Betrothed (20 page)

All she could think about was that she’d made a horrible, horrible mistake. They’d killed Kiane – her sweet, trusting Kiane – and she’d let them go. She hated herself for it, but she felt trapped. How could she betray Rilen and her people by letting the Athon condemn them?

And yet, how could she let them go? Bile rose in her throat.

Once inside, Graeme released her hand, flinging her away from him. “You little fool,” he sneered. “Do you realize what you have done with your pathetic little show?”

She turned away, hugging her arms to herself as he spoke, unable to look him in the eye. Tears threatened but she dug her nails into her palms, fighting them back. Oh, she knew very well.

“Now those Vidari rebels will think they are protected by the throne, because the princesse is one of them. They will attack more women, steal more cattle, and be such a menace that I will be forced to put the entire city in a military state. You have not calmed things—you have only made them worse!” His voice rose to a near shout, his aura black and smoky around him.

“What would you have me do?” she yelled back, her fingers clenched. A sob tore from her throat. “Would you have me order my friends, my people, murdered? Destroyed by my own hand? Would you have me do that? Is that what you want? To have me renounce all of who I am? I cannot condemn those I love to death. I can only hope that the Vidari will mete a suitable punishment.”

“They will not punish them,” he sneered. “You saw their faces. You let them walk free, all because you feel allegiance to them.”

“I am Vidari,” she shouted. “Of course I chose them!”

He straightened to his full height, towering over her. His gray eyes were ice. “You are now a ruler of those people, however pathetic your tribe may be. I expect you to make the right decisions, not to base decisions on the fact that you lust after a rebel farm-boy.”

She slapped him, her dark hand cracking against his pale cheek. “I will always choose them over you,” she raged, sobbing furiously. Guilt over her decision warred with frustration…and shame. “I am one of them. Always! They are my people and I will always be Vidari!”

He stared at her, saying nothing. His mouth was a firm, disapproving line, and the red outline of her hand rose on his cheek.

She could stand it no more. Grabbing the long, confining skirts that tangled her legs, she picked them up and fled from the room, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Everything was wrong, so wrong. Everywhere she turned, she made the wrong decisions. She was expected to help the Vidari, to bow to the Athonite rulers, to bed a prince of the Blood and give him her hand in marriage.

Everyone wanted something from her, and she found herself trapped on all sides, with no one to turn to.

~~* * * ~~

He did not come to her bed that night.

~~* * * ~~

Depression swept over her. Kiane’s death rang through her mind, over and over again. She saw her servant in her dreams, begging for mercy. She saw Rilen’s face splattered with blood. Sometimes in the dream, it was herself in Kiane’s place.

Sometimes, it was Graeme.

And always, always the dream flashed back to the courtroom, and she chose to save Rilen, because that was the right thing to do. And always, she woke up retching and sick at heart. It was the right thing to do for the Vidari, she told herself, but she knew in her soul that she’d chosen wrong.

She couldn’t go back, either. So she lay in bed and moped.

For the next few days, Seri did not see the prince. She kept to her chambers like a coward, unwilling to face the world. Graeme did not come to their bed, no matter the hour, and her aura throbbed and pulsed with anxiety to the point that her eyes grew sensitive to the soft light.

She wondered how it affected Graeme, this chosen abstinence. It made her cranky and irritable, and her head constantly throbbed, which she blamed on the betrothal. Gnawing, angry jealousy bit at Seri as she wondered if he’d decided that Lady Aynee would be a better companion than her. Mentally, she would picture the prince in her arms, their pale legs tangled together. Then she hated herself for even caring, which threw her into further despair.

A pall had fallen over her happy chambermaids. Idalla was silent and listless, and Vya’s eyes were red from crying. She wiped her nose constantly when she thought no one was looking. They looked at Seri very differently, now. Before, they’d met her with cheer and patience. Now they were silent, sullen. Resentful. And she couldn’t blame them. She’d let Kiane’s murderers go free.

How could they not resent her? She understood it, even if it hurt.

The priests came to see her every day, to chant over her and remind her of important ceremonies she needed to be at, blessings to oversee. Seri chose to stay in bed. Let Graeme handle it all without her. She just made things worse.

