Page 23 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

Illarion broke into a jog. ‘Katya!’ She’d been his muse once. Illarion had written wild, beautiful poetry dedicated to her. She’d been his friend, his confidante and inspiration. In many ways, he’d felt closer to her than he’d felt to anyone.

He was close now. He could see her creamy skin, silky skeins of dark hair hanging forward over her shoulders, framing luminous eyes, a beauty in death as she’d been in life. For her extraordinary looks, she’d been forgiven much by her uncle, the Tsar, even her association with him, the poet-rebel.

He reached for her, he could almost touch her.

She turned and ran deeper into the caves, her laughter drifting behind her. ‘Catch me, Illarion!’

He gave chase, calling out a warning, ‘Katya, wait, don’t!’

They were at the heart of the cave now, a limestone pool in its centre…

The old terror gripped him. He knew what would happen next. The dream always ended this way. Maybe this time it would be different…maybe this time he would find the words…

He always said that. It never mattered. He always failed.

Katya turned to him, this time with haunted eyes, the vibrancy gone from her. She looked as she had just two years into her marriage; she wore a tragic beauty now, her spirit a shadow of its former self. It was worn down by a marriage that had stifled her, imprisoned her—a marriage that had benefitted the crown of Kuban, but not her. She reached out a hand to him.

‘Katya, come to me. Step away from the water.’

His voice was hoarse, his throat was tight. He edged close to her, not wanting to frighten her.

‘Will you take me away? We can run away, Illarion. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where he can’t find me.’

She grabbed the fabric of her bodice in both hands and rent it down the centre, exposing white, perfect breasts. No, not perfect. Illarion froze.

‘See what he has done?’ There was an angry red brand at her right breast in the shape of a U.

‘He already suspects you and I are lovers. Why not make it real in truth? You were right, I should not have married Ustinov. I should have found a way to resist.’

Illarion swallowed hard against his anger. He would kill that bastard of a husband who had done this to her, who had wrecked this woman.

He nearly had her. ‘Step away, Katya. Come to me.’ He repeated his command, reached out his hand. ‘I will protect you.’

He would promise her anything, no matter how wild. He’d never got this close before.

‘I will challenge Ustinov.’ He was a good duellist—too good, in some opinions, from too much practice.

But the idea terrified her. It was the wrong answer.

She stepped backwards, the milky water of the limestone pool with its sharp, protruding stalagmites lapping at her hem.

‘He will kill you. I cannot risk you, Illarion, you’re all I have left.’ Her eyes went dark, a shadow crossed her face. ‘It is hopeless. There’s no way out, Illarion, not for me. The only freedom is death.’

Illarion went cold. He wished he’d never written those words. ‘No!’

He was too late. She held out her arms and let herself fall…

‘Katya!’

The sound of his own voice woke Illarion; his body sweating, his heart pounding. He had failed again. He sat up, hands trembling as he reached for the water beside his bed. He couldn’t pour it. The carafe crashed to the floor, shattering.

There was pounding on the door, Ruslan calling, ‘Illarion, are you all right?’ Ruslan pushed his way in, his robe unbelted, his hair unruly from sleep. ‘What’s happened, another nightmare?’

‘Glass.’ Illarion managed an incoherent warning.

‘Yes,’ Ruslan soothed. ‘I heard the crash. I’ll be careful. Let’s get you something to drink, something stronger than water.’ He hunted around until he found the decanter of samogan on the desk and poured a glass. Illarion felt like a child as Ruslan brought him the drink, keeping his own hand around his to steady the tumbler. Ruslan sat beside him, letting him drink in silence.

‘Was it Katya again?’ he asked quietly after a while.

‘I couldn’t save her.’ The old recriminations flooded back, the early grief, the early guilt when he’d heard the news. She’d gone to the caves alone, his presence was a manifestation unique to the dream, and drowned in the limestone pool. ‘I should have found a way to help her, to prevent the marriage from happening in the first place.’ General Ustinov was known as a brute. But the Kubanian Tsar had needed the alliance with the military commander to put down the threat of a coup. He’d sold Katya, his niece, to make the alliance.

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