Chapter 18 The Visit
The Visit
As I move through the corridors, I let my fingers brush a folded slip of parchment into the hand of a passing servant.
He inclines his head once and continues on as though nothing has happened.
The servants of the palace like me. That, I have learned, is a form of power all its own.
By noon, the rumor will be everywhere. Whispered over trays and behind doors, passed like a shared indulgence.
Prince Colsar, it will be said, suffers from an affliction of the loins.
When I return to my chambers, my mood lifts at once. Maridale is waiting for me, her barely contained excitement tucked behind proper composure.
“They’ve arrived,” she says, lowering her voice.
My heart lifts before I can stop it.
“They were brought through the service gate,” she continues. “Quietly. No fuss.”
I do not bother pretending indifference.
“Torsin?” I ask.
Her smile breaks through at last. “He’s already being shown the Prince’s stables, and he was trying very hard not to grin. And Emva is in the kitchens. She cried, Your Highness, though only a little.”
I close my eyes for a brief moment, the relief intense enough to sting. “They’ll be paid,” I say. “Fairly. And housed nearby?”
“Yes.”
“And no one is to remind them where they came from.”
Maridale nods at once. “They’ll be treated as palace staff. Nothing less.”
When she leaves, I sit down slowly, the quiet pressing in again. They are safe, and I am not alone. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, soft and pleased and entirely unprincesslike. This, I think, is what power should be for.
I drift into the smaller chamber adjoining my rooms, the one used for lessons, dressing, and whatever private work I do not wish the rest of the palace to watch. A table has been cleared near the window, upon it rests a neat stack of wood blocks, and a carefully arranged collection of tools.
A young male servant waits beside them, smiling nervously. “The items you requested, Your Highness.”
I thank him and dismiss the room. At last. I set to work, carving without hurry and letting instinct guide my hands.
Small figures take shape, totems and miniatures, things that exist for no purpose beyond being made.
I paint them in soft washes of color, staining my fingers as time slips quietly out of reach.
I am still working when a soft knock comes at the door. A woman enters, tall and elegant, with long dark hair and an open, intelligent expression. “I am Brinette,” she says gently. “Your royal companion.”
I do not know who sent her, but someone in the royal family has decided I require guidance. She moves through the room with quiet assurance, speaking easily as she tells me she is a relation of the Duke of Opithin, as though it is simply another fact among many.
Within an hour, we are laughing together like conspirators, the formality between us slipping without effort. She studies my cluttered table, one brow lifting. “You should request an additional chamber,” she says. “For wardrobe storage and anything you would prefer kept private.”
“For clothes?” I ask, amused.
“For privacy,” she replies. “So no one starts circulating theories about you keeping a carpenter in your bed.”
I laugh outright.
“You would be astonished,” she adds dryly, “at what someone like Esmeraldis can invent and make sound credible.”
By the time she departs, I am almost disappointed to see her go.
Dinner preparations are announced shortly after. I am brushing my hair when the door opens and Colsar enters without waiting for permission. “I know you are upset about last night,” he begins.
I laugh. “Upset?” I say lightly. “Why would I be upset?”
“Because I was with another woman instead of you on our wedding night.”
I turn, still smiling. “Why would I care?”
His jaw tightens. “You came looking for me.”
“Yes,” I say pleasantly. “I did.” I meet his eyes then, calm and unflinching. “Because despite your disdain, there was still a foolish part of me that wanted to please you. To give myself to you. To wake beside you.” I step closer. “And then I saw you. And I realized you were right all along.”
His breath changes.
“In truth,” I continue softly, “I deserve more than that. And since this is how you have chosen to behave, I will simply return the courtesy.”
“There is a contract,” he snaps.
“Yes,” I say. “There is.” I adjust a pin in my hair. “It requires heirs. It requires that you be first. It says nothing about kisses. Nothing about touch. Nothing about pleasure.”
I smile. “There are many ways to experience desire, Majesty.”
“If you violate the terms,” he snaps, stepping closer, “I will send you back to where you came from.”
I laugh quietly. “And shatter your court’s faith in the middle of a war? While your brother remains unwed and heirless?”
I lower my hand. His eyes darken.
“Now that I am unveiled,” I add, “others will notice. They will want what you have. And your brother would likely be more than willing to take what you discard.”
He moves closer still. Too close. His voice drops, rough and furious.
“You think you can provoke me and walk away unscathed?”
“I think,” I reply evenly, “that you already know you cannot touch me without wanting me.”
He inhales, his control fracturing just enough for me to see it.
“If you try to return me to my father,” I continue, “I will tell this court how I was hidden, how I was veiled despite clearly being trueborn.” I gesture toward my golden eyes. “My father will be ruined, and you will lose his armies while the Threns press closer.”
I step closer. “So keep your lovers,” I say coolly. “I do not want you.”
I lean in, close enough that my mouth brushes the skin above his collar. For a moment, it looks like something else, something softer, something he might mistake for invitation. He lifts his arm, but before he can reach for my waist, I step back.
“You still smell of them.”
He reacts instantly, eyes blazing. “You are my wife.”
“For now,” I agree.
“You will give me heirs.”
“Mm,” I say softly. “I might.” I pause, then add with precision, “But you will have my body only when I can endure the thought of you touching me.” I smooth my sleeves.
“You will have my virtue when I find a man worthy enough to occupy my thoughts when I am forced to lie beneath you.” I meet his eyes once more. “I may have already met him.”
His restraint finally cracks. He reaches for my wrist, then stops short, as though remembering himself. “I will not be mocked,” he growls.
“And yet,” I say gently, “here we are.”
I turn away. “I will attend the theater tonight with your cousin. He seems quite lovely.”
He glares at me for a moment. “The air in that place bites,” he says.
“I don’t mind being bitten,” I say casually.
The air between us thickens, and I enjoy the look of hunger that passes over his face.
Then I smirk. “But you wouldn’t know that, now would you, husband?”
His hand flexes once at his side, his breath pulling in tight.
I secure the final pin in my hair and glance at him over my shoulder. “By the way,” I add lightly, “Jessamy was the one you enjoyed last night, yes?”
His silence is answer enough.
“Since you were so…captivated,” I continue, “I thought you might prefer to dine with her this evening. I had Maridale send an invitation on my behalf.”
His expression twists. “And where will you dine?” he demands.
I move close, just long enough for him to feel the loss when I step away. “Careful, Prince,” I murmur. “You almost sound as though you care.”