Chapter 34
Stepping from her carriage, Languidere lingered for a moment at the steps of Roseland as the guardsmen took her in beneath the pale pink moon.
The emerald silk of her gown slithered over her bare legs as she climbed the steps of the palace.
Guards stared without power to look away.
She knew that in dim light the shadows cast on the gleaming fabric left no mystery to the parts of her body that were often hidden in underdressing.
The more the guards stared, the more power she drew from their helpless gawking at the mere sight of her pelvic curve.
“The king is in his study,” a guard said. “I will announce you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Languidere waved as she strode past. There was no rebuttal. The guard allowed her to advance, unaccompanied, which in turn allowed him to observe her taunting flesh as she walked slowly up the steps.
Once inside, into the study she slipped.
“Your Majesty,” she said, and, as she had fantasized, King Evoldo rose before the fire with eyes that watered at the sight of the jewels that framed her breasts as they fell over silk.
His eyes then followed the chain of emeralds that dangled, then beheld the sapphire teardrop that hypnotically rotated over the crest of her pelvis on the chain.
As his gaze locked on the gem sliding back and forth with hardly any effort or movement on her part, she knew the king was hers.
“Princess,” Evoldo said, coming round the desk. She did not avert her eyes. She boldly stared at parts of a king that a woman must never—but it was only fair, for the way he stared at her.
She waited until he stood before her, and only then did she bow. “Your Highness. I have come with terrible news of the Port.”
“I have heard. How is Rosemarie?”
The mere mention of Rosemarie caused Languidere to clench her jaw.
“She’s fine.” Languidere tossed the notion away.
His eyes wandered a moment. “What of the girl?”
“Oh, yes. Alice?” Languidere played coquettish, but the king’s immediate interest spiked her irritation.
“She was swept away, swallowed up into the ground. I’m sure she is dead.
” Languidere smirked to herself as Evoldo’s face fell ever so slightly.
“Why did you wish for me to observe her? Why is she of any interest? Immigrants are so uninteresting.”
“It’s not any of your concern.” He began to retreat. Was he truly interested in that stupid girl?
She could not lose hold of him.
“Show me the roses, Your Highness,” Languidere said, turning as the king began to lean inward.
“You make demands of me?” he asked, his playfulness returning.
“I assure you, it will only serve your interest,” she said, turning her back to him and glancing over her shoulder, a look she had practiced many times in this gown. The king advanced, and she turned so that he could watch her form as she led him to the greenhouse.
The plan Languidere had spun was meant to be a longer dance than what she now was attempting. She wouldn’t play informant for him with another young woman of interest. She needed to be bold. She needed him to desire her—without the satisfaction of having her, yet.
“Why is it you’re here, Princess?” Evoldo’s breath was hot on her neck. His hands slid the silk up and dropped it on her thigh. He played at showing false control and restraint. She herself would have to hold control, for once he got what he wanted, she would lose all power to negotiate.
“I do love the roses at night,” she said, smirking. “Don’t you?” She stepped from him and pulled at the clasps at the front of her bodice concealed by gemstones. It was an ingenious design meant only for this purpose.
As she had rehearsed, the gown fell open slightly further at her breasts. The king advanced without hesitation, and she coyly stepped back. Her bare skin was the bait, drawing a king into her trap. A thorn rubbed sharply at her calf, and the warm blood it drew excited her.
Her uncle was never one to wait patiently. The hand that moved over her breasts to her back was only an attempt to distract her from the hand that had found its way inside her skirt and which she now pressed firmly between her thighs, keeping him from what he wanted most.
With his tongue thrusting desperately over her neck, he breathed so heavily she couldn’t whisper what she planned to say next. She’d have to say it with more force. “Is it true that a witch cannot hold a royal seat in Ev?”
His index finger pushed through the barrier of her thighs, gently finding the moisture he drew from her. He groaned, and she pressed harder with her thighs, keeping him just beyond the gate.
“I know that she is a witch,” Languidere said, with her lips on his ear. His tongue swirled over her throat. Had he heard her? “She is a witch,” Languidere repeated.
His advances stopped, though the firm pulsating at her hip ensured her that he was still ensnared.
“Alice?” he said, meeting her eyes. “How do you know this? What do you know?” His hand gripped her arm to stave his desire, though his trapped hand continued to try to break through her thighs.
