Asteria In Love with the Prince (10 page)

The weirdest thing. The sense of relief that washed over me when I heard that had just a grain of something else in it: a hard little nugget of pain that hit me right in the gut. Disappointment.

“What would happen to me – if I walked around Asteria right now?”

“Nothing. You’d be with me.”

“But if I was on my own?”

He just looked at me for a second, as if to say,
are you sure you want to know?
I gave him a tiny nod.

“On your own, as an uncollared woman over twenty-one? You’d be arrested and taken to the slave market.”

My heart lurched. “And—”

“Rented or sold.”

My stomach lurched. Back in the dress shop, I’d realized that in Asteria every man would be openly lusting after me. Now I knew it was worse. Without the Prince’s protection, those same men could actually possess me – rent me by the hour. The fear actually neutralized some of the anger, leaving me numb.

“I—” I started.

“You don’t understand how we can be like that?”

“Yes.”

“I think that will change.” We were slowing down. We both looked up and saw the lights of the hotel sweeping up towards us. “Do you trust me, Lucy?” he asked quickly. And again, as in the limo in New York, I caught just a glimpse of how important that was to him. I had to think hard about it. I was angry with him, but in terms of trusting him, trusting him not to hurt me, to honor his promises…

“Yes.”

“That’s all I ask of you. The rest will follow.” And before I could say anything, a bodyguard was opening the door, plunging us into polite silence again.

***

I didn’t see him again that night. I went to my room and decided that what I needed to get my head straight was a very long bath. Fortunately the hotel took baths as seriously as I did: the corner tub was big enough to accommodate at least three people. I filled it deep, with water just the right side of scalding. There was mood lighting, so I switched it on: soft little white lights around the edge that left the bath floating in a black void. There was bubble bath, so I added that too. I was in that sort of mood.

When I was lying back, staring up at the dark ceiling, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I had to process everything that had happened.

Where did I stand?

I knew now how my relationship with Jagor would be: stolen moments and quickies behind unlocked doors. My life was changing fast: before the party I’d never even
had
a quickie. And it wasn’t just normal sex. Jagor had introduced me to something dark and wonderful, something that left me almost drunk with anticipation, just thinking about it. Ever since that first time at the party, when he’d controlled
me with his voice and gaze, I knew I wanted more. In his hotel room, standing naked behind the screen – that had taken it to the next level. The casino had been different: we’d both been desperate and eager, like teenage lovers. Next time, I had the feeling we’d be back to the domination games (was it even right to call them games?). I fingered the ring he’d given me. Would he give me call to use it?

I sank farther back, until only my nose was above the water, hair fanning out around me. What else? I’d got my wish: I now had a pretty good idea of what to expect when we got to Asteria. And I didn’t like it. Women as slaves, their destinies written by their sex? What would my liberal friends say: hell, what would
anyone
back in New York say? I tried to imagine life as Jagor’s slave. Him having absolute power over me. Providing for me. Dressing me.

Was that really so different from my life now?
I thought with a shock. I’d gone to the dress shop today, on his orders, and bought a dress on his credit line.

No.
That was completely different. Wives and girlfriends did similar things every day back in New York.

If I were a slave, I’d have to do anything he said, or risk his wrath. His punishment.

How would be punish me, exactly?

The thought should have appalled me. I knew of BDSM, of course: I may have a reputation as a librarian, but even librarians read books. But I wasn’t into that. I’d never been able to imagine any of my boyfriends dominating me.

Until now.

I thought back to the embassy and to his room at the hotel. It had felt like I was slipping into something familiar. What the hell did that mean?

I wondered what he’d make me do, the next time we were together. Whether it would be on his bed, or somewhere else. Whether he’d make me strip for him again, first. Would it be darker? Would there be pain?

I became aware of my hand. I wasn’t rubbing myself, but my hand was suddenly resting on my inner thigh.

I’d never really liked my body: breasts too small, hair too dark. But when he looked at me, I felt...beautiful. I thought of his eyes; the way they shone when he gazed at me.

