Chapter 24 Genevieve
Genevieve
My nineteenth birthday celebration feels like a death sentence.
After years of secrecy, Mother has finally realized that Kieran and I still find time to be together, and the lashing she gave me for my lack of propriety—for the disgrace of choosing a redblood gardener’s boy over any number of bluebloods—was reprehensible.
She’ll never understand how deeply I love Kieran, or how cautious we’ve been with each other.
She’ll never know that, despite finding ways to show one another with our bodies how much we love, Kieran has never taken that last vestige of propriety from me.
She doesn’t deserve to know how I’ve begged him to enter me, how much I’ve wanted to feel him inside of me—to be joined to him.
Even after years of coming to my rooms, he’s always insisted that we not cross that line, afraid I’ll someday desire a blueblood husband who would see me as ruined by the gardener’s boy.
Deep down, I know I can never accept Kieran as my husband. Mother, Father, the council and the kingdom would never accept a redblood as king consort. Not when the bluebloods fought for our right to rule.
But it isn’t fair.
There’s nobody else for me but Kieran, and if I cannot marry him, then I want to savor the time I have with him before I’m forced to choose the crown over the boy I love.
The lights are low as I walk through the palace toward the banquet hall with Astoria and Mari.
Mari leans on my arm, and I’m happy to support her as she continues to regain strength after the attack from the rot.
She insisted on joining this supper and the ball that will follow, despite her slow, tentative recovery.
There have been no further reports of the rot, and the guilty party is still at large.
“Can I help you in any way?” I ask softly. We’ve done all we can to keep her illness from the public eye. I understand her wish for privacy. The court gossip is already relentless when it comes to our family, and there’s no reason to add more fodder to the flame.
“I’m quite alright, thank you, Genny. I just worry how I’ll go from dancing all night to being a wallflower without anyone noticing.”
Astoria replies, “I’ll stay close. And Darian said he’ll dance with you as much as you like. Do you think Prince Leland or Gabe will be willing to help her dance with support?”
Mari looks surprised. “I couldn’t ask that of Prince Leland! Besides, he’ll be busy dancing with Genny. Tell me, has your affection for him deepened? He’s such a kind man—I really don’t see why you’re hesitant about the arrangement.”
Astoria gives me a knowing look. She hasn’t missed the stolen glances between Kieran and me, or how I seem to be pulling away from Leland.
She even gently suggested she would take my place as Leland’s betrothed if it pleased me.
I dismissed her. I chose this arrangement, and I will see it through, even with the new addendum to the contract.
I purse my lips. “I still hope we’ll grow in affection over time. ”
“But,” Astoria adds, “Mr. Blackwell is proving something of a distraction. Don’t give that man the attention he seeks, Genny. Especially not tonight!”
Mari giggles. “He is a rather distracting sight to see. Oh, and here he comes!”
As we approach the doors to the banquet hall, I see Kieran and General Pryor ambling toward us.
Kieran’s eyes lock on mine, and I try to calm the energy buzzing through me at the sight of him.
His evening wear is immaculate—black, of course—with a steel-grey silk cravat.
His ungloved hands make my skin tingle at the thought of them against me.
Both men bow, and General Pryor offers Mari his arm to escort her into the hall. “Oh, you must take Astoria’s arm as well!” Mari insists. “I wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
“Of course,” General Pryor says, and Astoria gives me a nervous look as she takes his other arm, leaving me alone with Kieran.
“Can you see that Princess Genevieve is properly seated, Blackwell?” General Pryor calls over his shoulder.
Kieran looks down at me, his brows furrowed. “I think I’m capable of the task, if Princess Genevieve doesn’t object.”
I swallow as I brace for his touch. “Of course not,” I reply, offering him my arm. The heat of him beside me makes my blood stir, and I have to resist leaning into his solid frame.
We enter the room to low candlelight and dark floral arrangements.
The décor is a deep purple and black, giving it an air of mysterious elegance.
Mother has outdone herself for this small court banquet and ball.
Everything around us speaks of decadence and romance, and I squeeze Kieran’s arm a little tighter. He looks at me expectantly.
“She decorated it so similarly to the night you snuck me out of the ballroom. My nineteenth birthday—do you remember? I wanted to dance with only you, but she wouldn’t allow you to attend,” I say quietly as he leads me to my seat.
Next to my name card is one inscribed with his. His eyes grow distant, and his brow creases. I can feel the tension in his muscles as he releases my arm and steps slightly away.
“Yes, it’s all very familiar,” he remarks, tracing his fingers across the letters. “And we’re seated beside each other. Did you share my true identity with the queen? Is she making a mockery of us both?”
I take my seat just as Prince Leland enters, guiding his sister to hers. “Of course I didn’t.”
