But he wasn’t smiling any longer. “Just so.”
A palpable discomfort settled over the room, and Seri realized she had insulted him. This was getting her nowhere. “I apologize if what I said—”
“Do not apologize.” Again, Prince Graeme turned those brilliant gray eyes on her, serious and unsmiling. “You meant no harm.”
She attempted levity. “At any rate, you do not look a hundred years old to me. Scarce a day over two and forty.”
Graeme gave her a faint, polite smile.
Seri tugged at her collar again.
“I must be going,” Graeme said, standing up from the small table. He hadn’t eaten even a bite of the delicious food before her. “There are many things that need to be taken care of before the wedding takes place in two days.”
She stood, following his lead and trying not to seem too overeager and thus make him suspicious. “Is there anything I can help with?”
He gave her a curious look and Seri flushed, hands flying to her choke-tight collar out of nervousness. “I get bored. That’s all. I’m used to staying busy.”
The prince gave her a curt nod. “I understand. However, you do not need to work in the fields any longer. You will be my wife and a princesse of the Athoni, and you will find that there are plenty of things to keep you busy.”
So she was expected to sit on her hands all day long? Seri forced a sweet look to her face as she showed him to the door. “I understand.”
He paused to look at her, and she could have sworn that the look on his face was mild surprise, though he tried to mask it. “Indeed.” He hesitated in the doorway, then put a hand to her cheek, barely brushing the strands of her hair back.
The feel against her skin was alarmingly intense—her breath was nearly sucked out of her lungs at the small gesture and her body flared to life. And to her surprise, he waited in the doorway, then leaned over and kissed her mouth.
She hadn’t given much thought to the physical aspects of marrying the cold, silent prince. Perhaps that was why this kiss burst through her angry reserve and took her breath away. It was nothing more than a gentle press of the lips, the tasting of his mouth against hers, but it set her on fire and sent a tingle of sensation rushing through her.
They parted after a mere second, and Seri put a hand to her mouth, half wonder, half shock, and she was somewhat pleased to see that he shared her incredulous expression.
Even if it was only for a moment. He recovered swiftly and tilted his head in formal acknowledgment and dismissal. “Good day to you.”
As the door shut behind him, Seri continued to stand in the doorway, a hand to her tingling lips in surprise.
“It’s night,” she murmured to herself since no one was there to listen.
Chapter Seven
When Prince Graeme had told her that there would be things to keep her busy, Seri hadn’t quite imagined that it would involve dress fitting after dress fitting, and endless rounds of blessings with the Athoni priests.
For two days she’d been sent from chapel to chapel, meeting with every clergy they could dredge from the nearby cities, each offering their blessings to her and their marriage. It would seem that the blessings did not extend to the prince, for he did not show at any of these ceremonies.
Court duties, someone would tell her and leave it at that.
Nor did she see the vizier, or her family. Instead, she was surrounded by a constant stream of women, all poking and prodding and measuring her limbs, her feet, her hands, for whatever they planned to dress her in. Every piece of clothing was blessed, every ring and necklace, even down to the small jeweled clips that would be placed in her hair.
And now as she paced her chamber, dressed in the sumptuous red brocade wedding dress mere minutes before the ceremony, her thoughts were in an uproar. She’d long since ceased to think about the maids as they swarmed about her, braiding her hair and stranding it with pearls and silver. She hadn’t even complained when they’d put her in a light corset and eight starchy petticoats to make the skirts of her wedding gown bell outward and fall in a waterfall of a train sixteen feet behind her. She’d even sat still for the anointing of sacred oils on her neck and throat, and the endless blessings that the priests wanted to give her.
But as she waited in an antechamber for one of the priests to retrieve her, Seri wrung her hands. Her mind was a mix of terrible thoughts. She knew she should be thinking about Rilen and his plans for this evening. The dagger was under her pillow, ready. The red banner still hung from her window. The poison was tucked into her bodice, resting under her left breast. Rilen would come and get her tonight, after she’d murdered the prince in cold blood.
