Sterling (3 page)

I’d been introduced to an endless line of courtiers, so many I could hardly fathom how they’d all gotten to Engashta on such short notice, but none of them were Erich Talata.

I had not been raised with the social graces a lady of my stature ought to have. My mother, always ashamed of me, had rarely let me join in when she entertained. She had not wanted to ruin Stesi’s chances of a brilliant match. “Men might worry that their own children would suffer your affliction,” my mother had once confessed, as if I were a heritable disease.

I surveyed the room; the masked guests multiplied. The ball appeared to be a success. The knot of anxiety in my stomach eased.

It tightened again when Papa approached with a tall, slender woman on his arm. She was dressed in a silver sheath and a capelet glittering with glass beads. I suspected her diamond tiara and the gems on her mask were real. She could only be Tirienne Talata, my future mother-in-law.

I suffered a sudden lethargy, unable to even lift my hand.

Papa said, “This is my daughter, Sterling, Lady Talata.”

I pinched my skirts to curtsey, except I wasn’t sure if I should—didn’t I outrank her now that I was a princess? Not that it mattered. My legs might as well have been cast from iron.

Tirienne Talata surveyed me as though I were a horse for purchase. Thank the gods I’d decided on a masquerade. I’d have wilted under such scrutiny if she could have seen my blemished face.

“Princess Sterling, I am so pleased to meet you.”

“And I you,” I managed. Where was her son? Had she felt the need to inspect me before introducing us?

Papa looked pleased, but distracted. I missed the old version of him, the stable, thoughtful man who’d been my father before this blasted war. Seeking the throne had changed him. Before, he’d never have agreed to marry a lying magitrix, and he’d have found Erich Talata and made sure he danced with me for the first dance, as was proper. The musicians were already tuning their instruments.

As the High Princess, leading the first dance fell to me, and I ought to do so with my betrothed. But Lady Talata made no effort to explain Erich’s absence, and so Papa escorted me to the floor while my stomach turned somersaults.

We began the stately Ballo.

“Papa,” I whispered, not sure I could bear to know, but needing the information all the same. “Why didn’t Erich come?”

Only my father’s mouth and jaw could be seen below his mask, but I recognized by the tightness there that he was angry. “Oh, he’s here, somewhere, but he ran off as soon as they arrived, Tirienne said.”

“He ought to be dancing with me. If he does not, people will talk.” Desperation tinged my voice. I wanted everything to go smoothly. I wanted to avoid public humiliation.

“I will find him,” Papa said tightly. “Tirienne is too lenient. Who would you like to dance with next?”

I peered around the room. “Oh, anyone.”

Papa handed me off to his personal mage, Kyro, and disappeared.

“You look beautiful, Sterling,” Kyro said.

“Erich Talata is missing,” I blurted.

Kyro patted my back. “He’ll turn up. Don’t worry, Sterling. You are a
good
girl. Lord Erich will have no complaints.”

But Lord Erich still hadn’t materialized. What if he never showed?

The musical set ended. I curtsied to Kyro. Mages were coveted dance partners—it was said their magic affected the dance—but I had not felt anything special in our dance. I had a sinking feeling the lack of excitement was because he did not find me even slightly attractive. Magic was, after all, largely powered by lust.

I sought a glass of wine as I let my gaze float over the room.

Oh gods, where was Erich Talata, and why hadn’t he come to meet me?

I
walked
out of the ballroom, passing a few ladies gathered in front of the withdrawing room. The next door down the hall opened at my touch, leading to a library with books and art upon the walls. Thick, expensive carpets from the Eastern Empire lined the floor. The library offered a quiet haven away from the judging eyes of the ball guests. Surely the whispers were already beginning, since Erich had not come for our first dance.

A soft murmuring emanated from behind the bookshelves. Pressing into the shadows, I peered around the shelf, careful not to catch my mask. I couldn’t prevent my soft intake of air at the startling sight I beheld.

