Outside, a bell tolled. The royal temple, telling everyone who didn’t know that something important was about to go down. Kett didn’t know who in Elvyrn could possibly be unaware. Even blind, deaf mutes knew there was a royal wedding going on.
She sighed, poked at her hair again and tried to avoid her reflection. It was no good; the mirror Nuala had brought in was far too big and had sort of wings that folded around to reflect her from different angles.
She really had to get out.
Striding down the corridor, she ducked into a doorway as a couple of Eithne’s irritating friends giggled their way past. From inside a room, she heard a woman wail, “I look so fat!”
It was Chance, who to Kett’s knowledge had never worn a spare pound in her life.
“You’re not fat,” Dark said, his voice a soothing rumble. “You’re pregnant.”
“But I look fat! Everyone will think I’m fat. And I have a reputation, you know! I used to be a Lady of the Association!”
“Yes, I know,” Dark said patiently, “but you’re not any-”
“I could have lost rank over this!”
“By becoming pregnant?”
“Yes! No! Daa-ark, look at me, I’m a whale!”
“You’re not a whale. You’re still the most beautiful woman in the Realm. You’ll even outshine the bride.”
Kett rolled her eyes and moved on. She began to duck again when she heard footsteps coming closer but paused when she recognized the tread.
King Talis of Peneggan rounded the corner and stopped dead when he saw her.
“Oh my,” he said, taking in her dress.
“Don’t,” Kett warned.
“I don’t think I’ve seen so much decoration since…well, I’ve never seen so much decoration.”
“Blame your sister,” Kett told him, “and nieces.”
“Oh, I fully do,” he said. He brushed lint from his embroidered velvet doublet, which would have looked ridiculous in any other company, but compared to her crenellated dress looked positively restrained.
“Oh, and by the way,” he said, before passing her, “next time you attack a head of state, Kett, could you do it without a battalion of my army in tow?”
“Hey, he sold me down the river,” Kett said.
“Be that as it may, you could at least have gotten them to march under other colors.” Talis winced. “I’m spending a fortune in Order fees, hiring the best diplomats to smooth things over.”
“Do they know he intended to send the king’s step-niece to her death?” Kett asked mulishly, because that was the only thing she could think of that might help.
“That’s the angle we’re taking.” He shook his head. “Did you really hamstring him?”
“Poetic justice,” Kett said.
“Yes.” He glanced at his watch, very nearly smiling. “Look, I need to get to the temple. Promised Nuala I’d get your father there on time.”
“Good luck,” Kett said, because punctuality had never been Tyrnan’s strong point.
“I’ll need it. You know, I’m sure this sort of thing isn’t usually required of kings.”
“Maybe it is when they’re the uncle of the bride.”
“Maybe.” He started past her, tossing over his shoulder, “By the way, love the dress.”
Kett made an obscene gesture that could on some counts be construed as treasonous. The king just laughed.
She continued toward the stairs, hoping to find her brother or maybe Jalen or someone else who wasn’t expecting her to enjoy being dressed in frills and ruffles, but then a familiar scent came to her.
She broke into a smile and started running, picking up her skirts and flying down the stairs, into a drawing room that had been redecorated so recently she had no idea what it was supposed to be called.
“Bael!”
His face lit up and he grabbed her as she crashed into him, kissing her soundly before breaking away.
“Whoa, am I smudging important makeup?”
“Don’t care,” Kett said, going back for more.
“Kett.” He held her at arm’s length and looked down at her dress. A slow smile began. “Kett, Kett, Kett.”
“Watch it,” she warned.
“You look…”
“Don’t.”
“It’s crenellated.”
She folded her arms and glared at him.
Bael grinned. “You look like my gorgeous girl in a fucking ridiculous dress. Nuala’s handiwork?”
Disarmed, Kett nodded. “Apparently taste just goes out of the window where weddings are concerned.”
“Well, I think the most sensible thing to do would be to get you out of it,” he said, smoothing his hands over her back in search of fastenings.
“Well, I would,” she said, “but we have to be at the temple in half an hour. And you’re already supposed to be there.”
“Who cares about me,” Bael said, nuzzling her neck.
“Well, I do,” Kett said, and he looked up, beaming at her.
“I love you.”
“I know. But Bael, this is-”
He pouted like a little boy. “You’re not going to say it back?”
“Why? You know how I feel.”
“But I like to hear it.” He settled his hands around her waist and backed her against a table, nestling his hips against hers. “Say it,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers, “or I’ll tell everyone you cried when you thought I was dying.”
“Tell anyone,” Kett replied, “and you really will be dying.”
He laughed, his hands already gathering up the folds of her endless skirt. “Gods, there are just acres of it, aren’t there?”
“Yes,” Kett said, “but we really don’t have time to-”
“We always have time,” Bael said, kissing her neck and making her shudder. His fingers finally reached the end of the beaded silk and slid underneath, over the stockings Nuala had insisted on. “Oh Kett. You’re killing me.”
“I have to go to the temple,” Kett protested weakly as he stroked her bare upper thigh.
“You’ll be there on time,” Bael assured her, his fingers sliding higher and finding her lacy underwear damp. “I’ll come with you.”
The innuendo wasn’t lost on Kett, who nonetheless gave it one last try. “We’re not supposed to arrive after the bride. Eithne will kill me if I ruin her big day.”
“Eithne will be delighted you’re as blissfully in love as she is. Now, tell me you love me, stop resisting, and we’ll get there on time. I promise.”
His fingers slipped inside her knickers and Kett lost her breath. “All right, I love you. You bloody idiot, you know I do.”
Bael gave her that dazzling smile and kissed her lips with infinite sweetness. And ten minutes later, Kett screamed that she loved him loud enough for the whole Realm to hear.
About the Author
Cat Marsters lives in a fairytale cottage with a Prince Charming husband who helpfully brings her delicious treats while she writes, and is more than happy to inspire a steamy love scene at a moment’s notice. In fact, he walks around half-naked for this very purpose.
And then she wakes up. In actual fact, Cat lives in a village in southeast England which, while not quite a fairytale setting, is nonetheless very pretty and was mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086. Cat doesn’t have children but she is the adoring keeper of a small pride of cats, and slavemaster to one Demon Puppy.
Cat has been writing all her life, but in order to keep herself rich in shoes and chocolate, she’s also worked as an airline check-in agent, video rental clerk, stationery shop assistant and laboratory technician. She’s still aiming for the fairytale cottage and asks all potential Prince Charmings to apply in writing with pictures of themselves and their Aston Martins.
Cat welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