She shouldn’t feel guilty over that, she told herself. He was one of the enemy, sworn to oppress her people into starvation and indignity. He’d never have noticed she existed if it were not for this thrice-cursed betrothal, and that was the only reason she was here now. He was a lazy, cold bastard and she would be a hero once she freed her people from the Athonites.
But her hand strayed to her mouth and she thought of that brief kiss.
“My lady.” Idalla burst into the room, a swirl of skirts. Even the maidservants had been given gowns of muted red to match hers, and Idalla seemed beside herself with joyous excitement. “It is time! The priests are coming!”
Seri wrung her hands once, then smoothed them down her dress. Only a few more hours and she’d be free. A few hours.
In a few hours, would the prince kiss her again?
Or would her poison be too swift?
Forcing her mind from such thoughts, Seri forced a wan smile to her face. “I’m ready.”
“Not quite yet.” Idalla fussed, gathering her skirts and heading to Seri’s side. She fixed the high, standing collar of Seri’s dress. In a change from the normal, restrictive clothing of the Athonites, Seri’s wedding dress had a high collar that framed her face and her upswept, bejeweled hair, but left her neck and the swells of her breasts open and bare. “There. You’re beautiful, my lady,” Idalla said, and there were happy tears in her eyes.
Seri felt frozen in place, noting how golden her skin was against the thick, lush red of the fabric. “It should be Lady Aynee wearing this, not me. An Athoni lady, not me.” Her hands trembled with a mixture of fear and nervousness. Surely the gods had not
really
wanted this?
“Lady Aynee would not look half so exotic as you,” Idalla said, ever loyal. “She is pretty, but she is not right for the prince. You will win his heart this day, Princesse.”
Seri wanted to laugh hysterically at that and touched her breast, feeling the packet of poison underneath. She didn’t want his heart. She wanted him and his race to leave her lands and free her people.
But then the priests were in the room, chanting and blessing her, and the tallest one came to her side. He was dressed in an ornate white robe, vines clustered around the edges in thick embroidery. His face was lined and his eyes were kind as he took her hand. “Are you ready, my princesse?”
Seri touched the underside of her breast again and took a deep breath.
You do this for your people.
“I’m ready.”
Time seemed to blur past at that point; her eyes unfocused, and she let the priest lead her through the endless halls of Vidara Castle, there-but-not-really as they passed streaming bands of cheering people. First the servants, lined up outside the main hall, dressed in their Worship-day finery. Several had tears in their eyes and they touched her gown as she passed them, and she heard prayers from a hundred lips as she walked. Someone opened the double doors of the main ballroom, and the priest left her side, and she was alone in a sea of people, her heart pounding in her throat.
Somehow she forced herself to move forward, taking slow, measured steps as she passed the line of pale nobles dressed in their finery. They bowed as she walked past, her train scraping the ground and rustling behind her.
All she could see was the terrifying, beautiful figure of the man in front of her.
Prince Graeme stood at the base of the dais, waiting for her. He wore a brocaded tunic, though his was gold and trimmed with red. An ornate sword-belt covered his waist, and he wore a thick golden torque over his neck, encrusted with the symbols of the Athoni royalty. A thick red cloak swept over his shoulders, and he suddenly seemed immense to her, and she faltered.
Gray eyes focused on her and Seri felt trapped under that knowing gaze. It was like he could see deep down inside of her, and knew her fear and uncertainty. His expression did not change—it never did, and she knew why. Prince Graeme would never show his court any sign of weakness, any emotion, because it could be used as a tool, and he’d allow them no such leverage. But the hand he extended toward her meant something, she knew. She placed her own small, callused one in his and felt it enveloped in his cool grasp.
The priests came to the front of the dais, and Prince Graeme led her forward, clasping her other hand in his and holding it outward for the priest, who blessed their clasped hands and began to intone in a language Seri did not understand—the hard, jerky syllables of old Athoni.
Fear hammered in her heart. She was marrying an Athonite—their prince. The enemy. She was a traitor to her people for doing this. Her breath threatened to escape her, so terrified was she. The room swam as the priests grew louder, exultant, and the glow began to descend on them once more. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t breathe—
There was a gentle squeeze on her hand that startled Seri and brought her back to the present. Her eyes flicked to Prince Graeme’s impassive gaze as he regarded her. That calm, aloof demeanor reminded her, and she felt the small packet of poison chafe the underside of her breast. And she felt cold but resolved.
