8. Katya
8
T he murmurs start the moment the door snicks shut behind me. Well, that stretch of anonymity lasted all of five seconds. At least this time the whispers are about something other than my illegitimate birth or lack of magic. Change is good, right? Even if the step I’ve taken is more sideways than forward.
Biting my lip to stop myself from screaming, I stomp into the hallway and kick the wall with my stupidly delicate shoe. Pain erupts in my big toe. Now I really want to scream because my toe is probably broken and all of Leodin’s plans will have to be scrapped because I can’t exactly go unnoticed when I can’t walk.
I take a seat on the edge of a massive marble planter, ease my throbbing foot from the shoe, and wiggle my toes. Not broken, thank the gods. This is all Berezin’s fault. The dumb bastard. I should have stabbed him with the fork.
“Ahhh, another satisfied diner,” says a female voice, startling me out of my fury induced fugue .
A fae girl in a lovely pink and white gown is leaning against the wall opposite me. She’s probably around my age—though she could be two-hundred judging by the way full-blooded fae age—and pretty with ash brown hair, rich mahogany skin and eyes that appear to be a brownish green but are hard to make out in the waning light.
I huff out a laugh, even though it isn’t the least bit funny. “Well, I’m not trying to escape the food, if that’s what you’re thinking, though it was definitely a meal worth running away from.” Shoe in hand, I limp over to the woman, noting as I draw closer her puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Are you alright?”
She waves me off, the white handkerchief in her hand flapping like a flag of surrender. “I’m fine. Just peachy.” She’s clearly not fine or peachy, but I don’t press. I step around the girl and, imitating her stance, lean against the wall. “So, if it isn’t the food you’re running away from, what is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s a tale as old as time, I’m afraid. A much older and incredibly unattractive male trying to grope the young maiden under the table.” I press a hand to my chest dramatically.
“They’re not very creative, are they?” she says, the corner of her lip lifting just a smidge.
I sputter a laugh. “No, they’re not. Though I’m fairly certain this one mostly does it because he enjoys watching me squirm. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word no, so the only thing I could do was get up and leave. Made a bit of a scene, though, so I’m sure my stepfather will rip me to shreds when we return to our rooms.”
“You? I would think he’d be angry with him. ”
I let out a sarcastic, “Ha, Leodin would serve me up as a buffet to every man in that room if it served his political aspirations.”
“He sounds lovely.”
“Oh, he is. Now what is it he told me?” I tap my lip as though deep in thought. “Ah, yes. He said his greatest mistake was not throwing me in the river the moment I was born.” I put on a big, phony smile.
Her eyes go wide. “Good gods, and I thought my mother-in-law was brutal.”
I chuckle. “It really doesn’t bother me so much anymore.” That’s a lie. It very much bothers me. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it, is all. “So, is she the reason you’re out here and not enjoying the delicious meal?” I bat my eyelashes innocently, and I’m rewarded with a true smile.
“It’s always something that’s not good enough. Today, it’s my dress. Tomorrow, it will be my hair or shoes or something I say or do.” She bumps shoulders with me playfully. “She doesn’t think I’m good enough for her son, so I stupidly refused to go inside with them, and now I’m standing out here like an idiot debating what I should do next.”
I can practically hear the puzzle pieces falling into place—the queen’s comments on her son’s wife, the empty seat beside the prince. “You’re the princess.” I drop into a haphazard curtsy.
“Please don’t,” she says, eyes pleading.
I freeze about halfway down, and if I thought my other curtsies were awkward, they have nothing on this one. I’ve got my knees bent, bottom out. I probably look like I’m about to defecate on the palace floor .
“Please. Stand,” she says, and I obey—slowly—just in case she changes her mind. “I get so tired of all the pomp and protocols.” She holds out her hand. “Elsbeth Glye.”
“Katya Valstrad,” I reply, shaking her hand.
“Elsbeth.”