During the daylight hours, when the curtains were drawn and she was in her bed alone, she allowed herself to cry over Rilen and what he had done and the terrible things she’d said and done for him.

After three days of ceaseless self-pity, Seri awoke in the middle of the daylight hours as Idalla shook her shoulder. “Someone is here to see you, Princesse.”

Seri sat up in bed, confused. Her aura pulsed. “Graeme?”

A look of pity crossed Idalla’s face. “No, my lady. His sister, the lady Meluoe, is here.”

Curious, Seri slid out of the bed and allowed Idalla to cover her with an ornate silken dressing gown. “Meluoe? I’d like to see her.”

Meluoe entered the room with little urging, striding confidently across the tile floor and heading to the window, throwing it open and revealing the blazing afternoon sun.

From her place in a nearby chair, Seri squinted and shielded her eyes, the light unfamiliar after missing it for so many days. “I thought your kind didn’t like the sunlight,” she said for way of greeting, then winced at how petulant it sounded.

The lady was not offended. Meluoe tied the draperies back and admired the scene outside the castle, sighing. “I don’t have a drop of the Blood in me, remember?” She looked over at Seri, cautiously. “And neither do you, as you see fit to remind all who will listen.”

Seri grimaced, her fingers fluttering to her forehead when a headache pressed on. Gods above, when had she become so frail and dainty as to ache when she saw the sunlight? The Athonites were doing this to her. “You don’t approve of my actions.”

“No. I don’t.”

“It is… difficult. You don’t understand.”

Meluoe swept over to her side, her yellow skirts fluttering. “Explain to me, then. Make me understand why you would humiliate my brother so and undermine everything he has done so far. Tell me why I should not be angry at you.” Her voice carried no anger, only frustration. “You are married to him.”

“Not by choice,” Seri said, her voice sharp. She looked outside at the too-bright window, full of sudden longing. The world was much simpler in the daytime, she thought. No shadows, no mystery, nothing but blazing light. “Do you want to take a walk with me?” She couldn’t hide the wistful note in her voice.

“Certainly,” Meluoe agreed. “If you will promise to share with me what has caused this terrible drama.”

Within a few minutes, Seri was dressed in her lightest walking gown—only three layers—and strolled arm in arm with Meluoe through the courtyard. A pair of guards followed behind them, and Seri suspected Graeme wanted to make sure she did not escape the prison of Vidara Castle.

“Where is Graeme these days?” Seri forced her voice to be light.

The lady gave her a knowing glance. “He has kept himself closeted with his vizier and his advisers. He has not seen other women.”

So she was so obvious? Seri flushed, then squinted at the hot sky overhead. “The men,” Seri said to Meluoe when they had walked a distance away from their guards. She kept her voice low. “One of them… he was to be my husband.”

Meluoe’s lips tightened. “I see. But you married my brother instead. You must give up your old hopes and dreams and focus on being a good wife to him and a good Eterna to the Athoni people. You are married to one of us now.”

She wouldn’t be able to make Meluoe understand, Seri realized. Not without confessing her terrible deeds. Not without telling her that she’d attempted to kill Graeme, and his sister would never understand that. So she said nothing.

“You should talk to my brother,” Meluoe said gently. “Tell him your worries. He will understand.”

Seri laughed, the sound hard and bitter. “Will he? I am not even important enough to merit a few moments of his vizier’s time. How will I manage to get some of my husband’s? The only time he is interested in seeing me is when he wishes to…” She choked on the words, unable to state that painfully intimate act aloud.

Meluoe frowned at her. “I still think you are wrong,” she said, but Seri wouldn’t listen to reason.

They walked for a bit longer but neither seemed in the mood, so they parted after a time. Meluoe kissed Seri on the cheek impulsively and squeezed her hands. “Do not be so sad. I for one am glad you are here.”

Seri smiled back and returned to her rooms.

