by Vicky Savage
He takes the brush from my hand. “You seem to enjoy it so much when your maid does it. I’d like to offer you that pleasure.”
Ryder brushing my hair is one of the most sensual experiences of my life. Every stroke of the brush sends tingles through my entire body. Every touch of his hand against my neck stirs me to my core. When he’s finished, I take over the brush and return the favor for him. His silky hair sifts gloriously through my fingers as the brush glides smoothly through his shoulder length tresses. He closes his eyes, enjoying the indulgence and allowing me to gaze at his beautiful face.
For once the time passes slowly for us, like a lazy dream I never want to end. We fix tea and talk for hours, but not a word is spoken of the approaching battle or what the future may bring. I ask him to tell me about his mother, who I never got to meet. His eyes sparkle when he speaks of her and his childhood in Unicoi. His stories of training to become a warrior are mesmerizing. Being the son of the great Chief Blackthorn, he felt compelled to excel in every field, while striving to forge his own identity.
I have to improvise when he asks about my childhood. I share a few vague experiences based on the stories I’ve heard and what I imagine Princess Jaden’s life was like. But I neatly steer the conversation back to him by asking about the years he spent with Ralston as his teacher.
My new husband is still mostly a mystery to me, but as I lay beside him, I feel in some ways as if I’ve known him my entire life. If there’s any truth to this perpetual contract thing, I guess I’ve known him much longer than that. I send up a silent prayer that I’ll be fortunate enough to know him again … maybe in another lifetime.
* * *
Morning arrives too quickly, bringing the ships from Dome Noir and their deadly cargo in with the tide. And so, the games begin. My remaining time with Ryder and my Domerican family is slipping away too swiftly. Fortunately, the swirl of activity involved in preparing for the welcoming reception is enough to keep my thoughts keenly focused on the duties at hand.
As Ryder and I are finishing breakfast, a uniformed butler appears at my door and informs us that the royal wedding parties from the other domes have arrived at the palace. I’m not expected to greet them until the formal ceremony, but my breakfast turns to concrete in my stomach just knowing that my would-be murderers are now under the same roof.
Maria brings several young maids with her to assist me in dressing for the reception. Ryder makes a hasty retreat to dress in one of the guest rooms. The maids help me into a long-sleeved, shimmering white silk gown. Then two of them hold up a stiff mantle of woven-gold for me. It’s sewn with hundreds of tiny crystal beads and I slip inside, careful not to snag my gown. The maids lace it securely and tie it in the back. Maria positions a full-length mirror in front of me so I can view the effect. Dazzling light bursts in countless colors from the crystals, rendering my face and body radiantly incandescent. It’s by far the most stunning outfit I’ve worn since coming to Domerica—and the most uncomfortable.
The ladies in waiting style my hair and anchor a heavy jeweled crown in place. Then Maria directs two of them to fetch the queen’s Robe of State. I’m staggered when they return carrying a gold-trimmed, crimson velvet robe with a white fur collar and a train as long as a football field.
“I’m supposed to wear that?” I ask, incredulous.
Maria stares at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. “Absolutely. The queen wears it to all formal functions of state.”
“Oh, yes, well, I didn’t realize this was that formal,” I say, attempting to recover from my gaffe. I’d never seen the robe before today.
The taut line of her mouth displays disappointment at my lack of royal acumen. “We will place it on you once your guard has arrived to escort you to the reception.”
As if on cue, a knock at the door signals my escort waits outside. The ladies scurry over with the miles of red cape and secure it on my shoulders with a large jeweled clasp.
It weighs a ton. Between the robe, the oversized crown, and the daunting ceremony ahead of me, I feel the heaviness of the entire dome pressing down on me. Maria opens the double-doors and I draw in a fortifying breath, willing my feet to move forward.
Once I’m positioned in the center of the escort and the young maids have straightened out my train in the hallway behind me, I signal to the captain. Let’s do this thing.
One hundred percent of my concentration is required just to walk upright dragging the gigantic sea of velvet behind me. I become vaguely aware that my route to the Grand Hall is lined on both sides with Royal Guardsmen dressed in formal white uniforms. As we clear the threshold, a band strikes up a very loud rendition of the national anthem.
The hall is crammed with gaily dressed people. A fragrant mixture of fresh paint, women’s perfume, and nervous perspiration permeates the air. Reassured that I’m not the only one sweating, I trek slowly down a long red carpet leading to two enormous thrones placed side by side on a raised dais.
My eyes rake the crowd for Ryder, while my brain attempts to work out how I’m going to sit down with this highway of fabric attached to my back. As we near the dais, Ryder steps forward and offers me his hand. My escorts back away, and simultaneously four ladies in waiting separate from the crowd and adjust my cape so that I may be seated. Oh, so that’s how it works. Only when Ryder and I are safely ensconced in our thrones do I give myself permission to breathe again.
The reception is structured in accordance with some arcane royal protocol which requires that the lesser nobles be presented first, so that the big splashy entrances of the more important personages are saved for last.
