by Jill Myles
Seri looked over at the book open on his desk, recognizing one of the symbols as that of her people’s religion. “Studying the Vidari, I see.”
“A subject of which I lack sufficient knowledge, I confess.” He gave her a polite look and then gestured at the chair across from the desk. “Please, sit.”
They were going to retreat into these uncomfortable formalities again, were they? She sighed and sat as he asked, jerking the long, annoying skirts closer to her. The high collar itched against her throat, but she made no move to touch it, knowing his gaze would be drawn there. Just the thought of that made her flush and her aura grew hot around her. “If you wanted to know more about the Vidari, you should have asked me.”
“I did not wish to disturb you while you were unwell,” he said politely, and she sighed to herself. They would be forever condemned to be polite strangers, she and this prince.
“Is that why I have food tasters?” Ever since she had awoken from her fever, someone had been there to take a bite of her food before she could, and the practice disturbed her.
“You have food tasters because you were poisoned.”
“Oh.” Seri paused at that, shocked. Then, “On purpose?”
He gave her a level look.
She flushed. That was a foolish question. Of course it had been on purpose. “Do you know who did it?”
He turned back to the desk and sat down in the chair again, all elegant, controlled gestures. “The guilty party has been removed from court.”
“I see,” she said, mulling his words over. “Removed but not condemned. Or is that a fate reserved only for the uneducated Vidari?”
He gave her a cold look. “I seem to recall one particular Vidari woman who attempted to murder someone and was not condemned.”
Shame flushed her cheeks. “You should have killed me, then.”
“And yet, I did not. Just like I will not do to this woman. It has been handled. Do not concern yourself with it any longer.”
Right. Let it go. Seri twisted her hands in her lap, annoyed at the itching cuffs and heavy layers. The cool breeze coming in from the window was nice, but she still felt strange and reckless. Too full of energy. It was being in the proximity of Graeme, she suspected. His aura had grown and flared like her own, though they both tried to ignore it. Ignoring it was the polite thing to do, after all, and Graeme was nothing if not unfailingly polite.
When she said nothing else, he turned back to his book and turned a page, and she could see the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked thin, too. Paler than usual. “You seem… unwell.” There was a carafe of the deep red liquid at the edge of the desk but it remained untouched. “Are you… are you eating? Drinking?”
His gaze flew to hers, and his eyes darkened as they flicked to her throat, then back to her face. He seemed to stiffen in his chair. “I would not attack you in your sickbed, lady wife. You insult me by implying such.”
Well, she hadn’t meant to imply that at all. “What about Lady Aynee?” she said, unable to keep the nasty note out of her voice. “I’m sure she’d be happy to service you in all that you need.”
Graeme’s face remained carefully neutral. “She has been removed from court.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, but then she remembered what he had said. Her poisoner had been removed from court.
Oh. Lady Aynee? It was a bit of a surprise, given that she had always been polite to Seri, even though she eyed the prince with hungry looks. Like he was eyeing her now.
He was starving, then. Starving because his consort had poisoned her, and he’d removed her from court for Seri’s safety. She began to feel a little guilty and got up from the chair, reaching behind her head to unbutton the tall collar.
“What are you doing?” The tone of Graeme’s voice became sharp, raw.
Seri ignored him. “If you need sustenance, and you must get it from me, it seems that I must feed you.”
He stood up behind the desk, though he remained in place when she came around to the same side he was on and she sat on the edge of the desk. Her hands shook as she unbuttoned the tiny row of buttons on the back of her dress, trying to remain calm. Why was she offering this to him? He was her enemy… but he did not seem like it at times like this, when he was simply as weary as she was and in need of comfort. Comfort that only she could give him.
The collar loosened around her throat and she was able to breathe again, sighing with relief when she did. The heavy dress fell forward, pooling around her shoulders and exposing her throat. She looked up then, for the first time, and saw his eyes hot on her own, his aura blazing around him, her own matching it in strength. Her breath hitched in her throat at the look in his eyes, and again as his lips parted and his teeth lengthened into fangs that pressed against his full mouth.
