She pressed on when he nodded. “When the physician tells his royal highness that I’m not with child, and that I’m not malformed in any way”—she rolled her eyes, and caught the wash of pink on his cheeks; he’d blushed—“and he then has a go at me”—she gestured own the length of her body, and the blush deepened—“and I resist, he’ll have men come in to pin me down to the bed so he can rape me. Correct?”
As fast as it had appeared, his blush vanished. His cheek sucked in on one side, as though he was chewing at it. “I’m afraid so, yes.”
Amelia nodded. Sipped. Nodded some more. She was numb enough now that the prospect didn’t horrify her the way it would in the morning. The way it would in the moment it was happening.
“Well,” she said, finally. “I’m fucked either way.”
She laughed to herself, but Cassius frowned.
The last of the wine went down with one more swallow, but when he leaned forward as if to refill her goblet, she waved him back down. “What of the second son?”
“Lucius.”
She’d forgotten his name, so furious was she about the son who meant to mount her. “Yes. Tell me about him.”
He hesitated, mouth twitching to one side, and she thought he wanted to say something else, but answered her question. “He’s not his brother.”
“That’s a start.”
“I may have…asked about him. Discreetly, of course.”
“Oh, of course.” When she gave him an exaggerated wink, he blushed again.
“I. Um. Well,” he stammered. Cleared his throat.
She was drunk enough to find it charming.
Blushing fiercely, even on the tips of his ears, he continued, “I spoke briefly with one of his slaves, and he told me that Prince Lucius is stern, and quiet, but not cruel. I don’t think…” His gaze flicked to hers, then away, then back again. His tone turned careful. “He’ll force himself on your sister.”
“Well.” She slid down deeper into her chair. “At least it’ll only be me. I can take it.”
His brow crimped. Amelia thought he lookedpained—but that was probably the wine talking.
He swallowed, a dry click that echoed through the room. “If I could help—”
“You can’t,” Amelia said, quickly, as panic swelled in her chest. “At least not in the way you mean.” She thrust her cup toward him. “You can get me another drink.”
He frowned elaborately, but nodded, stood, and did as asked.
21
Dawn arrived sharply pink in the foothills south of the Bridelands. Bright, candy-hued shafts through the crowded trees; a smooth, cake-icing mantle draped over the clearing where Reggie stood shaking inside his armor. Its joints clinked faintly. His breath steamed in the early light. It was cool, but not cold; a chill gripped him tight down to the bone and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
Valencia nudged him lightly in the shoulder, her breath warm against his throat, her eyes glinting gold, and, he liked to think, questioning in a friendly sort of way.
“Yes, I know.” Reggie laid a hand on her muzzle, and found that it grounded him; her slick scales and the heat that seeped through them.
He’d saddled her himself. Fitted the buckles of the breastplate, and carefully strapped the bridle with its curb chain under her chin when she lowered her head. He kept waiting for her to snort and rear back, dodging out of reach like a green horse presented with tack for the first time. But she’d kept calm. Patient. She’d leaned in closer to help him when his shaking fingers slipped on the buckle of her throatlatch.
There’d been a part of him that had almost hoped she would resist, and demonstrably so, and that he’d be spared the terror of actually riding her. But she’d cooperated at every turn, and now there was nothing left but to put his foot in the stirrup and swing aboard.
He took a breath, and then another, and another, because they came in insufficient sips of air that left him dizzy.
The blood was rushing so loudly in his ears that he didn’t hear the crunch of approaching footsteps. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he leaped so hard he bumped into Valencia’s nose.
She righted him, with more grace than he deserved, and when she snorted, the sound was echoed by a human snort of amusement to his left.
He wasn’t going to say it, but Reggie was grateful for Connor’s appearance; that he’d followed him out here, to razz him, and stir up his temper, and distract him from his terror.