The objects of my spying didn’t notice my gasp. They were far too busy with their own endeavors. The woman faced me, sitting in a chair. Her mask covered her entire head, excepting a pile of gorgeous pale hair. Her dress had been shoved so far down that naked breasts glowed in the faint light of the single sconce. I was no expert on breasts, having seen only my own and Stesi’s in any detail, but these seemed like an extraordinarily ample pair.

Hovering above those perfect breasts, a gloved hand gripped an unfamiliar device. The forearm above the glove rippled with supple strength like that of a fencer or one of Costas’s elite Dragonnaires. Aside from the glove, the entire arm was bared, tanned, and toned to perfection. The man wore the costume of a slave from ancient Lysandra—a sleeveless linen tunic displaying broad shoulders, and thin leather breeches sculpting well-formed thighs.

I could not imagine what purpose his device, a narrow metal bar with a point on one end and a feather on the other, served.

No one had ever explained to me what happened between men and women, but I knew by intuition, by the blend of excitement and fear pooling in my center, that I was witnessing lovemaking.

The man’s hair glimmered in the vague light, several shades darker than the woman’s.

Curiosity held me in place. I had grown up in a most proper household. My father was strict, and my mother had been exceedingly refined. Even Stesi had never spoken with me about love play. Only from my reading—and the Ricknagel kennels—had I gleaned any sense of how babies were made, and I had only a fuzzy understanding of the mechanics.

The man had to put himself inside the woman, I knew that much. I’d seen the dogs doing it, though I’d simply been unable to imagine how that worked with people. I peeked around the side of the bookshelf again, taking an inventory.

The woman had her head thrown back, mask atremble. She clutched the arms of the chair. Amassis! Ropes wound around her wrists, holding her in place. Her knuckles whitened with her grip.

Did she need help?

He knelt between her legs, touching her only with his rod, which he used to trace a line up her inner leg with the pointy end. She giggled, though to me the whole operation looked uncomfortable.

What was he
doing
?

He leaned forward and sniffed between her legs, still without touching her. I pulled back behind the bookcase, appalled. Did sniffing at hind ends have something to do with lovemaking? It really was like the dogs. How mortifying! I would never be able to submit to such indignities. But even as I thought this, heat ran through my entire body, a lust that compelled me to look again.

The man flipped the metal rod and trailed the feathers down the marks the pointy end had left upon the woman’s legs.

I inched backwards, preparing to leave.

“Erich,” the woman said. “Stop teasing.” She giggled again.

I swallowed. Erich?
Not
my
Erich? But I knew with all the dread certainty of past hopes that he must indeed be my Erich. I’d known all along. Why else had I left the ballroom, if not to find him? A tight feeling pulled in the center of my chest.

The man—oh gods, Erich—only laughed dryly.

“I mean it,” the woman said. “Why won’t you touch me? All these rods and ropes and toys. I grow sick of your play. I want you to touch me.”

Erich rose to his feet. “But you know my rules, darling. I have to go. I must get back so they can promise me to Her Royal Hideousness.”

How could I be surprised? My last betrothed had called me Splotch-face. So Erich Talata was a man of Culan Entila’s ilk, a man to call names and see only the surface. My dismay was tempered by experience, but my hope was fully dashed.

“You deserve her,” the woman said waspishly. “It’s a perfect match, really. You may be beautiful on the outside, but you’re ugly on the inside.”

Erich cursed beneath his breath. “Wait for me here,” he said to the woman. Rustling fabric told me I needed to hide. I scooted down the bookshelf until I hovered in the densest shadows near the wall.

Erich slipped out the library door.

“I haven’t got much choice, have I?” the woman called after him, but he was already gone.

I wanted to catch another glimpse of the woman to determine her identity. I could not even think of her as a rival, for he clearly wanted nothing to do with me,
Her Royal Hideousness.

Like Erich, I needed to return to the ballroom to face my unhappy betrothal. Despite my deep reservations, I would not shirk my duty. Papa’s peace relied on me marrying Erich, no matter what. I inched forward and peeked around the bookshelf.

