26. Soren
Chapter twenty-six
Soren
The handmaid plagues my dreams all night. I watch her, endlessly, as she devours creature after creature alive, until the blood runs thick down her chin. She smiles at me, her fangs long and glinting. Then she saunters toward me, those bright purple eyes sharp. When she reaches me, she sinks her teeth into my neck—and I don’t move. I don’t protest. I stand there, completely calm, and I let her have her feast.
Sitting in my mother’s calling room, I touch my neck, tracing the place Enna’s teeth marked me in my dreams. The soft floral scent of the room sticks in my mouth, drying my tongue. Clio busies herself with displays of fabric and flowers, her long blue fingers pinching and prodding the practice wedding arrangements. A broad table brims with decorations I couldn’t care less about.
The queen stands in the center of the room in what is to be her gown for my wedding ball, while a slew of maids fuss over her with measuring string and pins.
“These are the flowers Lady Myrrh suggests for the arrangements. What do you think, Your Majesty?” Clio asks, lifting a flower for the queen to sample.
The bright pink bloom nearly brushes the queen’s nose. She shifts away from it, frowning. “Too faint a smell. And the color is wrong,” she says. “Don’t you think so, Soren?”
I lean my shoulder against the wall, feigning interest. “I have no opinion on the color of a flower,” I say. “But your gown looks lovely, Mother. Should I have mine done to match?”
The handmaids titter at my comment. A few of them blush. One pricks my mother with a pin and receives a swat on her wrist from the irritated queen.
“Funny, Soren. But you’ll be in white. Your suit has already been ordered.”
Just as well. I cannot stand the color pink.
The dream resurfaces, Enna’s mouth hungry and wide, her pink tongue licking my blood from her fangs. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. I shouldn’t be dwelling on it. If last night’s incident in the kitchen didn’t make things clear enough, the handmaid’s grip on my attention is dangerous. I’m unbalanced. Out of control.
I shouldn’t be asking her out to dinner. I shouldn't be dreaming of her or considering the color of her tongue.
Enna is the attendant of my betrothed. My betrothed, who, once queen, will likely still want to keep her close. I see no reason for Aris to send away her one memento from home.
Which means my beach dancer will be around a while. I flex my jaw at the thought. How many nights will I dream of her wicked mouth? How many days will I spend trying to banish her image from my waking thoughts?
“Soren?” My mother’s voice penetrates my uncomfortable reverie. My eyes focus on the new bloom Clio twirls in front of my face, a softer shade of coral more in line with the traditional colors of our kingdom.
“Looks nice,” I say.
The queen pins me with a look. “That settles it,” she says. “Miss Clio, be a dear and show us the fabric for the aisle drapes.”
The housekeeper retrieves several swaths of ivory fabric from the chest on the floor and drapes them over each of her arms. She holds them out for my mother to test their texture.
The queen studies each one intently. “Too dull,” she says of the first one. She picks at the fabric with a long fingernail. “This quality has certainly suffered of late. Make a note to investigate the modiste’s supply chain. This won’t do.”
“No need,” I say, pushing off my perch on the wall. “The modiste is likely suffering from the broadkelp shortage, Your Majesty.” I pinch the fabric between my fingers, noting its roughness. “The Kingdom of Estuary has been low on its quota for the past season. Our beloved modiste would appreciate some grace, no?”
The queen inclines her head, eyes shining. “I stand corrected. Well done, my prince. You’ve been attentive.”
I grunt, re-crossing my arms. “Mother, if you have this all sorted, I will trust your opinions and take my leave.”
“Your wedding is in a week, Soren. Do you not wish to have a say?”
Where is the time going? If I had a say, there wouldn’t be a wedding. I would take the throne without a queen at my side, then take my time finding a love match with which to continue the royal line.
She frowns at my silence, then says to Clio, “I believe we are ready for your report.”
The handmaids remove my mother’s gown and shuffle out of the room, leaving us alone with the housekeeper.
“I’ve discovered some interesting things, Your Majesty,” Clio says. “I’m not sure if you consider them suspicious, as you asked me to watch out for, but I find them… confusing.”
“Waste not the time of the crown, Clio. Spit it out if you have something to report.” The queen’s voice is sharp and cutting.
Clio hides her flinch behind a gentle cough. “I’m not familiar with Abyssal customs, Your Majesty. So it may just be a cultural difference. But the princess absolutely insists that her magic-wielding handmaid give her baths personally. She will not allow one of our own maids to come near her. Not to bathe her, not to dress her.”
The queen considers Clio’s suggestion. “Is there something wrong with her form? She is beautiful from what I’ve seen, but underneath, perhaps?”
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty. I’ve only ever seen her in a towel.”
“Could be harmless modesty but please continue your observation of this matter. What else?”
“She’s receiving private dance lessons.”
“And?”
“From her handmaid,” Clio says, and my ears prick with interest. “The handmaid is a good dancer, but the princess, well. I’ve seen better. And then she—”
I break my silence. “You ladies mean to say you’ve been spending your time digging up dirt on my betrothed instead of more important matters?”
My mother tilts her head. “And what could be more important than getting to know the future queen? Tell me, Soren, what have you learned from your time with her?”
I learned all I needed to know in the first two days I spent with her. Aris is as I knew she would be, lustful and vain, but she’s pleasant enough to appease the kingdom. This is not the answer my mother is looking for, so I keep quiet as I search for a better excuse.
“Your Majesty, if I may—”
The queen raises her hand, and Clio snaps her mouth shut.
“Have you been spending time with her at all ?” My mother’s glare is accusing, all-knowing.
“Not much, no.”
“This kingdom depends on you to do your duty, Soren. I have found you a match. You must secure it. And if you do not think the match is worthy , we must be sure of it. Am I clear?”
“Then do as Lord Almar suggested. Bring out that damned necklace and see if she bleeds.”
My suggestion lands in a silent room. Clio stiffens, her eyes narrowing. My mother’s mouth presses into a firm line.
“I will not resort to Lord Almar’s archaic measures when you have spent the past two weeks avoiding her,” the queen says.
She’s right. I’ve been avoiding my duty in favor of preserving my sanity.
“You’ll be pleased to hear I’m taking her out to dinner tonight,” I say, flexing my jaw to relieve the tension. I’d already been meaning to ask Aris officially, since I promised Enna I would.
“Excellent.” The queen brightens. “Then you can investigate Clio’s claims. The wedding festivities begin in less than a week, Soren. See if you can uncover a few secrets lest we make an embarrassment of this kingdom.”
What would the wicked handmaid look like, sitting in my favorite tavern, a little ale in her veins, surrounded by platters of raw meat? Would she smile at me again?