Pushing aside the vile anger that brewed over his overt interest in Alice, Languidere knew she must give him a tiny taste more of what he wanted.
She slowly leaned into the hand that pawed between her legs, so that his large hand formed itself over her, and the finger ringed with the ruby crest of Ev found her curve inward.
“No,” she said. “Queen Rosemarie. My father has told me the truth. Just as her mother, Queen Nasrin, was a witch!” Languidere steadied herself; she’d become too anxious.
“And, if we reveal it, she will be forced to step aside. And then, all this can be yours, when you make me queen.” She attempted to bite the lobe of his ear, but no sooner than the plan was voiced, the king thrust her from him.
She reached toward him, but he batted her hand away.
“Surely you jest.” He glared. “You are my kin.”
“I’m your niece, not your sister!” Languidere took this not as rejection but as a sign of his contemplation. “You may marry who you wish.”
“And I have married who I wished. Rosemarie!” He swatted Languidere’s hands away again.
“But she is a witch! A witch cannot be queen. This is Ev. It is the law! Isn’t that why her mother fled?
” Languidere’s temper began to boil as she crunched the back of her teeth in her mouth.
Evoldo winced at the sound of her rubbing molars, which she quickly caught, along with her temper before it blinded her.
“You don’t know what you speak of, Languidere.” His own temper simmered.
“It’s Alice, isn’t it? Did you bed her?” Languidere felt her eyes bulge.
She tried to soften them, but anger pulsed as he looked at her as though she was mad.
“You did, didn’t you? Right here in the greenhouse!
So, if your precious Rosemarie is removed for being a witch, are you going to make that simpering fool your queen? ”
The king advanced, grabbed Languidere’s chin and yanked her head upward.
She moaned in performative pleasure. “I will have you jailed or exiled if another word of this nature comes from your mouth.” He released her and turned.
“You are blind to what happens around you. Far more is at stake than your feeble mind could comprehend. Fix yourself and leave here at once.”
Languidere attempted a laugh, but anger pulsed at her temples. She spoke lowly as her body filled with vibrating disgust. “You powerless idiot. You can either expose her and take your power as king, or remain as my father says you are. Spineless. And let him do it when he returns!”
“Get out,” Evoldo said, without turning back, and he walked away.
Nothing enraged Languidere more.
“Come back here!” she screamed, but still he did not turn.
Without thinking, she grabbed handfuls of thorned rose stems from the potted plants surrounding her, tossing them every which way.
The prickers tore through her skin, and the tiny cuts on her hands began to release the blood.
At the sight of it, calm washed over her.
But she would require much more blood than her own to calm the shame that disguised itself as anger from tonight. Someone else would need to bleed. Alice would need to bleed.
Thoughts of vengeance were pushed from her mind as a set of gleaming eyes peered at her from the back of the greenhouse.
She stepped forward to see the spy and froze, for the eyes were white balls of milky glass that glistened under grey angry lids.
The eyes followed her. Another step and, in leafy shadow, she could see grey pocked skin of a prickled bald misshapen head sitting still, looking at her with a sharp jagged grin.
The roses rustled, and the princess ran as fast as she could to escape the crystal greenhouse.
Turning back as she fled the garden, she saw the squat figure watching her from behind the glass panes, rocking wildly—smiling at her.
Its arms and legs were bowed, and its long hands nearly touched the ground.
As she saw it with unwavering clarity, there was no doubt in her mind that the creature before her was indeed a gnome. One of the vile and ferocious beings banished for their allegiance to Oz’s most formidable threat.
If gnomes had returned, did it mean that Lord Roquat had found his way back to these lands? Was chaos looming?
As the gnome swayed, its jagged grin stirred something within Languidere, a sensation that thrilled her, prompting a reciprocated grin. What fate awaited King Evoldo and Queen Rosemarie of Ev, if gnomes remained concealed within their private domain?
The anger that had momentarily subsided over the king’s interest in Alice and his dismissal surged back, fueled by his failure to deny Rosemarie’s witchery.
The audacity of her occupying the throne and possessing such a gift felt unjust. Languidere imagined the gnome sinking its teeth into Rosemarie’s flesh and felt a brief calm in the fantasy of justice.
With no intention of informing the palace of the gnome’s presence, Languidere left the deranged creature, harboring a hope that something dreadful would befall the royal couple, as a fitting consequence for the disregard the king had shown her.