Page 43 of Of Song and Scepter
I lean my shoulder against the wall, feigning interest. “I have no opinion on the color of a flower,” I say. “But your gown looks lovely, Mother. Should I have mine done to match?”
The handmaids titter at my comment. A few of them blush. One pricks my mother with a pin and receives a swat on her wrist from the irritated queen.
“Funny, Soren. But you’ll be in white. Your suit has already been ordered.”
Just as well. I cannot stand the color pink.
The dream resurfaces, Enna’s mouth hungry and wide, her pink tongue licking my blood from her fangs. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. I shouldn’t be dwelling on it. If last night’s incident in the kitchen didn’t make things clear enough, the handmaid’s grip on my attention is dangerous. I’m unbalanced. Out of control.
I shouldn’t be asking her out to dinner. I shouldn't be dreaming of her or considering the color of her tongue.
Enna is the attendant of my betrothed. My betrothed, who, once queen, will likely still want to keep her close. I see no reason for Aris to send away her one memento from home.
Which means my beach dancer will be around a while. I flex my jaw at the thought. How many nights will I dream of her wicked mouth? How many days will I spend trying to banish her image from my waking thoughts?
“Soren?” My mother’s voice penetrates my uncomfortable reverie. My eyes focus on the new bloom Clio twirls in front of my face, a softer shade of coral more in line with the traditional colors of our kingdom.
“Looks nice,” I say.
The queen pins me with a look. “That settles it,” she says. “Miss Clio, be a dear and show us the fabric for the aisle drapes.”
The housekeeper retrieves several swaths of ivory fabric from the chest on the floor and drapes them over each of her arms. She holds them out for my mother to test their texture.
The queen studies each one intently. “Too dull,” she says of the first one. She picks at the fabric with a long fingernail. “This quality has certainly suffered of late. Make a note to investigate the modiste’s supply chain. This won’t do.”
“No need,” I say, pushing off my perch on the wall. “The modiste is likely suffering from the broadkelp shortage, Your Majesty.” I pinch the fabric between my fingers, noting its roughness. “The Kingdom of Estuary has been low on its quota for the past season. Our beloved modiste would appreciate some grace, no?”
The queen inclines her head, eyes shining. “I stand corrected. Well done, my prince. You’ve been attentive.”
I grunt, re-crossing my arms. “Mother, if you have this all sorted, I will trust your opinions and take my leave.”
“Your wedding is in a week, Soren. Do you not wish to have a say?”
Where is the time going?If I had a say, there wouldn’t be a wedding. I would take the throne without a queen at my side, then take my time finding a love match with which to continue the royal line.
She frowns at my silence, then says to Clio, “I believe we are ready for your report.”
The handmaids remove my mother’s gown and shuffle out of the room, leaving us alone with the housekeeper.
“I’ve discovered some interesting things, Your Majesty,” Clio says. “I’m not sure if you consider themsuspicious,as you asked me to watch out for, but I find them… confusing.”
“Waste not the time of the crown, Clio. Spit it out if you have something to report.” The queen’s voice is sharp and cutting.
Clio hides her flinch behind a gentle cough. “I’m not familiar with Abyssal customs, Your Majesty. So it may just be a cultural difference. But the princess absolutely insists that her magic-wielding handmaid give her baths personally. She will not allow one of our own maids to come near her. Not to bathe her, not to dress her.”
The queen considers Clio’s suggestion. “Is there something wrong with her form? She is beautiful from what I’ve seen, but underneath, perhaps?”
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty. I’ve only ever seen her in a towel.”
“Could be harmless modesty but please continue your observation of this matter. What else?”
“She’s receiving private dance lessons.”
“And?”
“From her handmaid,” Clio says, and my ears prick with interest. “The handmaid is a good dancer, but the princess, well. I’ve seen better. And then she—”
I break my silence. “You ladies mean to say you’ve been spending your time digging up dirt on my betrothed instead of more important matters?”