We both startle at the sound of a man’s voice, and my stomach drops into my feet when I see Lieutenant Aemon Cregg striding toward us. His eyes rove down my body—slowly, purposefully, the weight of his gaze like phantom fingers caressing my suddenly heated skin. He stops in front of Elsbeth, hands clasped. Gods, the man is even more beautiful up close. His skin is a flawless, golden brown, his dark hair artfully disheveled—as though he just got out of bed looking that good—his blue eyes have gone from simply striking to piercing and he’s so damn tall. I’m above average height for a woman, but he towers over me.
Now that he’s standing here, the weight of his gaze has shifted to Elsbeth, and I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed at its loss.
He folds thick arms across his chest, muscles flexing against the fabric of his sleeves. “Troi is getting pissy,” he says to her, looking pretty pissy himself, if I’m being honest. “You need to come inside.”
Elsbeth is obviously used to him because she isn’t phased in the slightest. Ignoring what he said, Elsbeth gestures to me and says, “Aemon, this is my new friend, Katya.” His eyes flick to me briefly, then back to Elsbeth without even acknowledging my presence. Elsbeth continues, unperturbed. “Katya, this is Lieutenant Aemon. He’s the royal…” She cants her head to one side. “What do you do, exactly? ”
He rolls his eyes and grabs her around the bicep, his hand so large it wraps the entire way around. “Now is not the time for games.” He starts to tug her away, but Elsbeth tears her arm from his grasp.
“I am not playing games, Aemon. I just don’t want to go in there right now.”
This is beginning to feel like a private conversation, so I slowly back away.
“The longer you’re out here, the worse it’s going to be.”
“Oh, and now you’re going to save me, right? What a hero. Bravo.” She raises her hands and claps in his face. “Oh wait, that’s right. You just like to watch.”
“That’s enough.” He grabs her by the arm again, tight enough I can see her skin pinch around his fingers and starts for the door. “And you,” he says, blue eyes burning into me like hot coals. “Get your ass inside. This doesn’t concern you.”
“I’m just fine out here, thank you,” I reply, giving my best fake smile.
He stops just short of the door and still clutching Elsbeth’s arm, twists around to glare at me. “That wasn’t a request.”
Have I mentioned I don’t take well to pushy men? I level a glare at him. “No.”
By the shocked expression on his face, this is a male unaccustomed to hearing that word. The smart thing to do would be to take it back and apologize, but I’ve never been one to do what is smart, so I lift my chin and hold his gaze and pray this doesn’t get back to Leodin.
“Go on,” Aemon says to Elsbeth, nudging her toward the door.
“Be nice, Aemon,” she says, but he’s already stalking toward me.
“Go inside,” he replies, still holding my gaze .
Elsbeth lets out a long sigh and mouths “s orry ,” to me. Then she opens the door and steps into the dining hall.
Aemon pulls up just a little too close for my comfort, but I refuse to back up.
He folds his arms across his wide chest and looks down his nose at me. “No one leaves the dining table without the permission of the queen,” he says.
“You did.”
Did the corner of his lips just quirk? Nah. Couldn’t have been.
“I was told to get Elsbeth.”
“Well, you got her, so now you can go back,” I say, cocking my head and giving him a sticky-sweet smile.
He scrubs a hand down his face, obviously annoyed with my refusal. “I’m not getting into this with you, witchling—”
I cross my arms, mimicking his stance. “First,” I say, holding up my index finger, “I didn’t ask you to, and second”—two fingers—“the term is magi, not witch or witchling, and third”—three fingers—“I don’t posses any magical abilities, therefore I am neither.”
Aemon purses his lips, his eyes searching my face, as though I’m a cipher he’s trying to decode. “You look like a witch.” He takes a step closer, and this time, I do back up, right into the wall. Eyes pinning me in place, he raises his arms and lays his palms flat against the rough stone on either side of my head, caging me in. My pulse races and my belly’s doing cartwheels, but I’m not sure if it’s out of fear or something else. He gently twists a lock of my hair around his finger, leans in and sniffs it. “You smell like a witch. ”
“And what does a witch smell like, exactly?” I manage to say with only a slight tremor to my voice. “The blood of sacrificed infants or mummified cats?”