Erich had left the woman tied to the chair. She twisted, trying to free herself from her binds.

What kind of monster left a girl trapped in a chair in such a manner?

I slipped into the alcove beyond the bookshelf and reached for the ropes around her arms.

“Oh,” she said, blushing. “Thank you, miss. Men.” She rolled her eyes. “Lord Erich pays more than any of the others, so I let him play his little games with his strange rules. But it will be fun to see his face when he sees I’ve gotten free without him.” She laughed.

I couldn’t find a reply. I dropped the untied ropes, whirled, and fled back to the ballroom, back towards heavy duty and certain humiliation.

I arrived with no time to spare. Erich Talata fidgeted beside his mother on the high dais. Papa stood next to them, frantically scanning the ballroom. He raised his hand when he saw me. I raised mine back to reassure him of my compliance. How glad I was to be wearing a mask! All the guests stared, Erich Talata hardest of all.

Only the security of my mask allowed me to glare right back at him. He wore the smallest possible concealment covering one eye, which only magnified his perfect face. Could hair achieve that kind of luster naturally? He must have brushed gold dust into it. And his eyes—so startlingly blue! He had been sculpted like a plaything for the gods. His lip curled as he caught my gaze.

I rushed to Papa’s side.

“Where were you?” Papa murmured. I shook my head, knowing my voice would shake too noticeably if I spoke. Papa stepped forward, holding my hand in front of him. The crowd grew quiet. “It is my pleasure, my great pleasure, to offer the hand of my daughter, Princess Sterling Ricknagel, in marriage to the son of House Talata,” he announced.

I trembled. Oh gods, this was
happening
.

Erich lifted his own arm to mirror the position I held with Papa. Oddly, Tirienne did not touch her son in the traditional way, even as she said, “It is my pleasure to accept. Let our Houses be joined.”

Papa slipped his hand to the underside of mine, and Tirienne moved hers to hover above Erich’s. Still, she did not actually touch him. Erich’s well-formed hand, cased in a supple leather glove, the appendage I’d just watched wielding that metal rod over a woman’s private flesh, came down over mine. Only Papa’s support beneath my arm kept me from dropping away from Erich’s touch. I felt as though someone had plunged my arm into the fire! Erich kept his fist squeezed as though he could hardly bear the contact, too. Finally, he unclenched, and the top of my hand fit neatly into his gloved palm. The fire lessened, but a sharp tingle ran up my arm. The same shiver rippled up his arm, too, though how I was aware of such a thing I could not say. I glanced up at him.

He wore such a look of revulsion that I almost pulled my hand away. My gaze skittered over the crowd. Could they see his disgust so plainly, too?

The ballroom remained silent.

Papa took away the underpinning strength of his arm.

Do not waver
, I told myself.
Everybody’s watching.
I kept my arm stiff and straight. Even when Erich pressed down on it with all his might as though to force me to pull away, I did not waver.

The guests finally broke into applause, unaware of the violent undercurrents running between Erich and me. Only we could feel it, thank the gods. Finally, the audience dispersed from around the ballroom dais, and their attention left us. I let our arms descend. Erich ripped his hand away, wiping his glove on his tunic as if to clean it from contamination. I frowned.
I
ought to be the one to do that. I hadn’t recently probed unimaginable places on a woman’s body with metal sticks!

We were meant to be partners for this dance, of course—the valta. We had to do this one, directly after our announcement. I followed Erich down the three steps of the dais, though he moved too quickly, as though he wanted to get far away from me.

“Shall we dance?”
I moved to fill the gap between us, reaching for Erich’s sleeve. Another sharp spark stung my hand.

He snapped his arm back, and his face twisted in a way I could only call disgust, even though it wounded me to label it so. He did not even have reason for it yet! He hadn’t even seen my blemish. All that care I’d taken to present him with a woman he’d not be ashamed to take to wife, my stay-laces, my elaborate hair, my beautiful gown. He noticed none of it. He would not even look at me.