When his large, warm hand stroked the side of her throat, she shuddered and leaned into the soft caress. He loomed over her, all heat and warmth, and she closed her eyes and gave in to his touch. Fear fluttered inside her a little at the sight of those sharp incisors that would soon pierce her skin, but she trusted him not to hurt her as he had not hurt her before.
But instead of going straight for her throat, he kissed the delicate line of her jaw. She tensed at the small touch, waiting for the terrifying scrape of his teeth against her flesh, but all she felt was the gentle touch of his lips. Warmth flared through her, and her hands reached up to clench at the heavy fabric of his ceremonial jacket.
He kissed her again, sliding lower on her throat. “You taste of sunshine and light, Seri. Of forbidden things I can never have.” His warm hand cupped the back of her neck, sliding it backward and leaving her exposed for him. “Why do you do this?”
Nearly drugged by his touch, Seri felt his body bearing down over hers, almost pinning her to the desk, and her breath quickened. “Do what?”
There came the fragile scrape of teeth against her throat and she tensed, then shuddered. Rather than frightening her, the feeling was almost… erotic. “This,” he said against her skin. “Offer yourself to me. I can feel you trembling.”
She was sinking into the spell he wove. “I…” She struggled to form her thoughts. “I would not let you starve if I am the only one who can feed you.”
He pulled away from her abruptly at that. “Indeed.” Gone was the passion-glazed look on his face, masked by anger.
Confused, Seri touched a hand to her throat. “What is it?” A shameful part of her wanted him to press her back down to the desk, to cover her body with his even as he pierced her throat.
He pulled her dress back up over her shoulders with precise, cold motions. “That is a generous offer, wife. However, I find that I grow weary of your choices. Your people may enjoy a martyr, but not I.” He nodded at her. “Good evening to you.”
Prince Graeme exited the room in an angry cloud, leaving Seri alone on his desk, clutching her dress to her shoulders and staring at his retreating back in confusion and hurt.
~~* * * ~~
Sunlight pooled underneath the heavy drape in her room, and Seri stared at it, her hands stuffed under the pillow, unable to sleep. Graeme had not come to bed again this day, and she found she couldn’t get him out of her mind, no matter how she tossed and turned in the soft bed. Her head rested on a pillow that still faintly smelled of him, of his hair, and the spices that made her think of his pale, warm skin. Her aura throbbed with heat, and her legs itched with restlessness.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Seri slipped from her bed and shrugged on one of the flowing silk dressing gowns the Athonites insisted on wearing because bare skin was obscene to them. She clutched the neck of it closed and headed to the heavy door of her room, peeking out.
A guardsman stood at the door, bolting alert and looking over at her as she cracked open the doorway. “May I help you, Princesse?” He touched his forehead in a respectful gesture. “Shall I call your servant-woman?”
“No,” she said, a little too quickly. A flush ros
e on her skin, the heat of it adding to her embarrassment. How to best phrase this? She paused for a moment, then sighed, embarrassed. “I am looking for my husband.”
“Of course.” The guard did not acknowledge her humiliation, but the gleam in his eyes turned speculative. “If you will follow me, I will take you to him.”
She hitched the high collar of the dress closer against her skin. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded stiff even to her own ears.
This time of day, Vidara Castle was nearly deserted of all except the servants. The nobility kept the same hours as the prince, the odd schedule that made them avoid daylight. The servants seemed to be split down the middle, as Seri passed several as the guard led her through the castle, and she greeted each one with a shy smile and nod of acknowledgment as they bowed to her.
The rumors will fly in the morning, she thought, then decided she didn’t care. Something had to be done to relieve this restless feeling inside her body. And Graeme needed to… feed. She shook at the thought of offering herself as a sacrifice to him. A sacrificial lamb led to the slaughter. She thought of his pale body covering hers and a shiver swept over her.