The corners of his mouth twitch, as though he’s holding back a smile. “You don’t really think I’m just going to give away my secrets, do you?”
I level a flat glare at him. “In other words, you’re full of…” I stop myself before I get into even more trouble for cursing at the lieutenant.
“Shit,” he supplies, those twitchy lips now curling into a full-blown smile. “Can you say the word shit, Katya?”
I read that situation wrong. I let out an exasperated sigh and attempt to angle around him. “I’m just going to go to my room, now.”
“No, you’re not.” He grabs my arm and pushes my sleeve back, revealing the bracelets Leodin warned me not to wear. “Are you still going to tell me you’re not a witch?”
I wrench my arm free. “Any fae can use sythra if they’re taught. Now please let me by.” I shove at his chest, but he’s as immovable as the stone at my back. “Please.”
His eyes search mine for a moment, like he can see straight into my mind. Then he pushes off the wall and takes a couple of steps back, arms swinging at his sides. “I’ll have your chair moved.”
I blink. Was he listening to my conversation with Elsbeth? “What? Where?”
He smirks. “You can sit beside me.”
Oh, joy.
The ridge of my cheek explodes in pain, the force of the strike pitching me sideways. I stumble into the table, knocking over a—thankfully empty—wineglass and sending a stack of papers flying. “You stupid, stupid girl,” Leodin shouts. “What about keeping a low profile did you not understand? Now, you not only got the queen’s attention, but you humiliated me and Duke Berezin with your behavior.”
I straighten and stare him dead in the eye, ignoring the pain in my cheek. “He was trying to touch me—”
“I don’t care if he had his entire fist up your tight little cunt. You smile, sit still and keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?”
He’s going to hit me again if I don’t answer. I know it, without a doubt, and yet stubborn ass that I am, I grit my teeth and don’t say a word. When the strike comes, it isn’t any less painful for my being prepared. If anything, it’s worse. His knuckles slam into my already battered cheek like a sledgehammer, the pain radiating throughout my head. This time, when I stumble, I don’t catch myself on the table. I careen to the floor, cracking my forearm and hip against the wood. I instinctively curl into a ball just in case he decides he isn’t finished and starts kicking. Getting hit in the face hurts, but getting hit in the stomach… that’s the sort of pain that takes your breath away.
Luckily for me, his tirade is interrupted by a knock on the door .
“Get up,” he hisses. “Don’t embarrass me more than you already have.” I push onto my hands and knees, pausing while a wave of dizziness threatens to take me back down again, then crawl over to the little table and climb into the chair. My entire head is throbbing, but I push past the pain, just like I have so many times before, and raise my head. At least I’m not nauseous. Vomiting and headaches are not what I would call a winning combination. Leodin answers the door, and a few words are exchanged, then the door clicks shut and Leodin returns. He tosses an envelope onto the table in front of me and sags into his chair, his feet thrown out like he’s just so worn out after all the punching.
Asshole.
“It’s a formal invitation to the ball,” he says, even though I didn’t ask. “You’ll need to be fitted for a gown. I’ll send a seamstress up in the morning.” He points his index finger at me, like that’s supposed to be intimidating or something. “You will mingle and listen. See if you can get friendly with some of the visiting magi and lords. I especially want to know if anyone else has any idea what the crown may be up to here.”
I won’t give him the satisfaction of rubbing my sore cheek, instead, choosing to rest my chin in my hand and ask, “What about the royal family?”
“What?”
“You said to mix with the lords, but what about the royal family?”
“The queen isn’t stupid, girl. She’ll know exactly what you’re up to the moment you speak to her, and she certainly isn’t going to spill her secrets to you. ”
He really thinks I’m an idiot. “I was talking about the princess, Elsbeth.”
That gets his attention. “The princess?” he asks, eyebrows climbing his forehead.
