Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Raul
I ’ve made my mid-afternoon naps a known habit so no one so much as blinks when I leave behind the blathering of the court. They all think I’m catching up on lost sleep after entertaining ladies at all hours of the night.
None of them need to know that I simply want to escape their inane conversation and pompous airs for an hour or two. I rarely actually sleep.
The bed my esteemed foster father has provided me with is an ideal place to lounge about, though. I’m looking forward to doing just that when I push past the door and spot a small jar nestled on the bedcovers.
I sweep my gaze across the room as I approach, but there’s no sign of anyone lurking in here now. Closer, I make out the tiny note balanced on top of the jar.
For your hands, says the compact but elegant writing on the scrap of paper .
A sudden certainty balls in my chest. I flick the paper aside and pick up the jar.
The gel inside is translucent greenish-yellow. The sniff I take after unscrewing the lid has a pungent herbal quality.
The medic princess decided to gift me her healing salve even though I told her not to bother.
My hand tightens around the jar, setting off a sting through my bandaged knuckles that only fuels my annoyance. I toss the container back onto the bed.
Marclinus has her starving for the day, and she’s going to pretend to care about my hands? How the fuck did she even get in here?
I find myself inhaling deeply as if I might catch a lingering hint of her coolly sweet scent. But the answer is probably much simpler. All she’d need to do is pass the offering along to the manservant assigned to me, who could have dropped it off.
That doesn’t mean she had any right to. I want her trembling with unfulfilled need, not consumed with pity for me.
Discarding all pretense of napping, I stalk out of the room. Her Highness has to be reminded that I’m the last person who needs any coddling.
She thinks she’s so stoic, sitting there with her stiff upper lip through breakfast and luncheon, flicking her gaze away from the carafes of wine and fresh-pressed juices the servants have carried through the halls for those allowed to partake. I noticed Tarquin has instructed that filled glasses be left out on some of the tables as a temptation.
Several of the other ladies have eyed them with obvious distress. I haven’t caught Aurelia so much as glancing at one.
She’s hardly unshakable. I’ve seen how she’s responded to me. She broke down in tears over her precious ring , of all idiotic things.
It’s a shame our little deal won’t have interfered with her performance in this trial. If anything, her hidden brazenness might give her a welcome distraction from focusing on thirst and hunger.
I couldn’t have known that when I suggested it. Bastien is probably fuming in his quiet, scowling way. But how much could he have expected to get in exchange for a mere bit of jewelry, no matter what meaning it holds for her?
At the very least, she’ll have been thinking about me and what’s missing between her thighs for the entire day. If that hasn’t ripened her for the picking, I don’t know what would.
Most of the court is where I left them in the hall of entertainments. Some of the nobles are gathered around tables for games of cards or dice—with more temptations in the form of bowls of nuts and dried fruits in easy reach. A few fling darts at one of the boards mounted on the wall. Others simply sway vaguely to the tune a couple of the imperial musicians are playing on flute and piano.
Tarquin had Lorenzo give another demonstration of his talent right after lunch. The emperor pushes for longer performances than ever these days. My foster brother looked more gray than brown by the time he was finished.
I don’t see him around at the moment. Gods willing, he’s gone off for a nap of his own to ease the pain of straining his gift.
Where’s the princess of Accasy gotten to?
I scan the edges of the room. The sheen of her brown hair draws my eye from the opposite end. She’s standing next to that tall, clumsy daughter-of-a-baron who seems to be the only lady Fausta and Bianca haven’t scared off from her.
I saunter toward them, evaluating my approach. I need to be reasonably subtle—if Marclinus thinks I’m moving in on his pet princess of the north before he’s had a go at her, I’ll need bandages on a lot more than my hands.
As I check to confirm he’s still at one of the cards tables, my gaze snags on another familiar figure.
Neven is easing across the room in Aurelia’s direction, his gaze trained on her with a fierceness that sets off a peal of alarm in my head. He’s clutching a flower vase of all things, though the flowers have been discarded.
What in the realms is he up to? If he’s focused on her, it can’t be anything good.
Which would be fine, except I’m not convinced it’ll be particularly smart either. The kid does have a habit of following his temper rather than his brain.
He pauses near the wall with its display of illusion-enhanced paintings. They’re intended to reflect the purpose of the room: a bear cavorting with a tambourine here, a fox hurling darts there.
Aurelia drifts away from her friend toward the same wall. Neven’s stance tenses.
Several paces away, one of the imperial guards turns his head toward them.
With a hitch of my pulse, I hurry forward. The damned kid is going to get himself into a heap of shit if someone doesn’t catch him first.
I reach him just as he takes his first urgent step toward Aurelia, his hands clutching the vase. Snagging him by the elbow, I jerk him around.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, low enough that only he can hear.