If I were his slave, I’d have to do anything he said
. And this time, the idea didn’t seem so disturbing.

A low, twisting heat had started to build between my thighs, and the hand that was down there started to stray, brushing over my lips just below the surface of the water.
Anything he said.
What would that involve? Pain? Being tied up? I imagined myself naked, tied with rope to the four corners of his giant bed. Helpless and waiting. My fingers were stroking my lips;
between
my lips. I still hadn’t seen him naked – not even close to it. I imagined his body on mine, sliding up between my thighs.

I was still underwater, just my nose above the surface as my hips started to lift and circle. My other hand came up to caress my breasts: something I’d never done, before I met him.

I imagined him hulking over me, something in his hand that would cause me pain: a whip, a paddle. Me shuddering beneath him as he brought it down on me again and again.

I suddenly sucked in air hard through my nostrils, my body going tense. My feet pushed into the bottom of the bath and my back bent like a bow, water dripping from my mons as I arched and shook.

The idea of women being owned horrified me.

But the idea of me being owned by Jagor...

***

Two days passed. I spent most of my time in my room, translating treaties. It was a luxurious life, compared to the UN: heck, compared to anything. Every meal was served out on the terrace, with glorious views and fine wine to accompany the five-star food. My clothes were laundered, ironed and returned; my room was cleaned for me. I was free to concentrate on my work, and that seemed to be going well.

The only problem was the lack of privacy. Jagor was out most of each day, and around the hotel Medenko and the others were ever-present. I began to despair of ever getting a moment alone with him.

Then on the third day, I woke to a quiet knock at my door.
Jagor?
I panicked and looked for something to throw on. I’d been sleeping in just panties, due to the heat. I grabbed the hotel bathrobe, checked my hair in the mirror – awful – took a deep breath and threw open the door.

It was a waiter, bearing a breakfast tray. Beside the food was an envelope, the Asterian crest in one corner and my name in elegant, looping handwriting across the front.

I thanked the waiter, took the tray and shut the door with my foot. Flipping the envelope over, I found a red wax seal. He actually sealed his letters: who did that, these days? It seemed endearingly old-fashioned and somehow decadent, that he’d devote so much time and effort to something so simple.

Lucy,

I will be attending an event today. I would like you to become familiar with basic Asterian law: Medenko has a number of books that you should read. I will meet you in town tonight at 9pm to review what you’ve learned. There will be a delivery for you at some point this morning: this contains some additional treaty paperwork from Asteria. Please bring it when you meet me this evening: you will not require any of the other treaties.

He’d signed it “Jagor”, but it was incredibly formal. Why was he suddenly all business?

He was avoiding any evidence that we were lovers, I realized. What was he worried about: that someone would read his private mail and discover us; or that I’d run to the press with the story? Did he not trust me?

Breakfast was grapefruit, eggs and toast, with a pot of very good coffee. I hadn’t ordered anything. The idea of Jagor choosing for me held a whole new significance since our conversation in the limo.

When I’d eaten, showered and dressed, I went to see Medenko about the books. He’d taken over one of the hotel’s function rooms as his office: just a single desk in the middle of a cavernous space.

“The Prince would like me to review basic Asterian law,” I told him.

“Yes,” Medenko said, as if the idea displeased him, “He mentioned that.” I found him incredibly hard to read. He was always scrupulously polite, but I knew he considered me beneath him – certainly beneath the Prince. There was something else: something in the way he looked at me. He waved me to a chair. “We haven’t had a proper chance to talk. Come, sit with me.”

Every nerve jumping, I sat down. Medenko leaned back, lacing his fingers. He moved very gracefully for someone so old: slowly and smoothly, with just a hint that he might suddenly dart forward and wring your neck. He put me in mind of a praying mantis.

“How are you finding it?” Medenko asked. “Working with the Prince?”

Something about the way he said
working
made me jump to attention.
Did he know?