Like it or not, she had made her choice. She wanted to prove he was controlled by the same subversive desires that distracted her mind and made her long for things she would not normally want.
The guard paused at a room at the far end of the hall, and Seri drew to a halt behind him. Whose room was this? Had Graeme sought out another female—perhaps Lady Mila?—now that he had discarded Seri? Hurt and that odd jealousy surged through her.
Two more guards flanked this room, setting it apart from all the other rooms down the corridor. This was the royal residence, of that she had no doubt. The door looked oddly familiar to her, and she recognized it when the guards parted to let her pass.
It was her old room.
Emotion swelled inside her, but she managed to keep calm as she thanked the guards with a nod and shut the door behind her. The room was empty of all servants, the drapes tightly shut. Her steps quiet and muffled in the thick carpet, she wandered to the bedside and stared down at his sleeping figure, illuminated by the glow that rose to match the luminescence of her own body.
He lay atop the covers, still half-dressed. His clothing lay askew on his body, the neck of his shirt open and revealing part of his chest, the long tails over his waist. His thick, dark hair spread over his head in messy locks, and it startled her to see him so unguarded like this. Dressed but not. Awake, but not. The stoic prince, but not. The room brightened as her own aura flared at the nearness of him, and his glow grew in response. Heat curled through her body, and she gently sat on the side of the bed.
Graeme was awake instantly, his eyes flicking open to look over at her, the hard look in his eyes softening with sleepy recognition. He propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed a hand down his face. “Seri? What is it?”
She drew in a deep breath, willing her courage not to fail her, and then released the stranglehold she had on the neck of her gown. The slippery material pooled around her shoulders, then fell to her waist, leaving her body exposed to him.
She heard his breath suck in, and her own froze in her lungs. Would he reject what she offered as she sat here on the edge of the bed, inches away from his body, naked and exposed? The minutes seemed to pass endlessly long as she watched his face, waiting for some sort of reaction from him.
It was what she expected. He rolled over to her side of the bed and sat up, pulling on the gossamer dressing gown. “Don’t do this.”
She’d expected that from him, expected the coldly polite prince to look at her and dismiss her like he had earlier. But there was a husky note in his voice that vibrated through her body and made her aura pulse, and when he reached for her dress, she leaned against him, brushing her breast against his hand in a blatant suggestion.
He froze against her, his fingers twitching, his eyes meeting hers.
“I want this, Graeme.” Her voice, soft and quiet, hung in the air between them. She stroked his arm, her hand moving toward the exposed flesh at his neck, her fingers dancing along the hollow of his throat. His eyes darkened to a smoky color, focused on her own neck, and she sensed the need and hunger inside him. “Don’t turn me away.”
“Why?” The simple word hung between them. Still the husky timbre in his cool, cultured voice.
Excitement unfurled through her, and she shifted on the bed, shifting her legs and kicking the gown to the floor. He pulled away from her naked body, but she knew she had him. She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing gently until he fell backward on the bed, and leaned over him, her fingers digging into the lacings of his shirt.
“Don’t you feel it?” Her voice grew soft. “That awful need that gets worse every time your aura grows? It makes me ache.” She leaned over and kissed the soft flesh at his throat. “It makes me restless, uneasy. And I know the only way to appease it is to be with you. This thing that drives us together makes us restless until we satisfy what it demands.” His shirt fell open, revealing his scarred chest, and she pushed the cloth backward, baring his skin.
He hesitated a mere moment, then she felt his hand slide along the curve of her hip, feeling her buttock, and the deep-seated pleasure rolled through her body. Before he could say anything else, she placed his hand back on her breast again and slung her leg over his chest to where she straddled the waistband of his pants.
