Page 71 of Of Brides Of Queens

She stilled. “I do not follow. I cannot betray my king. Our union is not so warped, and love cannot easily withstand betrayal.”

She spoke of love as a fragile thing, much like King See tended to. I did not enjoy that much whatsoever.

“Not a betrayal,” I reassured her. “A token, yes. A stripping away, if you like.”

She gripped the lapels of her suit jacket, and I held my breath when lace was revealed at her wrists.

“Speak plain, Queen Perantiqua.”

I could hardly trust myself to. I released my breath quietly. “You can remain in my queendom for as long as your presence does not threaten those dependent on me. You will makeyourself useful in some way while here, as all creatures here do. Your token to pay for my discomfort will be the lace gloves you wear.”

Her throat must have dried, for she croaked as a frog might. “But my gloves?”

“Your gloves.”

Princess Raise lowered her gaze to her hands where my lace gloves peeked out below her cuffs. “These were my bridal gift from my king.”

Bridal gift.The words made me ravenous. I was a monster of vice after hearing them. “This is fitting.”

Fitting as payment.

Fitting of obsession.

A fitting gift for a queen.

She traced over the lace-clad back of her hand. “I have had these since our union night. Whatever my suit, I wear these always. My hands are his hands.”

My, but I should feel guilty about this. Instead, I felt impatience and growing ire. I did not like her stroking my gloves. “I feel this importance, and so that is the price. Then we have both sacrificed something.”

“I have many precious items that my king has given me,” she said quickly. “His princes could fetch them. You could take your pick.”

“I have chosen. Make your payment or depart after our next meeting. I shall anticipate knowing you better through the ages no matter your choice.”

And I would get the gloves another way.

Still the princess did not hand over my treasure.

“Why is it that you wear a reminder that your hands are the hands of your king?” I asked after another minute. “Do you need it?”

“No, I do not. I wear the reminder for sentimental reasons,” she answered. But the princess stripped off the lace gloves after.

Saliva filled my mouth. I pretended that cement held me to the gilded throne I sat upon as she crossed the conservatory.

“His hands will always be my hands,” she whispered, then extended the gloves to me.

My hands trembled as I took them.

I had not realized they would, and Princess Raise saw my reaction. Her instincts must have screamed, for she started to draw the gloves back.

I snatched them away.

Queen though I was, I snatched lace gloves from a princess.

The suddenness of the movement upset my crown somewhat, and I growled, shoving the crown back in place. My breath was coming harder than I would have liked.

The princess whispered, “And what have I agreed to?”

I wished to be alone with my gloves. I wished to croon over them and feel the delicate webbing, so ancient.

---