“No!” I say, far too harshly. But the last thing I need is someone else sent to the room. “It’s anotherwomanI desire.”
Her expression falls.
“Aspecificwoman,” I add quickly. “I’m deeply in love.”
She nods slowly, but she’s trembling now. Retrieving her cloak, I place it over her shoulders, and step quickly away. When I turn back, her eyes are filled with tears.
“I mean you no insult,” I say as gently as I’m able.
“I’m not insulted.” Tears trail down one cheek, and she wipes them away. “Men find me desirable. I know that. In fact, I’ve never met a man, even one newly wed, who’s refused me. Not before tonight. Nor have I heard of any man who’s refused any Wife of Othrix.”
My nose wrinkles when she calls herself that. Spending time with the servants, I’ve heard rumors that all concubines are now called that—at least the ones who serve as concubines to the klericks and the men at court.
“I’ve offended you.” She bows her head.
“No. Sorry. It’s—” How can I explain why I made a face of distaste without insulting her—or risking my life. “Please, sit.” I gesture toward a chair by the fire.
I remain standing, still tugging on the tunic’s fabric, in a vain attempt to disguise my unwanted protuberance.
“You say you’re a Wife of Othrix,” I say slowly. “How long have you held this…position?”
“Four moon cycles.” Her eyes are still glassy, and she glances away.
“And what was your…position before that?”
She shakes her head. “Before that, I had no value. My only value comes from serving Othrix.”
“I see how much it means to you,” I say gently. “But you must have had a life before.” She has at least twenty years. “Were you a servant here in the palace?” Should I recognize her? I’ll feel terrible if she stoked my fire each morn without me taking notice.
Her hands are trembling.
“Please,” I say softly. “I mean you no harm. Whatever you tell me, I vow I won’t repeat it. I vow in the name of Othrix.”
She lifts her gaze. “Truly?” She blinks and built up tears tumble over her high cheekbones. “I can tell you in confidence?”
I nod.
Her posture straightens as her chin rises. “I was—I am—Princess Glorya of Catha.”
I gasp. “You’re royalty?”
“Not anymore.” She glances away. “At least I’m alive, although some days—” She shakes her head.
“And what of your father?” I try to remember the name of the King of Catha.
“Beheaded.” Once again, her eyes fill with tears, but this time fueled by anger. “Along with every one of my brothers.”
Apprehension and anger freeze my heart. At least my infernal erection has vanished. I want to ask more questions, but every day that I’m here I discover that the world I’ve returned to is very different and far more dangerous than the one I left. Avoiding those at court whenever I can, I mostly converse with the servants but wish I could find someone I truly trust to ask more questions. I’ve not found either my former valet or tutor alive.
“I’m very sorry, Princess Glorya. But I truly don’t need or want your services tonight.”
Her eyes fill with fear, again. “Please don’t call me that. I should not have told you of my former life.”
I mimic locking my lips.
She looks down at her hands. “If I fail to please you tonight, I’ll be punished.” The way she says this makes it clear it’s happened before, or she’s witnessed it done to others.
“Feel free to remain in my chambers as long as would be expected. I promise that I’ll tell the King and Head Klerick—whomever asks—how well you pleased me.”