Unfortunately, that means we have to sit through the introductions of a couple of dozen random people I’ve never heard of before the dishonorable princes of Dome Noir will show their faces. A page stands next to my throne and announces the name of each guest who then steps forward and curtseys or bows, while I nod and say something inane, like Thank you for coming.
My fur and velvet cape is slowly suffocating me, and my stiff overdress digs brutally into my ribcage, so I’m thankful when the highest ranking members of the Cupola de Vita party are presented, and I know we are nearing the end of the ceremony. Duke Ferdinand and Duchess Isabella walk arm in arm down the center of the red carpet followed by two servants, each carrying a large, ungainly object covered by a blue cloth.
Duke Ferdinand is extraordinarily handsome and normally works it like a rock star at these types of gatherings. Today, though, his arrogance has abandoned him. He looks pale and stressed. I wonder whether it is due to a rough sea voyage or a guilty conscience. I hope it’s the later. I always liked Ferdinand. He alerted me a while back when he believed my Uncle Harold didn’t have my best interests at heart. I’m disappointed to know that he’s unofficially aware of the Noirs’ evil scheme and hasn’t seen fit to warn me.
“Your Majesty,” he says, “so good to see you. May I present my sister, Duchess Isabella.” She curtseys prettily and Ferdinand continues, “King Rafael observed a day of farewell celebration in Cupola De Vita to honor the glorious passing of your mother, Queen Eleanor. We shall all miss her. My uncle also sends his deepest regrets that urgent matters of state prevent him from attending your nuptials in person.”
“Thank you. Are you well, Ferdinand?”
“I confess to being rather unwell, ma’am. My sincere apologies.” His dark eyes penetrate mine for a moment, conveying something I can only interpret as remorse. “But we bring you gifts.” He steps aside and removes the cloths covering the large objects held by the servants. “Saddles for you and Chief Blackthorn tooled by our premier saddle makers.”
The saddles are amazingly fine. Ryder and I glance at each other with appreciation.
“In addition, King Rafael has sent you a case of his private collection wine and a cask of highest quality extra virgin olive oil, pressed from trees on the grounds of Castillo de Angeles.”
“Thank you, Ferdinand. And you, Isabella. Welcome.”
&
nbsp; My stomach buckles when the page announces our final guests of the day, His Royal Highness Prince Gilbert Auguste and His Royal Highness Prince Jean Louis of Dome Noir.
Prince Gilbert practically swaggers down the red carpet like he already owns the place. Prince Jean Louis trails behind like a timid lamb.
Gilbert bows with a flourish. He’s tall and elegantly dressed. “Your Majesty, what a great pleasure it is to see you again—this time as queen. The passing of the beloved Queen Eleanor came as a shock, but we are delighted to have the honor of joining you on the joyous occasion of your wedding to Chief Blackthorn.” He half-bows to Ryder.
Ryder nods stiffly in return.
“As you know my father’s poor health has prevented him from being here,” Gilbert says. “I beg that you accept the humble presences of my brother, Jean Louis, and myself as his most ardent emissaries.”
Swallowing down the acid I’d like to spew in his face, I reply, “I hope your father’s health improves. But naturally, we’re pleased that you and Jean Louis have come in his stead.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Jean Louis bows, but says nothing and doesn’t make eye contact with me. Either he’s a gutless coward or he has more of a conscience than his brother.
“Please pardon our zeal,” Gilbert says, “But we wish to present you and Chief Blackthorn with a few small gifts from our country.” He glances over his shoulder, and several servants carrying two enormous chests make their way down the red runner. They place the chests on the carpet in front of our thrones and open the lids. Audible gasps go up from those who are close enough to see the contents. One chest is chock full of golden and jewel-laden treasures. The other contains silks, laces, and exotically embroidered fabrics.
Obviously pleased with the crowd’s reaction, Gilbert beams. “Modest tokens of our great esteem, Your Majesty.”
“Your gifts are impressive and most generous,” I say. He can afford to be generous when he expects to own everything in Domerica in two short days. “Thank you, and welcome to Domerica.” The words leave a bitter tang in my mouth.
The two black-hearted princes take their places in the crowd, and Jennifer Osborne signals that it is time for me to rise and bring the ceremony to a close. I stand, carefully avoiding tripping over my robe.
“Chief Blackthorn and I are grateful to each of you for sharing in the happy occasion of our wedding. Our special thanks to those of you who have traveled great distances to be here. Please enjoy the remainder of the afternoon.”
The band immediately strikes up an earsplitting march. My military escort positions itself on the carpet and the ladies in waiting scramble to assist me with my train while Ryder and I pass down the runner and out the door. I catch sight of the expansive staircase looming large in the distance, and my whole body groans.
No freakin’ way am I climbing up that thing in this outfit. I bring the procession to an abrupt halt.
Jennifer rushes to my side. “What is it, Your Majesty?”
