nowhere as harsh as this."

  Her mouth is suddenly dry and she can't force any words to come out.

  Nadira scoots closer and runs her thumb on Fiona's cheek. "I like being with you. Here, where no one is around? You can talk about anything with me. Do anything. You make me laugh. I haven't smiled this much since I was a child," she grins before letting it fall, "But out there? You can't. I can't. This is me keeping you safe. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about any of this sooner."

  Silence ticks by. Nadira abruptly stands and starts to spread a thick blanket on the floor.

  Fiona watches in confusion until her voice finally comes back to her. "Nadira, what are you doing?"

  Nadira looks up only briefly before going back to her task. "Going to sleep."

  "On the floor?"

  Nadira shrugs. "I thought you'd still be upset with me, and I can't go to another room. It'd be suspicious since we are getting married tomorrow."

  She can't help the laugh that bubbles up at the way Nadira playfully sings the word.

  "Nadira," she chides, inching to the far side of the bed and patting the space she had just vacated. "Don't be silly. That floor will be horrible for your back."

  The Amadi easy agrees, climbing back into the bed quicker than she left it. They fall back into their same sleeping arrangement easily—Nadira's arm draped over her waist, her breath tickling the hairs on the back of Fiona's neck in the best of ways—and for the first time in the past few days, she doesn't feel so unhinged anymore. Doesn't feel so scared or worried. Not when the strongest person she has ever known is clinging onto her so tightly with the silent promise of protecting her at all costs.

  Chapter 13

  Fiona wakes as fingers lightly brush though the hair at her temples. She opens her eyes to see Nadira already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at her with a small, tired grin.

  "Sorry to wake you up, but those pillows are too expensive for you to be drooling on."

  She narrows her eyes as Nadira starts to laugh. "I was doing no such thing."

  Nadira's laughter dies down and, pulling back her hand, she looks down at Fiona with a revered, somber expression. Long moments tick by and the air around them seemingly turns serious and dense, and it's only intensified by Nadira's heavy sigh.

  "Remember what we talked about last night?"

  She nods against the down pillow, suddenly more awake as a pang of anticipation runs through her. "Yes. I remember."

  "No matter what I say or how I act," Nadira starts, reaching out to brush down some of Fiona's sleep mussed and wayward hair, "it's just for show."

  Reassuringly, she gives a small smile. "I know, Nadira."

  "Don't forget," Nadira leans down, softly kissing her forehead. "I'll see you soon?"

  "Of course," she replies quietly before sitting up to prop herself on her elbows. "But is that what you're honestly going to be wearing? To a wedding ceremony?"

  Nadira walks towards the door in her leather outfit she had worn through the desert, only turning back towards Fiona when she pauses in the frame. A mischievous grin and an arched eyebrow adorn her face. "What else would I wear?"

  * * *

  Fiona’s stomach feels like it's in knots, twisting and turning, nearly making her nauseous. Her knees feel weak and palms have already gone beyond the point of clamminess.

  She hates not knowing what to expect.

  Her family isn't here. The librarian she had befriended in Vatra, one of only friends she had ever had, really, isn't here with her. She supposes she should feel upset about being so alone in an unfamiliar place with only a handful of faces she can easily recognize, but she isn't. Not upset, anyway.

  Nervous, is more like it. Apprehensive. Maybe even a little terrified.

  "You better stop spinning that ring like that or you'll rub your skin off, dear."

  Fiona turns her head towards the door at the near-shrill voice.

  "Aleesi," she grins in relief. "I'm glad you could make it on such short notice."

  "Of course, dear, of course," Aleesi replies as she walks towards her to help Akina push the sharp jewels into her intricately woven braids. "I came as soon as I got the message. You said—ow—that you needed help?"

  Her head tilts, but is gently pushed back by another handmaiden as to not mess up her hair. "Not so much help as I need advice. Well, not even advice. More like…information."

  Aleesi rubs the prick on her finger from one of the charms. "I can do many things, Fiona, but telepathy is not one of them."

  Fiona looks at her with a furrowed brow. "I never said that you were a visionary?"

  "Never mind," Aleesi chuckles to herself with a flourish of her hand. "Just tell me what you need information on, dear."

  She inhales shakily. "I was hoping you could tell me what to expect?"

  Aleesi steps back, her face scrunching as she tries to help Akina tighten the dress. "Expect from what?"

  "The ceremony," she wheezes as the cords get pulled just a little too tightly. "No one has told me what to expect. I envisage it being much different than the ones from my own kingdom."

  "Oh, it will be," Aleesi replies, matter-of-factly. "I remember going to a ceremony at Darmuth when I was about your age. It was absolutely gorgeous. Dresses and doves and flowers everywhere! I damn near cried as the vows were taken. I begged Nadira to try and make today something like that. Something personal. But…well, you know how," she pauses as she looks at the other, less trustworthy women in the room, "Nadira is. I'm afraid the feast is the only noteworthy thing that will happen today."

  Fiona nods, even though she knows that Nadira is actually a euphemism for Faraha's views on how things should be done. She tilts her head; absentmindedly spinning the ring again. "There's a chance it will still be as beautiful as the wedding you witnessed."

