Modern Romance November 2015 Books 1-4. Trish Morey
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“I don’t wish to get my mouth dirty.”
He laughed, though he felt no amusement. “I will remember that. Now, tell me. I grow impatient.”
“I too am impatient, and yet no one seems concerned about that. I have been held captive for the past two months, before my ownership was transferred to you. Yes, I find I am quite impatient. I’ve never had any say in my life. I was born into royalty, in a position more vulnerable than I could ever have imagined when surrounded by the stone walls of the palace. Then I lost everyone and was taken away to the middle of the forest. Then I was taken captive. And now I have been delivered to you, to be your wife, and I have no choice, yet again. Who am I? What am I to be? The pawn of whoever holds me in their hand at any given time? I must be more than that, Andres. I should like a chance to find out.”
Her words touched something in him. Strange, because nothing about her should resonate. They were different. From different worlds, as he had only just been thinking. Somehow he recognized these words as though they had originated in his own head.
“You will,” he said. “That is another promise I make to you. Our marriage does not have to be traditional in any sense. Not if you don’t wish it. In truth, I am not suited to forsaking all others. It is simply not in me. If I have a certain measure of freedom, then you will too.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“After you have our children you will be free to pursue lovers as you see fit. Or to pursue different hobbies and interests. Education if you wish.”
“Interesting that you prioritize lovers over education.”
“I would certainly choose lovers over education. But it is your choice.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Why what? Why am I offering you a choice? It does not benefit me to act as your prison guard. Neither do I have any desire to. I told you already, I don’t particularly want a wife. But I owe Kairos. You understand now, clearly, I should think. All he requires is that we produce a child who can take the throne should he and his wife be unable to fulfill the task.”
“I see. You only need my womb. As if that isn’t an extremely large thing to ask.”
“It would be a family. Blood. How long has it been since you’ve been a part of that?” He hated himself for using this against her. Still, he was a man with no shame, and he was hardly going to grow any on the spot.
She looked away.
“A long time,” he answered for her. “Do not fight against me. Neither of us has a choice. We do not need it to be any more difficult than it already is.”
He stood, getting ready to go.
“Can you call the seamstress back?”
It was not what he expected her to say. But then, he found he could not predict Zara. She didn’t fall neatly into a category the way the women he often associated with did. “What do you need?”
“I’m not going to be able to get myself out of this,” she said, indicating her gown.
“I am more than willing to help you with that, Princess,” he said.
Heat formed a ball in his gut, a knot he could barely breathe past. Here he was, talking to her about taking other lovers once they took their vows, and yet he was getting aroused by the thought of unzipping her dress. He’d helped countless women out of couture gowns; there should be nothing exceptional about this moment. Nothing particularly interesting about this desire. And yet there was.
“No, you cannot.” Her voice was stiff, her obvious distress indicating that she was not immune to him either.
“You would rather call Elena back in here just to unzip you? Seems a bit much. Do I frighten you so intensely?”
Something flared in her dark eyes. “Nothing frightens me. I already told you once. How quickly you forget.”
“Then turn around.”
She obeyed, and he knew it was out of sheer stubbornness more than anything else. He reached out, gripping the tab on the dress, drawing it down slowly, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingers. There was no reason for him to tremble. He was unveiling nothing more than the elegant length of her spine. Beautiful, certainly, as everything about her was, but unremarkable.
One of many naked female backs he had seen.
She looked over her shoulder, and lust hit him square and hard in the stomach. Her eyes were like no one else’s.
And it didn’t matter how many women he had undressed in the past, because they hadn’t been her. Because it wasn’t now.
Dammit, he had to get a grip.
When he had the zipper lowered all the way he took a step back, forcing his hands down at his side so he wouldn’t grip the sides of the bodice and pull it down, past her hips, to pool on the floor. So that he didn’t lose hold of his very tenuous control and do exactly what he had threatened to do earlier.
“Go now,” she said, the words quivering.
“As you wish, Princess. But there will come a time when I don’t leave once your clothes come off.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to add that. Didn’t know why he always felt the need to get in one more hit. Perhaps because he was powerless, as was the situation in many ways. She was too. Which was perhaps why she felt the need to lash out at him.
It was why he kept striking out at her.
“Not a day sooner than necessary,” she said.
“Get your sleep. Tomorrow you have yet more manners to learn.”
“Will you make your best effort at getting me to bite you again?”
“No. Tomorrow I’m going to teach you to dance.”
FIRST, THEY HAD cut her hair. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a haircut. For years she had allowed it to grow, hanging thick and curling past her waist, restrained most commonly by a braid. The palace stylist had taken it up to the middle of her back. It felt strange. A weight removed she hadn’t been aware she’d been carrying.
After that, they had done her makeup. Entirely different from the way she had been taught to apply her own. But the woman had dusted the corners of Zara’s eyes with gold powder, after rimming them in black, giving a different twist to the look Zara was accustomed to. A sort of marriage between Tirimian standards of beauty and those here in Petras.
Her gown, the third piece of her early-morning makeover, was another example of that.
Unlike the frothy confection she had worn yesterday, this gown was sleek, hugging her curves. Gold beadwork stitched onto filmy fabric that ended at her knees, turning to sheer netting past that point that was also made to glitter with the same golden details.
Her newly cut hair had been styled into glossy waves. She had never imagined her hair could look quite like this. Usually it looked much more...natural. Rough-hewn. Usually she looked much more rough-hewn.
She had the distinct feeling Andres would see it as a victory.
The thought would have irritated her more if she weren’t so fascinated by her own reflection. Sadly she didn’t have very long to linger over the stranger in the mirror. She had to go down to the ballroom because Andres was intent on teaching her to dance.
Just thinking of him made her stomach tighten, and the feeling only increased as she made her way down the stairs, down the corridor that would lead her to the ballroom. In theory. She had never been in the palace’s ballroom before. She had been given rather simple directions, and since she could easily find her way through a forest, she imagined she could navigate her way through a castle.
She