Anjelica
“Don’t look at me like that,” says, almost in a whisper.
“How am I looking at you?” Laurent’s voice is soft. His arms are around her, as the dance requires. It is the first time she has felt his touch in months, and she is dizzy from it. She can feel the resonant beat of her own heart, smell the familiar scent of him: ocean and spice. A dash of black powder. The scent threatens to bring back memories in a wave—a dangerous wave that might crash over her, leaving her vulnerable in front of all these people. Leaving her unable to hide what she needs to hide.
She thinks of her mother. Control your emotions, daughter, or others will use them to control you. She has always been the least obedient of her sisters, the one who demanded to know why she could not go out into Spice Town on her own, why she could not sit with the King when he dealt judgment or met with Ambassadors. Her father had found it amusing when she was small, and he had been inclined to indulge her. Later, he had regretted that.
How are you looking at me? thinks. Like fire. Like his gaze would burn away her clothes, leaving her naked in his arms. Like I am a person and not just a beautiful object. No one has looked at me like that since I came here—no one but Kel and Conor.
“Not the way the Ambassador from Hanse would look at me,” she says.
“You can’t be sure,” he says. “I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. The same might have happened to him, had he been here.” Laurent’s voice threatens to undo her and all her promises to herself. It is rough and rich, low like the ocean when the tide went out, scraping itself over barnacles and sand.
“Before the message from Andreyen reached me, I thought perhaps I might never see you again,” Laurent continues. “Though I had determined to wait until all hope was gone.”
“I know.” The next part of the dance has come. She places her hands on his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscles under her palms. Memories come along with the feel and shape of him. How she had crept aboard his boat when it was moored in the harbor at Spice Town. How she had professed her love for him in his office aboard the Black Rose, and he had only stared at her, blue eyes widening, until she thought she might die of the humiliation, and only then had he gotten to his feet and taken her into his arms—and later, into his bed.
She had not thought of the future, then. Only that she wanted him and would have what she wanted. She had not expected to fall in love with him. She had not known what love would feel like when it came.
“I, too, feared I had lost you,” she says now, “when I arrived in Castellane and the Black Rose was not there to carry me back to you. I—I thought you were dead.” (She recalls the moment Kel had said he was sure Laurent Aden was still alive, and the relief that had gone through her like a blade.)
“Someone told them I was coming.” Laurent’s mouth is hard with anger. “There was no way to get into the harbor without enduring the death of half my crew, and even then, I would have simply been arrested.” He raises his chin; the light of the chandeliers sparks off his cruel eagle mask. But she knows what he looks like without it. She knows what he looks like with nothing on at all, how rough and scarred and lovely he is. Her body feels tortured with a desire that she cannot show.
“My love, you sent me no word,” says. “All this time—”
His hands tighten at her waist. “I saw no way I could get you free of the Palace, now that you are here,” he says. “I could hardly waltz in and steal you from under the nose of a hundred Castelguards—”
“Really?” she murmurs. “Laurent Aden, afraid of a few guards?”
“I am risking my life to be here now,” he says, raking her with his gaze. His blue eyes are icy; even so, they make her feel hot and strange. He has always been able to do that to her. “But it is worth it, to see you.”
“I didn’t even know if you still wanted me.”
“If I wanted you?” They spin, as the dance requires. “I thought you might have fallen in love with your fiancé. I imagined you had decided remaining in Castellane offered you the opportunity to be a Queen someday, which I cannot give you. —”
“Hush,” she whispers. “Do not say my name. Not like that.” Everyone who hears you will know how we feel. “Neither of those things has happened.”
“Good. There are those who are willing to help us. If you still want it, I can get you away, both of us away, and your brothers—”
She feels her eyes widen and is glad her mask hides her expression. “Who would offer to help with such a thing when it would inevitably put them at odds with all of Castellane... ah.” She shakes her head. “The Malgasi.”
“I don’t like them much, either, but they’re desperate to marry their Princess off to Conor Aurelian. They’ll help me—”
“They can’t be trusted, Laurent. I’ve learned more about them since I’ve been in Castellane. They have done some true evil to their people—”
“I don’t trust them,” says Laurent. “I do not trust any government, any monarchy. They are all selfish. They all have secrets, dreadful things that they have done. There is no such thing as great power that has never been used unfairly.”
“Quite a thing to say to a Princess,” smiles. She hopes it will not be seen as strange; surely she can smile at an Ambassador without much note being taken?
She feels the low rumble of his laugh. “Obviously, you are different. Which is why I wish to get you away from all this. I’m willing to accept some aid from the Malgasi to free you, but I have my own plan. It involves Sedai—”
“Laurent. I can’t do it.” The words hurt, though she’s known she’ll have to say them. “I cannot abandon Conor.”
“So you have become fond of him.” A beat. “I’m surprised. I hadn’t heard he had a particularly endearing personality.”
“I heard the same. But he is not what they say.” She sees Conor’s face, his serious eyes, the thoughtful curve of his mouth. He had been straightforward with her. She’d thought he would be full of false expressions of love, which would only have annoyed her, but he had been surprisingly honest. He had not demanded anything she did not want to give, nor had he hidden that he, too, was in pain. “It is hard to explain. I am not in love with him, but he has treated me with honesty and respect. And I understand what he’s facing. I understand it in a way you cannot.”
Laurent swears softly under his breath. His grip on her waist slackens as he turns her, mechanically, in the next move of the dance. When she faces him again, she says, “If I flee with you now, it will be seen as another stain on his reputation. It will weaken his power—”
Laurent makes an exasperated noise. “He’s a Prince. He’ll be fine. The Malgasi are desperate for a wedding; they will step in to provide him a Princess and an alliance that will ward off Sarthe, if needed. The nobility hardly care if he marries Kutani or Malgasi as long as their precious trade is protected.”
“But he won’t marry Elsabet. He hates her, hates Malgasi and the whole Belmany family. What they would do to Castellane—”
“Suddenly you care about Castellane?” She can see the pain in his eyes. How can she explain, how can she tell him that to go with him is all she wants? “Do you truly think it such a wonderful place? Imagine growing up an orphan here, looking up at the Palace, knowing you would never have any of the riches and luxuries enjoyed there—that your only task was to starve and to die?”
“Please,” she says. “I love you, the Gods know how much I do, but give me some time. A year. I can stretch out the engagement until the situation is less dire—”
“A year?” Laurent shakes his head as the music slows and stops. “Aurelian won’t wait a year to marry you. Nor can I spend a year hiding in a sea cave.”
“Laurent, please—”
But the dance is over. Hurt flashes across Laurent’s face, followed by anger. Without another word, he turns and stalks off into the crowd.
Just a year, she thinks. Just a year to honor my promises, before I can come back to you. Laurent, please. Listen to me.
But she cannot race after him, cannot call out for him and beg him to come back, to hear her out. He is only supposed to be the Ambassador from Hanse, after all.