In both of their short meetings she'd found the Lord Constable to be surprisingly nervous, but that was a reaction from men that Maelani was accustomed to. Since outgrowing her awkward years and coming into the full flower of womanhood, Maelani had become quite comfortable with the attention of the opposite sex. Beauty often made the strongest of men quiver in his boots, the most eloquent choke on the simplest greeting, and the bravest flee in abject terror.
She drew a cloth-of-gold bodice around her waist and began lacing it. Maelani hadn't done this complex task by herself for so long that she found herself fumbling with the lacing. Growing increasingly frustrated, she even had to stop and start over from the beginning, but finally she managed to get it well secured. Examining herself from both sides in the mirror, she made fine adjustments to the garment's fit, again in an effort to flatter her graceful but modest curves.
She stepped into a long skirt and drew it up. The skirt hung provocatively on her hips, revealing a scandalous hint of the translucent linen camise between it and the bodice. Looking at herself in the mirror, Maelani blushed.
There were things no man could resist and if done properly, a lady could take advantage of those things and still be a lady.
Maelani silently thanked the gods that her mother had lived just long enough to give her that advice and more. Had she been raised exclusively by her father, she might have made a fine man, a capable soldier, and a valiant leader, but she would certainly have been a washout as a lady.
"True power," she whispered to her reflection, repeating words her mother had said to her a thousand times, "speaks with a woman's soft caress."
With a giggle, she slipped into a pair of gilded sandals enchanted to allow her to levitate. She found the experience of floating aloft unpleasant, but she had plans for the slippers that night. Next she slid a pair of cloth-of-gold gloves up her forearms. The gloves fit her to her elbows, and the fine silk only hinted at the greater softness of the flesh beneath. She kept her gloved fingers conspicuously free of rings. It was a message most men missed, but she would send it anyway. The duke would die if he knew she was leaving the palace without so much as a ring of protection, but what her father didn't know…
Maelani regarded the whole outfit with a wider grin. She was beautiful. She was the sort of girl any man would fall in love with on sight.
"Potion?" she asked her reflection. "What potion?"
She slipped the vial she'd purchased from Vrilanda into one of her gloves, taking care that it wouldn't show, even as she assured herself that she wouldn't need it.
She took a deep breath and carefully picked up a shimmering, golden diadem from her dressing table. Though it was hardly the flashiest piece in the family's collection, she'd had to send Theria to the vaults with a note to get it drawn out for her. Maelani slipped it onto her forehead, letting the cool aquamarine that dangled from it slowly grow warm against her forehead. The diadem would keep the hair out of her eyes while allowing it to flow free. Men liked that, Maelani knew.
"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," she said to the mirror, "may I present Duke Regdar and the Duchess Maelani."
12
"For the thousandth time, Naull," Regdar said, a vein standing out on his forehead and sweat beading on his upper lip, "I have no interest in the duke's daughter."
Naull shrugged and turned away from him so he couldn't see her smile. She crossed to the bed they'd shared since returning to the city and sat down. She sank into the opulent duvet and ran her fingers through her hair. She was careful to give Regdar a good look at her long neck.
She heard him take a step toward her and her breath caught. As if sensing her reaction, he stopped.
"You like to tease me," he said.
"You like to…" she started, but wasn't sure what to say.
"Ah," he said. "No comeback? No witty reproach of my honor, or the duke's, or his daughter's?"
Naull clenched her teeth to keep from laughing as Regdar walked up behind her. Even out of his armor his tread was heavy and solid on the marble floor. She could feel him looming over her.
"What do you want me to say, Naull?" he asked.
She shook her head, and Regdar's fingertips brushed her hair. His touch was impossibly gentle for a man who had spent his life wielding a sword in defense of duke and duchy. She tipped her head just a fraction of an inch, leaning into him.
"This Lord Constable business is temporary," he said. "There are crimes being committed, and the duke has chosen this way to stop them. He will choose a husband for Maelani as well, in time, a man who will be his successor. He may be casting about for that man now, but soon enough the realities of the situation will become apparent. The next duke will not have been born a commoner, Naull. It will not be me."
Naull felt the heat of a tear in the corner of her eye and she took a deep breath.
"Naull?"
"It won't be you?" she asked. "Are you sure? Can you be sure? He might have made his decision."
Regdar's hand dropped away from her hair and he took a step back from her. Despite herself, she turned to look at him but saw only his strong back.
"He could give you an order," she said. "Lord Constable, or common foot soldier, could you deny him his chosen successor?"
Regdar turned and Naull was taken aback by the smile on his face. There was no doubt there, as there seldom was. In his eyes she saw the same lack of subterfuge and guile, the same simple honor and truth that made him who he was, that made him the man she loved.
"I have sworn to follow the duke's orders," he said, "even unto my own death, but…"
Naull shook her head and wiped away a tear with her fingertip. She stood and stepped into his warm, strong embrace. His arms folded around her and her body felt at once weak and strong, vulnerable and safe. She breathed him in.
"What do I want you to say?" she asked, trying not to cry. "I want you to say you love me. I want you to say you will marry me. I want you to say that you'll stay with me every day for the rest of our lives."
She felt him sigh, in his chest and in the breeze of his breath against her hair. He took a breath to speak and she felt that too, then felt his body stop all at once, become rigid and alert.
It wasn't the reaction she'd hoped for. When she stepped away from him, he let her go. She looked up and saw his face turned to one side, his head cocked, his mouth open. Naull's blood went cold.
"What is it?" she whispered, instantly bringing to mind a spell.
He held up a finger to quiet her and shook his head.
He was looking at the doors to their private veranda. The floor-to-ceiling doors were divided into panes of glass, any one of which was too small for a human to climb through. Sheer draperies covered them, letting in only enough of the street lamps' light to let them know the sun had set. None of the sounds of the busy street below were audible.
"Is someone out there?" she whispered.
Naull scanned the draperies and saw no shadows behind them. Anyone on the veranda would be visible in silhouette. No one was there.
The sound of steel sliding on steel startled her and she whirled to see Regdar holding his sword, its enchanted, razor-sharp blade glowing in the room's soft light. He crossed to the windows, his steps all but silent, unlike only moments before. When he was close enough to touch the draperies, he slipped one edge an inch to the side and peered out. She could tell he saw nothing, at least not right away.
Naull heard a scuffling sound at the same time Regdar did. The fighter stepped back as he let go of the drape. When the sound came again, Naull thought it might be a shoe slipping on stone. It definitely came from outside the window. The spell she'd brought to mind was among her most potent. If necessary she could erect an enchanted wall made from nothing but the invisible wind, which would protect them both from the intruder at least long enough to determine who or what it was. She tried not to think about the damage the wind would do to their beautiful room.