Betrothed (25 page)

Chapter Eleven

Seri took her time returning to the castle, knowing what would be waiting for her. She meandered in the courtyard, desperately wanting to see Rilen again, to tell him that Meluoe knew of his plans and that now Graeme would too. And that hopefully she could stop this crazy war before it was too late.

Still, when no one came to drag her back to the thick stone walls of the keep, she eventually returned to her rooms, waiting to see if Graeme would meet her there. He did not. Worried, Seri let Idalla fuss over her, taking a long, cool bath and washing her hair.

“What happened to your lip, my lady?” Idalla’s face was worried. “Did someone… did someone bother you?” Her face whitened. “Shall I fetch the prince’s guards?”

Seri shook her head, feeling like the worst kind of liar. “It’s nothing, Idalla. One of the… horses accidentally reared back and hit me. That is all.” The lie came to her easily, and the servant seemed to believe it, fussing over Seri as she dressed her in the long, restrictive formal gowns of the Athonites. So lost in thought was she, torn between conflicting emotions, that she almost missed what Idalla said.

“—waiting for you.”

Seri shook her head and gave Idalla a faint smile as the servant twisted her hair into a braid. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Her hands nervously tugged at the high collar of the gown as it itched under her chin, rubbing the spot on her neck raw.

“The prince has asked for you to have dinner with him this evening.” She grinned. “Insisted on it. If I had to guess, he’s missing your company, mistress.”

You’d miss your guess
, Seri wanted to say but forced a wan smile to her cheeks. “Thank you, Idalla. You’re very kind.”

“Not kind, mistress.” The woman seemed puzzled. “You’ve helped me out so much, I cannot thank you enough. My world is much better now that you’re in it.” She beamed with pride.

At least that is one
, Seri thought darkly, and smoothed her damp palms along the shimmering, itching fabric of her dress. Briefly, she longed for one of the thin, cool shifts she used to wear to plow fields. How different she seemed from that girl now. “I’m ready,” she said quietly. Ready to face her fate. She smiled at Idalla and reached over and clasped her hands. “And I am glad to have you in my life as well, my friend.”

The maid’s eyes teared up. “You are too kind to a mere servant, lady.”

“And so were you, once upon a time.” Seri smiled.

The maid offered to lead her down the myriad paths of the castle to where Graeme was waiting for her, and Seri agreed. The gown swished around her legs as she walked, feeling heavy and uncomfortable. The fabric was shot through with gold thread, and the servants had exclaimed over the beauty of it—and the slenderness of Seri’s figure without the corset. To them, she was daring rebellion, setting a clever trend.

How funny that she had fought over the clothing when she had first arrived here, as if that had mattered. As if choosing to wear a corset or not could change how the world would play out.

The soft sound of laughing voices carried through the halls, and Idalla led Seri to the chamber, one she had been to before, days ago when this whole thing started. The maidservant opened the double doors and bowed, and Seri entered alone.

The dining hall was full of the Blood and their companions. Athoni nobles lined the elegant tables, and women laughed merrily, taking dainty bites of food as they gossiped with their partners. The plates of some of the men were empty, Seri noticed, but they drank from dark red goblets that held an ominous liquid. She knew what it was now.

Seated at the head of the table, pale and wan in a sea of white faces, sat Graeme, lording over all. Her heart skittered in her chest at the sight of him. No plate sat in front of him, no wineglass of blood. The seat next to him was empty.

Across from him, her eyes accusing, Meluoe stared at Seri. Next to her sat her mother, and after her, Lady Mila.

Graeme’s eyes flicked to her figure, but he did not get up. The cheerful laughter died, but the whispers continued. As she stood in the doorway, she watched Lady Mila lean over to the queen and murmur something behind her hand, and the queen’s gaze sharpened as she regarded Seri.

The urge to run out of the room was overwhelming, but she forced herself to lift her skirts and take small, measured steps like the Athoni women did, crossing the endless hall and approaching the empty seat that was for her. Her body felt encased in ice, her heart slowing. Why, after all that had happened, were they back to this selfsame drawing room where everyone stared at her as if she were a servant dressed up in a noble’s clothes.
They went around this circle endlessly
, she thought sadly.
Every time we make progress, here we are back at the beginning, eyeing each other like wary strangers.