Neven’s face flushes beneath his pale hair, but it’s at least as much anger as embarrassment. His voice comes out in a harsh whisper. “I’m getting rid of her. I can say I saw her about to sneak water from the vase—splash it on her and drop it so it looks like I smacked it out of her hands.”
I grimace at him. “Brilliant plan, with at least one of the guards watching you every step of the way.”
Neven glances past me, and the color drains from his face. “Oh. I thought— They didn’t seem to be paying attention… It was the perfect chance!”
“Obviously not.” I prod him toward the door. “And we’re not lowering ourselves to outright murder, for fuck’s sake.”
His gaze jerks back to me with a fresh blaze of anger. “How many deaths are we going to let her get away with?”
A lump clogs my throat. Does he really hold Aurelia responsible for the ladies killed in the trials prompted by her betrothal? Or is he simply latching on to an opening to avenge any death at all?
The one he’d most want to avenge, she had nothing to do with. But the man who orchestrated it is out of his reach, unlike the princess of Accasy.
I squeeze his shoulder a little more gently than I might have otherwise. “I just know you don’t need any on your conscience. Put that thing back wherever you lifted it from, and let the princess dig her own grave like we said.”
“She hasn’t gotten very deep so far,” Neven mutters, but he trudges off.
When I turn back toward his target, she’s paused by the freestanding cabinet that sometimes serves as a buffet table. Naturally, her gaze doesn’t even veer toward the few platters of appetizers placed on its polished top.
Her attention is fixed on me.
I stroll over as if nothing’s amiss, but she glances from the doorway Neven vanished through and back at me. “Did you just spare me from some kind of assault? ”
I glower at her. “The kid’s a little hot-headed. I was setting him straight.”
She folds her arms in front of her, which only emphasizes the appealing curves of her breasts. An appeal that’s made twice as enticing by the knowledge that there’s no further barrier beneath her fluttery dress. “I suppose I owe you for that favor now?”
I hadn’t thought quite that far yet, but the idea is enticing in its own way. I lean against the buffet to consider and shoot her a sideways glance. “Maybe I’d like you to continue with your trials wondering what I’ll collect and when.”
Aurelia turns her back to the cabinet as well and gazes up at the assorted paintings. “You do seem fond of teasing.”
I give a short guffaw. “It isn’t teasing when I’m more than ready to deliver. Although speaking of delivering, if you’re going to leave little presents on my bed, you can skip what I’ve already said I don’t need.”
She shrugs, the silky fabric shifting over her tempting chest. “There are plenty of things we don’t need that can still make our lives more pleasant. I’d have thought you’d be a major advocate of that philosophy.”
Is she trying to compare her salve to my seduction? And not doing a half bad job of it either.
I’d be more irritated if she hadn’t given me a perfect opening to pursue my own gambit.
I shift closer to her along the buffet, putting me where I can extend my arm just a little to the side and disturb the edge of her skirt. The cabinet stands high enough to block my overture from the rest of the room. “I’d rather indulge in what could be pleasing for both of us. A little distraction to help you get through the rest of this trial of endurance? ”
Aurelia tsks her tongue. “Wouldn’t you call that cheating?”
I might if it involved any suitor other than me.
A glance over my shoulder shows that the nearest guard has diverted his attention elsewhere—and the furniture shields most of us from his view regardless. I trail my pinky finger back and forth over her skirt, not pressing close enough to graze her skin but making the motion of the fabric do the stimulation for me.
I lower my voice to its most provocative tone. “A few minutes in my bed, and I’d have you shaking with bliss. There’s already so little between you and me. Imagine how quickly I could raise your skirts and spread your thighs, stir every delight between those legs until you were crying out for more.”
“I hardly think this is appropriate conversation for the hall of entertainments.”
And yet her breath has quickened. I extend my gift toward her with a tingle through my senses and grin. “It’s the highest sort of entertainment. And you’re already imagining it, judging by how wet you are from my words. I assure you, I’m even more talented with my fingers, and my tongue, and my?—”
Aurelia turns her head toward me abruptly enough that I hesitate. Her dark blue eyes capture me, and for one uneasy moment I have the impression she’s looking right into my soul.
I’m not wrong that I’ve turned her on. The evidence is there between her thighs and in the faint flush that’s come into her cheeks. But something about her gaze looks inescapably sad.
Her voice has gone even quieter. “I’m not the emperor or his heir or even a lady of this court. You don’t need to perform for me. I wouldn’t ask you to—I don’t want you to.”
She makes me sound like I’m that damned dancing bear in the painting. My jaw clenches automatically. “What are you trying to say?”
Aurelia’s gaze doesn’t waver. “If anything were ever to happen between us, it would only be if you’re indulging your wants as much as I am any of mine. Not playing a role to gain some bit of power. Not getting off on merely the challenge of it. Not adding some new layer to this ridiculous game. Just straightforward, honest desire.”