Back in her chamber, Idalla and Vya were nowhere to be found. That was not surprising – they’d found many ways to avoid her since Kiane’s death. A tray of hot tea and her favorite sweet-pies had been left for her, however. It was a thoughtful gesture, and she hoped that maybe they’d forgive her once enough time had passed.

Then, maybe, she might be able to forgive herself for her terrible decision.

She picked up one of the sweets and idly moved to the window, staring out at the sunlit plain that stretched below the castle. There was so much room in the world, she mused sadly. Why couldn’t they share?

She ate only a few bites of the small pie. She had no hunger; everything tasted like ashes. Even the sweet filling that she normally found so pleasing tasted cloying in her mouth. After one more halfhearted taste, she put the tray aside and climbed into her bed to sleep, restless and unhappy.

Perhaps tomorrow things would not look so bad.

~~* * * ~~

Graeme rubbed his forehead in frustration. He couldn’t concentrate on the map in front of him, nor on what Jardish, his vizier, was droning on about. All he could think about was Seri, his savage little wife. Seri, dressed in the opulent clothes of the Athoni court and painfully out of place. Seri with soft brown eyes and a shy smile. Seri beneath him in their bed, her aura glowing, and the small sounds she made when he fed from her throat.

A low groan shot through him. Just that last image was enough to set his body to pulsing again with need, and his aura flared to life around him. His hands trembled slightly—he had not drunk the blood he needed to stay alive in three days, ever since he had fought with Seri. The thought of drinking from another woman right now seemed vague and unpleasant, even though Aynee had offered and been hurt when he declined.

He couldn’t explain to her that Seri bothered him to his core. That she was in his thoughts day and night, no matter what he tried to do. That he found his heart racing whenever she entered the room or gave him one of her rare, sad smiles.

“My lord, is everything all right?” Jardish cleared his throat and looked uneasily at the other advisers in the room. “You seem… unwell.”

Graeme straightened, reminding himself that he was in the presence of others. Always, always, he must remain strong. To show weakness in the Athoni court was akin to death. “A mere headache.” He flicked it away with a gesture of his hand and frowned at the markings on the map, covering the nearby Valley of Ud. “And you say that the tribes are coming from where?”

Jardish hesitated, then gestured once more at the map with a bony finger. He was clearly irritated by Graeme’s lack of interest. Jardish was the most self-important of his self-important court, but he was devoted to his job, and it didn’t matter if Graeme liked him or not. “The barbarians have been scattered on the eastern side of the mountains since they were conquered by your father a hundred years ago.” His finger circled a lake. “The majority of the wild tribes are here, but groups of them have settled outside major cities such as here in Vidara. The ones like your wife are the…” He paused, his mouth working over the words. “Civilized cousins.”

He thought of Seri’s hatred of the endless petticoats and corsets of Athoni women, and her bare feet under her ornate dresses. Civilized wasn’t wholly accurate. “Go on.”

“Over the past few months, scouts have reported seeing a surge in the savages as they head to the south. They seem to be migrating in this direction, Prince, just as your father feared. The uprising he suspected will not be long from now. Even as we sleep, they gather in the villages and plot against you.”

He thought of Seri and her soft brown skin and how she’d cried when he’d tried to force her to betray her own people.
“I will always be Vidari,”
she’d shouted to him and then run away, sobbing. He’d felt like an ass then. He should have never called her in to deal with the traitors, should have dealt with it himself, and quietly. The angry, jealous part of him had wanted to show her what her people were really like, though. Show her how violent and reckless they were so she would stop looking down on him and the Blood with such sneering glances. He wanted her to see that her people were after blood as well.

He wanted her to look at him with that quiet smile instead of sadness.

But it had worked against him instead, and now they were not speaking, and his entire kingdom was in an uproar. His nobles were baffled that he’d let the “murderous savages” get away with their crime, and in the town nearby, the rebels were inciting riots.

So much trouble in one small part of the kingdom. Graeme rubbed his throbbing temple again and stared at the map, wanting nothing more than to be back in his own bed, curled up next to Seri. Perhaps she’d let him kiss her tears away, and she’d turn to him with the same unholy need in her eyes that plagued him every hour of the day and kept him from sleeping.

“My lord, are you even listening?”