  Aleesi turns Fiona to face the floor length mirror against the wall. "But it won't come close to how beautiful as you are today, honey," she responds in a motherly, doting way Fiona had never once received before.

  The jewel encrusted dress is made from deep burgundy, blue, and gold with tight, sheer lace sleeves that come down to her wrists. The front is deeply low cut, but still modest enough to be respectable—the sapphire necklace from Nadira showcased front and center. The train flows out several feet behind her and pools elegantly as she stands.

  It fits her in all the right spots perfectly. It's almost impossible to believe they had made this dress for her in just one day.

  She reaches up and presses her fingers to her lips to stifle a gasp. The way she looks at this moment—this dress is so much different than the ivory one she had spent hours dreaming about in her youth.

  This is better.

  So much better.

  "My Nadira is going to love it.” Aleesi’s hands rub up and down Fiona's arms reassuringly, and a smile graces her lips. "Everyone will. They'd be idiots not to."

  * * *

  There is no priest. No maidens to precede her into the main throne room. No flowers. No doves and no trumpet men. No escort to link arms with.

  She's alone to walk in front of hundreds of judgmental eyes by herself.

  Fiona nervously brushes her hands down the front of her dress
once in nervousness. She takes a deep, trembling breath as the heavy wooden doors are opened in front of her.

  And then she begins walking towards her fate.

  Noble men and women and children are standing, crowded as tightly as possible, against the walls in almost utter silence—save for a few gasps and murmurs of approval as she continues down the strip of marble that splices down the center of the room. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she keeps her chin held high, trying to keep her face from growing red with all the attention she's receiving. Only focusing on the one important thing in the room.

  Nadira.

  Her back is turned so Fiona can only see the ornately embellished cape that hangs from her shoulders to the ground. Its colors match the ones on her own dress and she's almost afraid of what she'll find when Nadira turns around. Surely Nadira wouldn't wear the leather outfit from this morning under something as intricate and stunning as that.

  But Fiona honestly wouldn't put it past her.

  She finally arrives at the marbled steps in front of the two silver and gold thrones and stops immediately at Nadira's side. Not moving, not speaking. Waiting.

  There's a long, drawn out beat where Fiona tries not to blatantly stare at Nadira's untamed curls and strong, sharp profile, but fails. Nadira turns towards her, and Fiona breaks into a smile.

  It’s definitely not the leather outfit.

  The outfit hugs her tightly, with crisp, deeply colored pants and a buttoned shirt with stitching that rivals any ceremony ensemble she had ever seen any patrician wear.

  "You look…beautiful, Nadira," she whispers solely for Nadira to hear.

  Nadira struggles not to blush. "Yeah. Well. Don't get used to it."

  Nadira's serious façade falls back into place and her face hardens into something steely and harsh. Fiona would be alarmed had she not been told to expect it.

  A young man comes out holding a pillow topped with a crown. He holds it towards them, and the Amadi takes it without saying a word. Nadira's hands don't tremble and her eyes never waiver as she sets the heavy crown made of silver upon Fiona's head. Her dark eyes are soft despite the harshness reflected on her face and, when Fiona looks back on this moment, she'll remember the way Nadira's lips had tweaked up in the smallest smile just for her.

  "Just as I rule over this kingdom," Nadira bellows, turning to the crowd of expectant faces with her hands locked on her hips. "I will rule over her. And just as I rule you, she will rule you only second to me. If you do not accept or consent this union, take a chance with your bravery and come contest me."

  Moments tick by and no one steps forward. No one speaks up. Their loyalty to Nadira and want for their own life overcomes their distrust of a fair-skinned foreigner by Nadira's side.

  Surprisingly, Nadira's warm hand clasps her own a as people slowly drop to their knees one by one in a silent acceptance of the union. No other words are spoke, no adjournment. Just the sound of knees hitting the stone floor.

  Her brow knits and she looks down to their hands and back up to Nadira's face. "What are you doing?"

  They begin to walk back down the marble center—everyone's heads bowing as they pass. "We can touch in public, Fiona. As long as you don't initiate it."

  She tries to keep her eyebrows from rising. "In an effort to show your dominance over me?"

  Getting to the main doors, a herald behind them announces the end of the incredibly short ceremony and the beginning of the feast that will last for hours. There's loud shuffling and voices as the people stand and start making their way to The Great Room behind Nadira and herself.

  Nadira nods and squeezes her hand in a way that's more gentle than dominant. More sweet than assertive. "That's the general idea, yeah."

  Her shoes tap against the stone floor as they walk. "So you can kiss me?"

  Nadira looks over at her with a grin. "If I wanted to."

  "Don't you?" Fiona asks, a smile coming over her own features.

  "Yes." They turn a corner and Nadira stops them. Her hand cups Fiona's cheek and she leans forward, her lips pressing soundly against Fiona's own.

  Her thumb rubs against Fiona's lip as she pulls back—the chatter of people behind them only getting louder as they get closer—but she stands still a moment longer to look into hazel eyes. "You look beautiful too, Fiona. No one here or anywhere else could ever compare."