“Very—Excellent, thank you,” I managed. Was it just my paranoia? “Finally, I get to use my Asterian.” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

He ignored it.

“How long have you served the Prince?” I asked.

“Since he came of age,” Medenko told me, without emotion. “And his father, before that.”

I’d known that Medenko had a lot of pull, but maybe I’d underestimated how much. “You must know him very well.”

His smile had no warmth in it. “The Prince is...very different to his father. His father was traditional. He shied away from foreign diplomacy. He preferred to pursue...
internal
relationships.” He stared straight into my eyes. “Jagor, however, has set his sights further afield.”

My hands were resting neatly on my lap. I willed myself not to dig my nails into my knees. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He furrowed his brow. “It concerns me. The Asterian people are not fond of change. They would be distressed if they thought that their prince was engaged in inappropriate relationships. With the US, for example.” His eyes flicked down to my mouth. What was wrong with my mouth? Did I have lipstick on my teeth? God, had he seen my lipstick on Jagor’s collar, or neck, or something?

I nodded. “I could see how that would be a problem.” I felt like I was going to throw up.

Medenko leaned forward and gave me an icy smile. “I’m glad you do, Miss Snow. Or can I call you Lucy?”

I’d gone stiff: brittle, almost, like I’d shatter if I someone so much as touched me. “Lucy is fine.”

“Excellent. Here are the books the Prince wanted you to look at. I hope you enjoy your introduction to our ways.”

With a smile that felt painted on, I took the books and fled.

Back in my room, I tried to concentrate on my reading but my head was full of Medenko. It was obvious that he knew, or at least suspected. But what should we do about it? Call a halt to everything? Ignore him? I wished I could speak to Jagor.

There were three books. I don’t know what I’d been expecting: a textbook, perhaps: The Complete Beginner’s Guide to Asterian Law. What I’d got were three black, leather-bound volumes, written in language at once archaic and dense with legalese. Picking my way through it was like sieving a muddy river for flecks of gold in the dark.

Reading it was strange: seeing such completely alien concepts laid down in words was jarring: words like
collar
and
slave market.
But it had another effect, too. Seeing it written down made it real: not just some story told by Jagor, possibly exaggerated. This was another country’s culture, staring me in the face. And somehow, the weight of that: of knowing that millions of Asterians lived by this code every day, normalized it a bit.

I was so absorbed, I almost forgot about the delivery. A courier knocked on my door mid-morning with a large cardboard box. It was marked as airmail from Asteria: the sender name sounded like a legal firm.

Inside, beneath a protective covering of packing peanuts, were four tissue-wrapped packages. Unwrapping them, I found the most decadent lingerie I’d ever seen.

The first item was small – a pair of tanga-style panties. Black, made of pure silk, the delicate panels trimmed with lace. They were exquisitely made, but what made me gasp was how insubstantial they were: little more than a thin strip of fabric at the front and back and a narrow waistband to connect them.

The next package was much bigger, and heavier than it looked. Unwrapping it, I found a corset. Not some modern, nylon-and-elastic top in a corset shape: an actual, old-fashioned, metal-boned corset.

It was black, shot through with spider web-thin lines of shining silver, the firm bones covered with a smooth layer of silk that looked hand-stitched. I held it up in front of me. It covered me from about where the panties would start all the way up to my breasts, which would be lifted and squeezed. I swallowed. There would be a
lot
of cleavage on display.

There were laces at the back, threaded through sturdy-looking steel eyelets. I had visions of English ladies being cinched into these things by helpful maids. How was I supposed to do it on my own?

There were suspenders hanging down, too, ending in shining silver clips. In the box, I found a final package: black, sheer stockings – real silk ones.

I looked at the label again. It definitely sounded like a law firm. Jagor must have someone in Asteria to do the things he couldn’t: like ordering lingerie for his secret lover. Something twisted in my gut. It was all very slick. Did that mean he’d gone to a lot of trouble, or that he’d done this before?