Chapter Seventeen #4
A possessive hand gripped his shoulder. I immediately knew who it belonged to.
The woman at King Philippe’s side wore no crown.
I had never met another Venusborn besides Roland, and apart from him, she was the loveliest person I’d ever seen.
They were competing suns. Her shell-pink hair was a shade lighter than his, her lips full and wanting.
All her features were supple, but I couldn’t guess at her age.
Somehow, she appeared both young and worldly to me.
The courtiers kept a respectful distance from the dais.
Their hoods were pulled back further from their foreheads than mine was, showing more hairline, more neck, more rouge-stained cheeks.
Their bodices were tugged lower. When they curtseyed, their foreheads nearly brushed the floor and their arms splayed wide, like birds taking flight.
Marguerite released Philippe’s shoulder and moved her hand to his hair, combing it absentmindedly. The king was merely curious, but in Marguerite, a long-burning anticipation rose up. Her amethyst eyes shone as she beheld Roland again, just as mine must have.
As Roland straightened to his full, towering height, he clasped his hands behind his back. His voice was a caress. “It is an honor to return after so many years away.”
“The honor is ours, Lord Chancellor,” Philippe said. “How is His Majesty King Richard?”
Roland’s smile was brief. “He is well. Resting. His new wife is proving to be a tiring diversion.”
“How pleased I am to hear it.”
“And who is this?” This from Marguerite, who had stepped off her throne. Her accent somehow made our language sound more sensual.
“My advisor,” said Roland. He was trying to haze the truth of how long we’d known each other.
“Oh?” Her tone was mocking. She waved a hand, inviting me forward.
Roland darted a glance at me, a warning in his eyes.
Careful. I had to be careful. “My name is Bianca Mortlake.”
“Speak up, please. We can hardly hear you.”
I cleared my throat. “I am Bianca Mortlake, advisor to the lord chancellor.”
I hoped that was all that would be required of me. Yet she tipped forward on her toes, waiting for more.
Her eyes drew a bridge between me and Roland, and she smiled.
“I had heard whispers of a Moonborn girl in Alvion, but Roland never mentioned you. And he is ever so detailed in his letters to me, aren’t you?
Or as much as he can be, given his new status.
Welcome,” she said. “I do so enjoy making new friends. Tonight, I’m sure you’d prefer to rest after the journey, but tomorrow we have prepared a banquet in your honor, and I hope you’ll join me in my chambers for games. ”
I strongly suspected her idea of games would not involve cards.
And there was nothing I would enjoy less than socializing in this woman’s den, the smoke coiling as hours whiled away.
We had a greater purpose here. Roland’s enemies lay in wait.
Only nine days until the Moon was in Virgo—and the sky matched the star chart we’d found.
“Marguerite.” Roland stepped in front of me. “I’d be honored to join you, but—”
She held a hand up, silencing him. Their respective power overwhelmed the other. Which direction should I look? Even the king didn’t seem to know. He too glanced back and forth.
Marguerite strode from the dais, her smile widening as she drew nearer. “You’ll come,” she insisted, softly cupping my cheek.
I felt it, then. All my desire compressing into one essential need. Sudden hunger clawing at my senses. Yes. I’d come. I’d like to be closer to her. To inhale her, even subsume her. She would taste of rose water, oranges, sweat on bedsheets.
“May we?” I whispered, grasping Roland’s arm. “I’d like to go.”
Roland glanced down at my hand, then back at Marguerite. “Stop it, Marguerite. Now.”
She blinked innocently. “But why? What is she to you?”
Voice low and strained, he said, “You already know what she is to me.”
“Yes. Your advisor.” Marguerite laughed. “I’d forgotten how noble you always insisted you were, Roland dear. Do you still refuse to use this particular skill?” She took another step, her nail grazing his cheekbone. “You could be so much more.”
The entire court watched, and no one seemed particularly concerned, not the maids of honor with their coy smiles, not the king.
So why should Roland be? He gripped my waist, steadying me as I peered up at him in confusion.
“Yes, I refuse,” he hissed. “I think it’s a base form of magic.
I think a magician can fall no lower. Let her go. Now.”
It was as if she snipped a ribbon inside of me.
I fell back against Roland, returning to myself, my entire world widening until she was no longer the focus.
I remembered that I’d only had ship gruel the entire day, that my eyes were heavy—every protest and ache in my body returned.
My wants and needs scattered in all directions.
Beneath my hand, Roland trembled.
As I understood the power she’d wielded over me, I was not angry. I only felt foolish. Prospero had told me long ago that magic was simply will, and power a matter of whose will was stronger.
I reached for her mind, my grip so sudden she gasped. I gathered all of my self-doubt, years and years of it, a voice whispering “so weak,” hissing “no fight in you,” and threw all of my own emotion back at her. Tears welled in her eyes. Her mind struggled and writhed under my hand.
“Enough,” she finally snapped.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my canines lengthening. “I thought you had invited us to play.”
She smiled at me. I smiled back. We recognized each other now.