  Chapter 14

  The feast was long and rambunctious. Aleesi had said it would be the highlight of the night, and she was correct. It was much more memorable than the ten minute ceremony.

  Four fights had broken out over a roasted goose—Nadira said that was substantially less than usual—and the painted dancers danced around the tables set with more foods and drinks and delicacies than she had been expecting.

  Fiona sat by Nadira's side at the head of the table, murmuring things every so often when she was intrigued by some custom she was unfamiliar with. Otherwise, she had merely watched the interactions and behaviors of the people in attendance—including the stoic and very thirsty Nadira.

  But now, in their bedroom several hours later, she's tired of being quiet.

  Fiona’s crown drops to stone floor of her bedroom with a heavy clank. The wine coursing through her has made her giddy and she laughs, reaching out to pinch the other woman's arm.

  "You look better without it, don't you think?" Nadira replies with a smirk, pretending like she knocked it off by accident. "I feel more like ourselves this way."

  "You did look stunning today," Fiona replies as her fingers loosen the cape on Nadira's shoulders. She staggers slightly with a giggle. Nadira steadies her by the elbows. "But I prefer you in what you normally wear."

  "Why's that?"

  "It's just what I think of you wearing when I think of you," she replies with a coy grin. "The outfit of a warrior if I recall correctly."

  Nadira's eyebrow teasingly rises. "So you think of me often?"

  Fiona tsks, her head shaking. "I didn't say that."

  "But you meant it," Nadira replies, falling against the edge of the bed to remove her shoes.

  She rolls her eyes playfully. "Whatever you say, Nadira."

  "Don't," Nadira tries and fails to look serious, "I mean absolutely do not give me that passive attitude."

  "Or what?" She asks, with a shimmy of her shoulders.

  Nadira grasps her waist and pulls so that she's standing between Nadira's knees. "Or I'll have to be aggressive to make up for it."

  "I don't think you have it in you, Nadira," Fiona quips, her fingers twisting in brown curls to untame them. "I've made you quite the push-over lately."

  Nadira's forehead drops against her chest as she emits a low, muffled chuckle. "Ugh. I think you're right."

  And to drive her point home, she pushes Nadira away and turns so that her own back is facing the Amadi. "Unlace me."

  "Well since you asked so nicely," Nadira retorts, though her fingers are already unsteadily untying the knot to loosen the strings.

  The laces come out one by one, and her breath hitches as Nadira's roughened fingers slide down her bare spine as each inch of skin is revealed; causing goosebumps to form in their wake. She hears Nadira moving around behind her, but before she can look, Nadira is standing in front of her with a somber, but reverent gaze.

  "Your eyes," Nadira starts, her fingers running across Fiona's perfectly arched eyebrow. "Sometimes they're as green as grass. Sometimes gold like straw. Sometimes it feels like they're looking right through me. Seeing the blood on my hands," she whispers, her hands dropping palm up as she looks down at them. "But…I don't mind. There's no one else I'd rather share that part of me with. I'm glad I found you, Fiona."

  Her brow wrinkles in wonderment. Nadira could be soft sometimes, but never quite so…sappy.

  "Exactly how intoxicated are you, Nadira?"

  "Enough," Nadira responds, looking back up with a grin. Her finger trails down the ridge of Fiona's nose. "But it doesn't make it any less true."


  She rolls her eyes lightheartedly before reaching out to tangle Nadira's fingers with her own. "I suppose I could've been promised to a worse spouse."

  Nadira laughs at that; her eyes crinkling at the corners as she all but forgets the harsh mask she has to wear during the day. "Since when did you start being funny?"

  "Since you keep giving me red wine," she exclaims with a large grin, pinching Nadira's bicep.

  Nadira flops back upon the bed, a smirk perpetually plastered on her face. "Well I may give it to you breakfast, lunch, and dinner if you keep doing that," she replies, nodding her chin in Fiona's direction.

  Her brow furrows. "Doing what?" Then she looks down and notices that the loosened laces have caused the dress to slacken in the front. More skin between her breasts is now showing than originally intended. Much more. "Oh."

  "Yeah…oh," Nadira laughs. But then Fiona starts to slowly, deliberately so, push the dress off her shoulders and Nadira isn't exactly laughing anymore. She clears her throat, involuntarily licking her lips as more and more skin is revealed. "Oh."

  "Yes…oh," Fiona quips, smirking. "Take off your shirt."

  Nadira's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

  "Just because you're expected to show dominance in public, does not mean you always get to display it in the bedroom," she rejoins in a raspy voice, the top of the dress now pooled at her waist. "So take off your shirt. Now."

  Nadira's eyes grow dark at the forcefulness of Fiona's words. No one since her youth had ever attempted to encroach on her control.

  But here was Fiona, tipsy and naked from the waist up with dark eyes and curls loosely falling from her braids, giving demands.

  Nadira can't even pretend she hates it.

  Nadira fumbles slightly as she pulls the shirt off her head and drops it to the floor. Grinning, Fiona slowly starts to push the dress down even further. "Now take off your pants."

  Not to be outdone, Nadira stalls with her fingers hooked in her pants. "Only married a few hours ago and you're already forgetting your manners. I'm not so sure I like this Fiona. "