She took her seat and forced herself to sit down gracefully, clasping her hands in her lap to hide their trembling and meeting the eyes of the staring court with dignity. They would not see how nervous she was.

“Good evening, my wife.” Graeme’s voice was smooth and relaxed, cold as the snow that capped the distant mountains. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the servants that waited nearby with trays, “have something to eat.”

“I am not hungry,” she said, quiet. She could not eat now—her stomach was doing nervous flutters so rapidly that she thought she might be sick. Indeed, even the smell of roasted lamb was making her stomach turn, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bolting from her chair.

“You look pale,” he commented. “Could it be that betrayal does not sit well with you?” His words were casual, but the way his hands clenched the arms of his chair, she knew he was furious. He stared at her lip, and Seri put her hand to it with shame, feeling the swollen, tender puffiness.

The dining room fell into silence at that. Seri glanced at Meluoe, distressed, but the princesse would not meet her gaze. She drank from a clear goblet, then pushed her chair out. “I must go,” Meluoe said, rising from the table. She hurried away in a swirl of dark blue skirts.

She could feel the eyes of the court boring into her, making her skin crawl. The painful knot in her stomach grew, and nausea touched the back of her throat. “Graeme,” she said, desperate to get away from the prying gazes and that overwhelming scent of lamb. “Please… may we talk privately? Somewhere else?”

She expected him to refuse her request so he could blast her in front of everyone here, humiliate her publicly like she had him. But to her surprise, he gave a sharp nod and stood, shoving his chair back violently. “Come with me, then.” He offered his arm, the courtly gesture at odds with the barely restrained violence that vibrated through him.

Seri took it, letting him lead her from the main hall and through the doors. She scarcely paid attention to where he led her, lost in her own troubled thoughts and the nauseated turning of her stomach, so she was surprised when he led her into his study and shut the door behind them.

They were alone together.

She pulled away from him and walked to the far side of the room, her hand pressed to her upset stomach as she waited, tense, for him to accuse her. Her eyes focused on the endless rows of old books laid out on the shelves, the symbols that meant writing blurring along their spines. She could hear him moving behind her, and her back grew ramrod straight as she waited for him to touch her.

He didn’t.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Seri said, trying to keep her voice light, but it came out as a hoarse croak instead. “Reprimand me? Berate me for not screaming out that one of the enemy had infiltrated your castle the moment I was aware of it? Rail at me for not demanding that the man I once loved give himself over to the enemy?” Tears pricked at her eyes again and she forced them back, clenching her hands into fists. “You will pardon me if I did not run to you right away. Unlike Meluoe, my path is not as clear as that.”

But he said nothing, and she grew uneasy staring at the book covers and turned back to him. “Well?”

He sat on the edge of his desk, an oddly casual pose for her stiff and proper husband. The look on his face was inscrutable. “Come here,” he said when she faced him.

Hating herself for following his directions, she did so, sidling up to him with wary caution.

When he lifted his hand, she flinched out of nervous tension, and his aura grew bright with anger. His fingers reached out and brushed her bruised lip, and he studied her face. “Odd that I have never hurt you, and yet you flinch when I raise my hand. But your lover can do such things to you, and you would defend him at the cost of hundreds of lives.”

She averted her face. “He’s not my lover.”

Graeme’s hand dropped. “No matter,” he said, the ice returning to his voice. “Everyone here at court thinks he is, so I imagine that will be enough to fuel the rumors for quite some time.”

“What do I care what they think?” Her eyes flashed defiance. “Why should that matter to me?”

He seemed defeated, sad, as he studied her face. “It doesn’t. It never has, has it, Seri?” His head tilted slightly and that beautiful face, haloed by the brilliant aura, watched her. “You have never cared what any of us thought of you, have you?”

Not true
, she wanted to scream, but she was too wounded and upset. “Never,” she said instead, and watched his aura flicker and die, even as her own throbbed with a mix of emotions.