“She was standing outside of the dining room when I walked out last night. We got to talking. She was pretty candid with me. I think she’d be open to a friendship. I doubt they tell her much, but maybe I’ll be able to overhear a few things.” I shrug. Gods, even my shoulders hurt.
Leodin taps two fingers on the table, then shoves out of his seat and steps over to the wet bar situated against the wall. I wonder why his room has one and not mine. Not that I’m a huge drinker, but the option might be nice. He snatches up a decanter and two short glasses, then returns to the table and sets the three items down, the glasses clanking together. I watch in complete and utter confusion as he pops the top from the decanter and fills each glass about halfway with a golden-brown liquid. Is he seriously pouring me a glass of… whatever that is? I quickly glance around myself. Nope. There’s definitely no one else in the room. He pushes a cup toward me, then drinks from his own glass, downing half of it in one gulp.
“It’ll help,” he says, pointing to my face.
Is this his disgruntled way of apologizing? Because it’s a pretty lame attempt. “It wouldn’t hurt at all if you hadn’t hit it,” I reply, because I am obviously unable to control myself.
His eyes narrow. “Speak to me that way again, and I’ll do the same to the other cheek.”
Fair enough. I bring the cup to my lips and am hit with a sharp, almost metallic scent that isn’t in the least bit appetizing. But if it eases the throbbing in my head even a little until I can get back to my room to heal myself, it’s worth a shot. I throw back the liquor the way Leodin did and holy Mother Night. I gasp and sputter, and Leodin chuckles at my reaction. I was wrong. The flavor is nothing like the smell. It is much, much worse—like what I would imagine kerosene would taste like. Lit kerosene because it’s like fire traveling down my throat. “What is that?” I ask once I’ve recovered a bit.
“Brandy. Expensive stuff too, so stop making that face. Now, tell me what you and the princess talked about?”
I take another, smaller, sip of the brandy, and this time it isn’t quite so bad. My head begins to feel foggy almost immediately and the throbbing in my cheek dulls, but only a little. “She said the queen didn’t like her and constantly found things to criticize, like her clothes or hair and such.” Sound familiar, Father Dearest?
“She told you that. The first time you met.”
“It’s like you said.” I finish off the glass. It still burns, but it’s more of a pleasant burning now, like hot tea. Ooohhh, I bet this would be good in tea.
Leodin snatches the now empty glass out of my hand. “Focus, Katya.”
“Yes. I’m sorry… What was I saying again?”
“Good gods, woman. Have you no tolerance at all?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never gotten drunk before. Mama only ever gave me wine, and it was pretty watered down.
“She confided in you,” he says, waving his hand for me to continue. “Why?”
“Oh, that’s right.” I chuckle, then realizing how silly I’m being, I clear my throat and put on my serious face. “I told her about Duke Berezin molesting me under the table, and I guess she felt safe to share. I was thinking about visiting her tomorrow and seeing if she might like to take a walk or have tea or something.”
Leodin scrubs at his jaw, his gaze sharp, like a wolf preparing to strike.
I do not like that look.
“This is promising, but if you can somehow leverage this as a way to get closer to the prince, that would be the most helpful.”
“I’m not having sex with him, if that’s what you’re implying.”
He grinds his teeth. “You’ll do whatever I tell you to do.”
Shoving to my feet, the room spins, and I have to clutch the side of the table to steady myself. Wow. That really went to my head quickly. Leodin’s watching me, an ugly sneer on his face. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I’m feeling brave, so I lean forward, meeting Leodin’s gaze, and say, “You may think you own me, but you don’t. I am highly educated and can read and write in multiple languages. I could leave this palace right now and find work almost anywhere. I am here because I love my mother and brother and want to protect our home, but I will not prostitute myself for you. When I lose my virginity, it will be on my terms with someone of my choosing, not yours.” I finish my sentence with a poke to Leodin’s forehead, and the male looks ready to murder me, but at the moment, I couldn’t care less.
“Thanks for the brandy,” I say and shuffle off for the door.