Papa and Tirienne walked out to dance together. I sank my fingers into Erich’s arm, ignoring the glassy prickles through my fingers, to haul him in their wake. He made a low sound of resistance and slapped at my hand so violently that I let go.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd around us. They had seen Erich’s cutting behavior. I gritted my teeth.

If I had not been so deeply invested, the situation might have been humorous for the irony. During the valta, the most intimate dance of any evening, a lover would find his sweetheart to publicly enjoy holding her in his arms. I had no doubt Erich wanted to find his butterfly girl, but he’d left her tied up, or so he thought. He had only me.

We’d have to come to terms about his mistress. I’d tolerate infidelity—I’d never expected a happy marriage except in my secret fairy tale fantasies—but I did not wish to be humiliated in front of everyone. He
would
dance with me, this once, if never again.

My parents had never cozened me into believing my prospects were good. In terms of his status as a son and heir to one of the Ten Houses, Erich Talata represented a prime catch. But I was the princess now, and no matter how ugly I might be, marriage to me advanced Erich. He ought to show respect for that fact.

He reminded me of a surly dog. I’d have to train him. The thought made me giggle despite my anxieties.

Erich swung his head around to stare at me. “Are you laughing?”

The first strains of the valta began. I slid my arm beneath his to force it into position. Finally, he complied, though he moved with the approximate animation of a corpse.

“I am laughing,” I told him. “At you.”

“At
me
?” His perfect features froze.

“Yes,” I affirmed, even as an overwhelming tingling erupted wherever his gloved hands touched me. “I would not have guessed a man could be so squeamish.” But he wasn’t that squeamish, not if he could sniff at a woman’s private parts. At a ball! In a dark corner, sniffing a bound woman like a hunting dog. What kind of man was I marrying?

“Squeamish?” His steps livened a little. The tingling intensified between our palms.

“You haven’t even seen me yet. What do you imagine? Boils? Pus? Peeling skin?”

“How old are you?” he demanded.

“How old are you?” I countered.

“Twenty-three. Now you.”

“I’m seventeen,” I replied. “Old enough to marry.”

“I’ll never marry you.”

My smile tightened. What a child. Did he not understand his duty? Our marriage represented the alliance of two vast provinces; it would solidify the new rule of Lethemia.

“We made a promise in front of the leaders of the land,” I informed him. “Surely you will not shirk your duty and break your word.”

“I made no promises,” he sulked. “My mother promised for me.”

I leaned towards him. He pulled back. “Do you think it’s catching?” I snapped.

“What?”

“Ugliness. Do you think you’ll get tainted with it? Too bad it doesn’t work that way. We ugly ones suffer alone. We cannot force you to feel what we feel. Listen to me, Erich Talata. You’ll marry me. Do you want to know why? Because my father is the King. You may flagrantly disobey everyone else in your path, but you won’t break a promise to Xander Ricknagel. He does not stand for broken promises.”

His disgust was written across his face. It hurt. His horror of touching me hurt more than name-calling, more than the quiet rejection I usually faced in public. As soon as the set finished, he whipped his hands away, but he studied me closely, his eyebrows drawn together. He crossed his arms and moved as far from me as he could, scowling. “Did you—what did you—are you all right?”

His words barely registered. Surely rumors were already flying: Erich Talata could not stand to even touch ugly Sterling Ricknagel.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, offered him a perfunctory curtsey, and refused to watch where he headed next.

I followed Serafina’s advice for facing down the world:
Hold your head up, meet everyone in the eye, and give them nothing to hold over you.
I downed a glass of sparkling wine. Then I searched for another dance partner, determined not to reveal my distress. But when the next piece began, Papa was immersed in conversation with a dark-haired girl dressed as an Eastern navel dancer. I did a double-take, thinking it might be Ghilene Entila. But no, this woman was not as tall as Ghilene Entila, though she had the same inky black waves of hair.