Silence fell between them. Then he said simply, “I’m sorry.” She heard the rustle of clothing as he stood, then felt him press a kiss on the back of her head. “You shouldn’t have to make these sorts of choices, Seri.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, she should not, but he moved away from her and she turned to watch him leave the room.

He swayed as he reached the doorway, and her aura immediately pulsed in response. “Graeme,” she said, rushing to his side, “are you sick?”

Graeme’s gray eyes turned to her, the look in them scathing, and she flinched away. It was a stupid question of her to ask—she knew why he was sick. He wasn’t feeding.

Her recoiling reaction made it worse, and he jerked back from her. “I’m sorry I frighten you.” With that, he clung to the door handle and slammed out of the room.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say he didn’t frighten her, that she loved him and she was terrified for him, but she couldn’t force her throat around the words, and she watched him leave in bitter silence.

~~* * * ~~

She spent the rest of that evening in a fitful sleep, and when daylight came, she wandered the halls of the castle as the Athonites turned to their beds. Today, the uprising would happen. The silent corridors bothered her, but on a level that she couldn’t explain. Every heavily veiled window she passed, she checked outside to see if she could spot anything, but there was always only warm sunlight that stretched over the plains and silence in the village below.

It was almost as if it did not exist, this burgeoning war. Just the thought of it was enough to set her stomach on edge again and she paused to lean her forehead on the cool stone walls.

“Is that you, Seri?”

She glanced over at the familiar voice, saw her sister Josdi, her arm linked with that of Graeme’s servingman, Viktor. When he spotted her, his face darkened into a look of cold dislike, and she didn’t blame him for it. “Josdi,” she said weakly. “What are you doing here?”

“Viktor is escorting me to visit Father,” she said, an adoring look on her face for the man who held her arm, so painfully obvious it made Seri’s heart ache to see it. “Were you going to visit Father too? He’s been asking for you.”

Shame swept over Seri that she had not found the time in her misery to go and visit her sick father. “Of course,” she said, latching onto the excuse. “Let’s go together.”

With Viktor as their escort, they wandered silently down the long hall, heading toward the priest quarters. The priests did not seem surprised to see Josdi or Viktor, though they did take deep bows at the sight of Seri.

Her father was in a small, airy, sunlit room at the edge of the priest quarters, separated from the other sick patients. The heavy drapes were drawn back, allowing the light to flood in. He looked healthier, Seri noted with relief. Color had returned to his face, and his cheeks were no longer hollow with the lack of healthy meals. He even sat up in bed and gave Seri a fragile smile as she approached. The hand that clasped her extended one was warm and dry.

“My daughter,” he said softly. “You look beautiful. Radiant like your mother. Will you sit with me?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, words and greetings clogging in her throat, unable to break free.

Her father seemed to sense her struggle. “Radiant,” he amended, looking at her bruised lip. “But so unhappy. Is it your new husband? Has he hurt you?” He looked meaningfully at Viktor and Josdi.

Viktor took the hint. “Come, Josdi,” he said. “Would you like to take a quick walk outside? I think your father would like a few minutes alone with your sister.” At her happy agreement, he took her by the arm and escorted her away.

Seri watched them go with an ache in her heart, staring enviously at their two heads bent together, like loving conspirators. Lucky Josdi, that she was so blind she could not judge a man by his looks or his breeding, and it did not matter to her the ugly looks the court gave her.

“You are unhappy,” Seri’s father stated again.

She turned back to him, her lip trembling. She nodded. That simple motion seemed to crumble her defenses, and she burst into noisy sobs, leaning forward into her father’s arms and letting him comfort her like he had when she was a child, patting her on her richly brocaded shoulders as if she were young and barefoot again, not the miserable princesse she had been of late.

She told him everything, of Rilen’s murder of Kiane, of the betrothal and the aura that covered her, even now. Of the Blood and their need for the daughters that only she could give him. Of Graeme’s unfailing kindness to her and being forced to choose between him and the Vidari, over and over again.