The red lettering said,Serf. Usurper. I hope they eat your heart.
He was still looking at those letters when he spoke once more. Radu was gone, taking with him the odor of his stifled hate. The hallway beyond the double doors held no whiff of human or drakon; the maids and footmen would be below stairs still, cleaning and chattering, preparing the castle for another day. Someone would be up for the dinner tray, but they would give him time yet. They knew not to interrupt.
There really seemed to be no reason not to acknowledge her.
"I know you're there, child." Alexandru didn't glance up from the map. "You needn't hide."
He was staring at the word Serf, letting it burn like fire into his vision, when he heard her exhale. He closed his eyes briefly, erasing the word, and when they opened again, she was edging forward from the shelter of the far bookcase, easing into his deliberate puddle of light.
Chapter Six
I was quiet. I had been so quiet, I was a mouse, I was a mote of dust. But he'd heard me anyway. Or smelled me. Or sensed me.
I certainly sensed him . I sensed him across my skin, the delicious little goose-prickles he roused with the timbre of his voice. The scent of him, dark night and spice and unpolished diamonds. The way the colors of him seemed to lap up the light, deep blue soaking into his hair, gold into his skin. And those eyes, flat-clear mirror eyes, pale and empty as they captured mine from across the chamber.
I left the shadows that had shielded me. He'd addressed me directly; he was looking straight at me, it was stupid to cower, and anyway there was a part of me that no longer wanted to cower. I wanted his attention. I knew that. I was sure it was why I had come.
I can Weave away, I told myself, as my bare feet found the edge of his rug. I hugged my arms across my chest if I have to, I can Weave.
I wasn't certain if it was actually true. I knew I would Weave back sooner or later, but my control was still dubious at best.
Prince Alexandru hadn't moved from his chair, his body long and lean, his legs outstretched and his feet crossed at the ankles. He wore boots, even indoors. He wore a silk shirt with pearled buttons and a waistcoat of charcoal brocade, breeches of supple soft leather. Everything about him breathed power, pleasure, luxury. Control.
I envied him that. The control. There wasn't any hint of emotion on his face; I knew my own would reveal every little fear that bit at me. It always had.
One hand lifted, bringing a finger to rub lazily against his lips. I halted, abruptly both uncomfortable and excited by that simple, sensual motion.
"Ah," he said, and allowed his hand to drop back. "You're not a child tonight, are you?"
He hadn't even glanced below my neck. I had managed to Weave not quite nude this time. I was wearing my chemise—not the dress, just the undergarment—which was nonetheless quite an accomplishment for me. It had taken me a year to manage this much. I still couldn't do anything like jewelry or hairpins. Sometimes all I ended up with were my garters.
A chemise is only muslin, however. Translucent. And the corsets somehow never made the Weave.
A single dark brow began to arch. The prince was waiting.
My mouth opened; I'd waited so long for this moment. I'd practiced my speech a hundred times to the painted walls of my room, every word premeditated, every argument clear-cut. But now, when I tried to form the words, no sound came out.
"Honor," he said. "Is that your name?"
This time I didn't even attempt to answer. My speech wiped blank. I stared at him. His ankles uncrossed, sudden and stealthy. "Honor Carlisle. Correct?" Oh, no—
I glanced around the room, my heart in my throat. It looked like my old father's study but larger, with glass-fronted bookcases and masculine side tables, green leather chairs stuffed with horsehair. The paintings on the walls were all gilt-framed oils of men and landscapes. There was a bronze statue of a hart by the door. The room was more grandiose than Alexandru's private quarters, antiquated somehow, tinged more of other people than of him. But we truly seemed alone.
"Are they here?" I demanded anyway. "The English drakon ? Are they here for me?"
"No, girl. The only foreign creature here is you."
He rose from the chair, taking with him the map drawn by the other man, the dark-eyed one. He walked to the desk and opened a drawer, pulling free a smaller piece of paper, holding it out to me.
"I received your letter," Alexandru said.
"What letter?" My heart was still pounding.
His lips quirked, just barely. "The one you wrote."
He held it out, patient once more, until I came near enough to take it from his fingertips.
"I never sent this," I said, backing up again to scan it. "I never wrote this."
From the edge of my view his stance seemed to tighten, a very subtle shifting of his muscles, of the dark evening colors spilling into him. "You're not Honor Carlisle?"
"I am." I shook my head. "But I didn't .."write this yet, I almost said.
There was no question it was my handwriting. But it was so strange; I'd had no notion to send him a letter, not in all these years. I wouldn't even have known how to direct it. All I knew of Zaharen Yce was that it was a castle set alone amid some very bleak and cold mountains. In Transylvania. And I could hardly pop back to Darkfrith to ask anyone there to clarify matters. Lady Lia had made it exceedingly clear, ever since she'd first stolen me, that if I were to go back home, my life would be forfeited.
Forfeited. As in, given up, given away.
She would not tell me why or how. She claimed she wasn't certain. But when she spoke like that, when she spoke about her dreams, it was impossible not to feel my flesh crawl. Whatever else she hid from me, whatever other troubles we shared, the instant she'd said to me,You will be killed there, I believed her.
I turned Alexandru's letter over in my hands. Yes, still my writing, the imprinted wax seal of the shire—most likely from the forged stamp Lia kept in her nightstand drawer, one of her few souvenirs from childhood.
"Senyoreta."The prince waited until I looked back up at him, distracted, pushing a fall of hair from my eyes. "How is it, exactly, that you appear to be both a child and a full-grown maiden? That you manage to get in and out of my castle without smoke?"
I chewed my lower lip. "May I sit?"
He indicated one of the green chairs, the one directly across from him. I chose one by the hearth instead. The chemise wasn't very insulating.
"I'm not mistaken, am I?" Prince Alexandru remained standing. "Youare that child I pulled from the river six years ago? And the young woman from the ball? From the granary and the field?"
"Yes."
Now he did take his seat, slowly, his hands relaxed upon the arms of the chair, his hair a blue-black spill caught against the cushion behind him.
I took a deep breath. "My name is Honor Carlisle. I'm nineteen years old. I've known you since I was a child, since I was fourteen, to be precise. That was the day I met you in the river. Oh, and, er . thank you. For saving me. From drowning. I don't believe I said it at the time."
He didn't take his eyes from my face. "Two weeks later we spoke in my bedchamber. Yet you were older. Like you are now."
"Yes. I was seventeen then."
That single brow began to arch once more.
"I know how it sounds," I said swiftly. "I know how it must seem to you. I'm sorry to have been avoiding you all this time, but you see, I've just recently discovered ... I've gotten the news that we are to marry. You and I. And I thought ... I thought it might be best if I came here to talk to you about it."