“We need to make a small detour,” I whisper. “I’m not lugging this rug behind me up those stairs.”
Her eyes swell with disbelief.
“The sitting room to the right of the stairs will do just fine as a temporary way station.” I ignore her incredulity. “We’ll be comfortable there while the rest of the crowd disperses.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She quickly instructs our escort and rearranges the line of royal Guardsmen so that our new destination is the sitting room not the staircase.
Ryder’s eyes dance and he presses his lips together to suppress a smile. When we reach the room’s entrance, our escort stands aside allowing us to enter. I’m forced to walk all the way to the other end of the room so my ladies in waiting can haul the entire train inside.
Jennifer closes the double doors behind. “Are you ill, Your Majesty?”
“No,” I say crossly. “I’m hot and dehydrated and tired of wearing this ridiculous throwback to the dark ages. Make a note that I would like this robe to be placed on display in a museum—never to be worn at functions of state again.” I yank at the clasp and my velvety prison falls to the floor.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer says.
The sitting room we landed in is one of my favorites. It has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook my mother’s rose garden which has been meticulously well-tended in preparation for the wedding. It’s gratifying to see it so lovely in full bloom.
“I have a wonderful idea,” I say to Ryder. “We have nothing scheduled until dinner. Why don’t we ask Father and Drew and Adelais to join us for lunch in here? It appears there’s room enough to set everything up.” The idea of a small family lunch makes me feel so much better.
He nods, smiling. “That would be nice.”
“I’ll see to it right away, Your Majesty,” Jennifer says. She motions to the maids to gather up the puddle of robe and follow her.
“Thanks Jennifer, and thank you ladies,” I say as they cart the heap of velvet from the room.
“Ugh, I thought that reception was never going to end,” I say, wrapping my arms around Ryder’s waist, “and did you see how smug Prince Gilbert looked?”
“It must have been difficult for you to be civil, but you handled yourself beautifully.” He pulls me closer.
“Ow!” he cries moving away. “I believe your dress just stabbed me.”
I groan a laugh. “What do you think it’s been doing to me for the last three hours? Help me get out of it, please.”
I turn my back to him, and he loosens the laces of my golden cage.
“This dress is outrageously beautiful, but I think it’s going to the museum along with the robe. I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life.”
He slips the rigid garment off my body and tosses it on a chair. My silk gown is crushed and sweaty but I feel free. “Whew, that’s better. Help me with the crown too?”
“Whatever you say, Your Majesty. I’m at your service.”
“You know, you’re already remarkably good at this husband thing.”
TWELVE
Ralston still has not returned to the palace by evening, and my fears begin piling up like cars of a derailed freight train.
What if IUGA found out he stole the QP to help me? What if they’ve already dismantled him? What if the Noirs are surrounding the palace right now preparing to attack?
“Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Maria asks as she attempts to style my hair for dinner. “You’re quite fidgety this evening.”
“Sorry. I’m a little nervous with all our foreign guests in the palace and the wedding events beginning tomorrow.”
“Yes, there is much excitement, but I will not have you ready on time if you do not settle down.”
“All right, just give me a minute.” I close my eyes and inhale slowly, relaxing my shoulders as I exhale. “I’m better now,” I say, opening my eyes.
She smiles her approval and quickly goes to work making up my face. I’m dressed and waiting when Ryder arrives for me.
“You haven’t heard from Ralston have you?” I ask him.
“No. Shall I send someone to inquire after him?”
I shake my head. “Not just yet.”
My appetite is squelched as much by my growing anxiety as by my unsavory tablemate, Prince Gilbert. I maul my roasted squab with a fork, watching the door for any sign of Rals. Gilbert has a natural charm, but I find it difficult to make small talk with a guy who’s plotting to execute me, no matter how attractive he is.
I try to catch Ryder’s eye, but he’s deep in conversation with the powdered and perfumed matron on his right, Lady-something-or-other. Her wig is slightly askew, and her teeth are grayish yellow, but she bats her eyes at him as if she’s a blushing debutant.
A butler appears at my elbow and bows. “You have a message, Your Majesty.”
I snatch the neatly folded piece of paper and read it quickly: Your Majesty, Do you have a moment to speak with me?” Your humble servant
, Constantine Ralston.
Without thinking, I rise from my seat. A chorus of chairs scraping the floor rings out as the dinner guests prepare to stand also.
“Please remain seated,” I say. “Ryder, will you excuse me for a moment? Ralston’s returned and I need to speak with him.”
“Certainly. Do you wish me to accompany you?” he asks.
“No. I won’t be long.” I tip my head to Prince Gilbert who stands to hold my chair.
Ralston waits for me in a small parlor on the first floor. “Rals. Oh my god, I was so worried.” I hug him briskly.
“I know, my dear. I’m sorry to have caused you concern, but I had rather a close call at headquarters. If it hadn’t been for Asher Steele, I believe I would have been … what’s the term? Ah yes, toast.”