The glow around them grew brighter and brighter until she could barely see for the light around them, the priests crying out their happiness. And when the last note was spoken, Prince Graeme raised her clasped hand above them as an intonation to the gods, and the fierce glow softened to a dull, sweet color that surrounded them in a gentle bath of light.
And then the prince leaned over, and she thought he might kiss her, but instead, he opened her collar, revealing her scandalously bare neck. He leaned in—he smelled of clean soap and another scent she couldn’t recognize, a spicy one—and kissed her throat on the side. She didn’t understand the gesture, a purely Athoni custom, but the crowd burst into giddy murmurs and her own aura pulsed again, and a bolt of pure longing shot through her body at the gentle caress.
And then they turned to the audience, hands lifted, and it was done.
She was married to Prince Graeme of Athon.
Her enemy.
~~* * * ~~
There was dancing for the celebration ball, but she didn’t dance.
There was feasting, but she didn’t eat. She couldn’t. Her stomach was a mass of nervous knots and she did nothing but sip at the wineglass that was passed to her. They sat at the head table, alone, neither of them eating. Prince Graeme seemed almost as tense as she was.
The revelry seemed to go on forever until she saw dawn cresting through the windows overhead, and the sky was purple and pink with the rising sun. She stifled a yawn, her head swimming from the wine she had drunk.
Lady Mila and Lady Aynee approached the head table, surrounded by a flurry of other court women in bright dresses. Lady Aynee’s face was friendly as she smiled at Seri, and Lady Mila wore a smile as well, though Seri could tell that it was not, and would never be, friendly. “Is your lady finished with her dinner, Prince Graeme?” Her sweet tones carried over the boisterous crowd.
The prince looked over at Seri’s empty plate and her nearly empty wineglass. Her hand was still clasped in his, though her palm was sweaty and her fingers trembled. He leaned over their joined hands, whispering into her ear. “Do you wish to leave, Seri?”
It was the first time she’d heard him call her by name, and the effect was a startling one. Her stomach knotted again, and she felt the aura surrounding both of them flicker. It sent a pulse through her body, his soft words against her bare neck. “I…I don’t know.” Her head was beginning to ache from the wine and the noise, but she didn’t want to leave with the court women, and her hand tightened on his again.
He must have sensed her unease, for he stood and lifted her hands, bringing her to her feet as well. “The princesse is tired. Please see her to her chambers.”
A titter rose through the crowd, and Lady Mila gave the prince a knowing look. “Indeed. We shall help her prepare for… sleep, Your Grace.”
The crowd cheered when Seri arose, and catcalls filled the air. A blush rose on her face and she nearly froze with fear. She knew what would happen next. They all did. But she said nothing as the women grabbed her arms and led her through the ballroom and out of the throng, into the twisting passages of the castle.
Lady Mila babbled at her side, carrying on and talking so animatedly that it made Seri’s head swim just to hear the woman. She was saying something, but it was more directed at the women surrounding them—who hung on Mila’s every word—rather than Seri herself. If it were not for the hands clasping her arms and pinning her to them, she would have been forgotten.
Eventually the chattering party of women stopped in front of ornate double doors and Seri breathed a sigh of relief. Her corset itched and she wanted to get out of this dress and get away from the others so she could figure out the rest of her terrible plan.
But they wouldn’t leave her alone. The swarm of women carried her into the room, and to Seri’s dismay, it wasn’t her own chamber. “Where are we?” The room they were in was far more opulent, the ceiling overhead soaring with frescoes and finery. Ahead of her, there was an enormous bed with thick, heavy curtains pulled back and bright red sheets, the same color as her dress.
Lady Aynee’s calm voice rose above the other women’s as they began to unbutton her dress, chattering rapidly. “Why, Princesse, this is Prince Graeme’s chamber.” The easy smoothness of her voice suggested that she had been here many times, and that bothered Seri. “You will stay here tonight.”