Hearing her lay it out so baldly feels like the slap she gave me in her bedroom the other day. It brings the same flare of conflicted emotions—fury that she’s struck back at me and a kick of lust that she dared, the latter shooting straight to my groin.
This time, a pang of something else pierces through my chest as well. Tarquin does treat us like his dancing bears, doesn’t he?
I wouldn’t have thought she’d notice. I wouldn’t have thought she’d realize it rankles me.
I wouldn’t have thought she’d care.
She probably doesn’t. This is just one more dimension to a game that’s more complicated than I anticipated.
If I’m no longer sure what the rules are, I’ll just have to wing it.
She wants honesty? I can measure it out as it suits me.
I recover my grin, letting it turn wry. “What if I told you I already crave you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman in this place?”
Aurelia arches her eyebrows. “Even though you hate me?”
She’s not pulling her punches today, is she? I summon an appropriate answer. “I wouldn’t say I hate you. Not everything about you. Besides, a little hate can be excellent spicing.”
Even as I say the words, I know that’s not quite right. I don’t hate who she is right now, not exactly. It’s who she’s aiming to become—who she will be, if she claims the spot next to Marclinus, if she has all that power within her grasp.
I don’t want to fuck the selfish, brutal empress she will be. But the blunt, na?ve and yet knowing princess she is right now?
The thought sends a throb of desire through my veins.
Aurelia returns her gaze to the paintings, but she doesn’t move away from me. “I don’t hate you .”
“Maybe you should. Because I’m not going to stop reminding you how much you want me too, even if you won’t say it out loud.”
I lift my fingers toward her dress, this time extending them until they come to rest against the pliant flesh of her thigh. The spot right where her legs meet her hips, which any other day would present multiple layers of fabric to dull my touch.
Today it’s only a single swath of silk.
I stroke my fingertips slowly up and down. Aurelia wets her lips, but she speaks steadily enough. “Is that all you want out of life? An occasional craving satisfied, a sprinkling of spice here and there?”
“I take what I can get while my life isn’t really my own.” What it’ll be when I’m finally released from the emperor’s clutches… it’s easier not to think about that future while it’s still so indefinite.
She frowns, which is definitely not the reaction I wanted to provoke, but more color is rising in her graceful neck at the same time. “Was it Emperor Tarquin who damaged your hands? Or Marclinus? ”
I let out a raw laugh. “It wasn’t. And I don’t want you thinking about either of them when I’m touching you like this. I don’t want you thinking about anyone but me.”
I sweep my fingers around to the front of her thigh, just inches from where she’s nearly drenched for me. The faintest sound escapes her throat.
“Raul,” she begins.
I don’t give her a chance to make excuses, to pull away. I jerk forward as if I’ve dropped something and bend down to retrieve it.
The moment I’m at the floor, I cup Aurelia’s ankle. As I rise, I skim my hand over her smooth skin, lifting her skirt with it.
It takes less than a second—the beat of a heart. The swiftest of kisses against the skin just above her knee, and then I’ve released her, straightening the rest of the way up.
Aurelia steps to the side, increasing the distance between us, with a quiver that tells me exactly why she felt she needed that space. The heat of her body lingers on my hand.
She’s so close to melting.
I open my mouth to draw her in even more—and the sudden thunder of footsteps brings me spinning around.
The guard isn’t marching toward us. He’s storming toward one of Aurelia’s competitors, a pale slip of a thing who’s crouched next to one of the side tables.
Right by a goblet someone left behind.
“Trial breaker,” the guard bellows, towering over her.
The lady only manages to stammer. “I—No, it was only—I wouldn’t have?—”
The guard lifts his head with no acknowledgment of her protests. He looks across the room toward the emperor and his heir. “She had her hand around the goblet and was tilting it to her mouth. ”
Tarquin sighs as if disappointed. “She knew the rules. If she can’t stay true to them, she won’t be true to us. Deal with it.”
The lady raises her hands beseechingly. “Please, I was so thirsty I lost my?—”
Her last words are cut off with the hiss of a blade and the gurgle of blood from her severed throat.
I tamp down my disgust and turn away as if I’m bored by the display, only to find my gaze on Princess Aurelia again.
Aurelia, who’s staring at the slaughtered lady with her lips pressed tight and all trace of a flush vanished.
When I blink, the hint of uneasiness vanishes. Her face settles into its usual serene expression.
A thread of uneasiness winds through my gut.
That’s one fewer obstacle on her way to the throne. Shouldn’t she be glad to see the competition eliminated?
Was her subtle show of distress a trick to shake my resolve, or is this the lie now? Could she actually have cared about that simpering fool?
I can’t ask her even if I wanted to, because the next thing I know, she’s striding off beyond my reach.