But it is strange, the similarities. The same sensual undertones linger, as if the flower choices themselves have created an alluring perfume in the air.
That night she’d meant to entice me toward her preferred blueblood suitors.
It hadn’t worked, of course. It had only emboldened me to take Kieran to my bed.
Tonight, I’m not sure what message she’s trying to send.
“Why ever not, Princess? Is it because you’d hate to see her remove me from Fairbright? Would you miss me too much? Or are you beginning to realize she’s keeping things from you?” Kieran’s voice is low and deep, his breath tickling my skin.
He’s too close, far too close for proper behavior at a dinner party.
His face, illuminated by candlelight, is hard and beautiful.
I want to trace the differences in his changed features, to feel the ridge of his altered nose and the scar.
I want to press my lips to those changes and learn them with my tongue.
Leland takes his seat across from me, a stiff smile on his face as he looks between us.
I sit up straighter, turning toward Lord Griffin Hanford.
Of course, Clementine isn’t seated beside her husband; she’s next to Prince Leland.
She’s noticed Kieran’s closeness as well.
Her voice rises, loud and bright, drawing Leland’s attention and sparing him from Kieran’s impropriety.
Clemmy is playing her part. She’s the redblood baker—a crass nobody who wormed her way into the princess’s life, only to rise above her station and marry a cousin of the crown.
She knows very well that all the blueblood gentry in the room expect her to talk too loudly, ask inappropriate questions, and make a mockery of the court.
Just as most expect Kieran to be too close to me, to make improper comments and crude jokes.
To them, he’s a boorish redblood businessman, not a gentleman bred with the understanding that one never gets too close to a blueblood princess.
Even now, I see the subtle glances and hear the whispered comments as I feel Kieran’s large frame lean close to mine.
His leg slides against my own, and I turn my attention to my empty glass.
Maybe if I stare at it long enough, someone will bring me something to drink.
“Everything alright, Genevieve?” Griffin asks quietly. “That Blackwell fellow seems to be getting rather close.”
“Yes, it’s fine,” I answer, forcing my most contained smile.
His eyebrow arches as a footman pours wine into our glasses. Staring at the glass must have worked after all. I take a deep drink, feeling the slightest burn in my throat as I swallow.
Griffin continues, “I know that expression all too well—it’s the look of a woman hiding her true thoughts. Unfortunately, it’s far too common in you Ashcroft girls. With the exception of Marielle, of course. But even she appears more demure this evening.”
Clemmy lets out a loud giggle at something Leland says and meets her husband’s eyes, raising her glass to him.
“Is that why you needed to seek a bride from outside the court, cousin?” I ask, taking another drink and stealing a glance at Kieran, who looks bored as he talks with one of the councilmen’s wives.
“Clementine, as you know, is unlike any woman—redblood or blueblood. She’s a force that swept me away.”
I smile at my friend as she gestures animatedly, and Prince Leland snorts in a most ungentlemanly manner. “She has a way of sweeping everyone into her force. We’re just the two she’s chosen to keep hold of.”
“Aren’t we fortunate?” Griffin laughs, but his attention remains fixed on his wife. It’s odd, seeing my once-serious cousin so smitten. Even after a year of marriage, he still looks at Clemmy as though she’s a precious jewel.
I feel a hand graze my skirts and turn to Kieran. “Mr. Blackwell,” I say in a low, warning tone as I scoot away from his touch.
He smirks. “Please, say that again. I like it when you call me by my name.”
I scowl, trying to ignore the hand nudging my thigh. “Is this how you plan to ruin me?” I whisper. “Still aiming for a public display, even after your confession last night? It’s been weeks, and you’ve done nothing to make good on your threats.”
He gives me a teasing pinch through my skirts, sending a jolt through me. I let out a small squeak, and the woman beside him scowls. “You ruined me in a night,” he murmurs. “I plan to play out your ruin slowly and rapturously, Princess.”
I give him a pointed look. If anyone was already ruined, it was me. He chose to leave. He refused to see me before he departed, and I was the one who mourned his death. Last night, I made it clear there was nothing he could do to change my mind. Now he’s leaving, and it’s for the best.
“I think nine years has been slow enough, Kieran.”
He lets out a low, scathing laugh as his hand finds my hips, his thumb stroking along the thin fabric. His touch feels so good that I want to lose myself in it—even here, surrounded by people.
“I want you to beg for me,” he whispers. “I want you to cry out from the torment of wanting me, Princess. We’re far from that point yet. Perhaps it will happen after you take your wedding vows.”
“I’ll never beg for you,” I retort.
He withdraws his hand, and the loss of his touch chills my senses just as our food is served.
“I look forward to the moment when you beg for ruin.”