A hiss escaped him and his lips parted, revealing the fangs that lengthened even as she watched. His fingers stroked across her nipple, and she ground her hips suggestively against his. Oh yes, this was what she wanted. Through the haze of desire echoing through her body, she felt a perverse sort of pleasure that he wouldn’t be able to deny her this, not when she had the upper hand. She leaned over him and brushed her nipples against his chest, her mouth seeking his despite the frightening fangs.
His mouth joined with hers and she felt the hard scrape of his teeth along her tongue, her lips, and it excited her and fueled her body, and before she could think, his hands clenched hard around her hips and he flipped her over on the bed, pinning her beneath him. She wrapped her legs around his waist even as he shoved his pants down and then his body was invading hers, and the heavy, marvelous warmth of him was inside her, and their auras were so bright that even when she closed her eyes, she saw the sun. His mouth brushed against her skin, his lips reaching for hers even as his body invaded her own, conquered it.
She screamed when she came, arching her body with the intense relief that flooded through her, a reprieve from the endless restlessness that signified the betrothal. He wasn’t long behind her, his body surging with a burst of energy, only to collapse on top of hers a few moments later with a sharp groan.
Seri held his body close to hers, enjoying the warmth and the scent of him, watching their auras fade like the sunset. His face rested in the crook of her neck, and she angled it, ever so slightly, waiting for him to pierce her skin with his teeth, to seek the sustenance he needed.
But he didn’t. And when he got up from her body and stared down at her, Seri frowned up at him. “Aren’t you going to…” She gestured at her throat.
“Is that what this is about?” His voice was as cold as his aura. “Another one of your attempts to try to prove that you can control me?”
She sat up on the bed, wrapping her arms around her body to shield it from his view. She suddenly felt very stupid. “No,” she said. “That wasn’t it at all. I only wanted to come and help you.”
“Help me,” he sneered, his lip curling a bit and revealing the fangs, still distended. “When I ask for Vidari charity, I assure you, my lady, that you will be the first to know.”
She flinched, stiff as she rose from the bed and picked up her discarded robe. Her body still smelled of his scent, and she could almost feel his warm skin on hers. She glanced over at him, watching as he pulled his pants back over his hips and buckled them.
“Then what was all this?” Her voice sounded s
mall and foolish even to her own ears.
“This?” He laughed, not turning to look at her. “I’ve never turned down a woman when she approaches me in my own bed. Just because I am married does not mean that shall change.”
Seri reeled at his hateful words. She wrapped the robe around her body, ignoring the humiliated tears that spilled over her cheeks. “I see.”
She’d been a fool to come to him, hoping that the communion of their bodies might somehow fix this glaring wrong between them. That he might realize that he needed her too, not this painful, awkward rejection.
Vidari charity.
The words still stung in her mind. She buttoned the robe with shaking fingers, but the small, annoying holes blurred in front of her eyes. She grabbed the cloth and knotted it at her neck, then swallowed hard. “I hate you,” she said, but it came out weaker than she wanted it to be. With that, she just grasped the neck of her gown to hold it in place and dashed out of the room.
“Wait,” he called behind her, but she didn’t slow down. “Seri, wait.”
She gathered the skirts around her legs and thrust the door open, racing out in a stream of fluttering silk and bed-tousled hair. The guards let her pass, merely stepping aside, and she careened down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the floor.
“Seri,” she heard him call behind her as she dashed down the corridor, past the staring servants, desperate to get away.
Gods, she wanted to get away. She needed away from him. Down the stairs at a frantic, dangerous pace, stumbling over the annoying skirts, and then out to the one place she knew he wouldn’t follow her.
Seri pushed through one of the heavy wooden doors and stumbled into the courtyard, feeling the heat of the midday sun on her skin. Her hair ripped in the wind, and the filmy silk clung to her body, outlining it enough so that the guards nearby stared at her and the folk in the courtyard dropped what they were doing to stare at her, but she didn’t care.
Here, out in the sun, she was free. A laugh of delight erupted through her tears.
