Page 34 of The Royal Curse

Andreas nodded and turned for the door, opening it halfway and glancing out as if to make certain no one would see him. Gods, I hadn’t even had the chance to worry about that; what would the men think of this, if they knew? It’d be incredibly awkward for everyone.

And then he paused, shoulders tense, head bowed, and drew in a breath deep enough that I saw his torso expand with it even across the room.

“Are you quite certain you’re not going to experience any more of—any more. Symptoms, of your magic. Will you need me again before your potion’s ready, do you think?”

He’d kept his tone perfectly neutral in a way that would’ve done any wily courtier proud. Did he hope I’d say yes? Hope to the gods I’d say no? Without being able to see his face—which might have been equally carefully blank, anyway, as I knew he could make it when he chose—I had no way to tell.

“I doubt it,” I said truthfully, and with regret. “If the potion’s ready tonight as promised, I ought to be fine. With leeway, even. I wouldn’t expect to feel anything untoward until tomorrow evening.”

“Then I bid you a good rest, Your Highness. You know I’ll be nearby if you need—anything.”

And with that, he slipped out the door and shut it softly behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I’d had better company. Beginning with Andreas, in fact.

Despite my exhaustion, it took me a long time to go back to sleep.

Andreas didn’t come near me all day. I woke and rang for food and tea and fresh wash water halfway through the morning, and he didn’t appear even when that was brought and the landlady came to check on me. I sat stiffly with my head bent over my breakfast and my back to the bed as the maids took away the linens and replaced them. Concern about someone else seeing my sheets had never even crossed my mind before now. Did other people with servants, who actually had spouses and lovers, feel embarrassed like this every morning? Ugh.

But the maids didn’t say anything about it, thankfully.

And other than the servants, I didn’t see anyone but Carlo, who sat on a stool in the corridor outside my room in lieu of Andreas’s usual hovering. He didn’t comment either. If he or the others had noticed anything last night, he was tactful enough to hide it.

Just past noon, I ventured out to take the air, going as far as the stables to pet Fluffy. The snow had stopped and it’d warmed up a bit, enough that the inn yard had turned to churned-up slush and the sky had taken on the unpleasant glare of the sun trying to push its way through pale clouds. On the whole, unappealing.

Despite the reek of damp horse, I lingered in the stable and petted Fluffy’s nose, not-so-subtly waiting for Andreas to find me.

He didn’t. Or maybe he’d been watching me all along, hidden behind a hay bale. I wouldn’t have put it past him. And I had a prickle in the back of my neck that could’ve been from being observed. I knew it wasn’t Carlo. He’d stuck his head into the stable as I entered, nodded, and then vanished back outside again, clearly satisfied that I’d be safe enough.

Andreas wouldn’t have been so casual about it. When had I stopped wishing I could be left alone and grown to expect and enjoy having a six-foot-something shadow?

Finally I grew tired of the creeping discomfort, and of trying to pretend I wasn’t waiting for Andreas, and went back to my room, too out of sorts to tolerate the noise of the taproom. Besides, most of my guards were gathered there around a table littered with ale flagons—without their commander, of course, because apparently he’d become invisible—and I knew they wouldn’t really relax and enjoy themselves with me lurking about, no matter how unobtrusive I tried to be.

The afternoon passed slowly. Wind buffeted the windowpanes and whistled down the chimney, the maids brought me tea and snacks at intervals, and I went over and over my notes for the conclave. I still had a week to get there, and presumably the river would be passable soon enough.

My magic rose and fell within me like the tide, tingling in my fingers and making the hair on my arms stand on end, and then ebbing away temporarily, lulled down to almost nothing. I used it only once, repairing my torn clothing at last. For a moment I lost my focus and relived how they’d been ripped in the first place, and I nearly disintegrated my newly whole trousers into threads, cursing and shaking the sparks from my lightly smoking fingertips.

That discouraged me from trying again. Clearly I’d need more practice, slow and steady, before I could reliably use my powers. And I wouldn’t be getting that, because the potion would be here within hours.

The conundrum that posed left me sullenly staring into the fire for the remainder of the afternoon, until the watery light faded out of the window and my eyes burned.

Quick, firm footsteps broke me out of my fugue, and I blinked into what felt like sudden darkness. Andreas. I’d have known his step anywhere, and my heart skipped a beat and then settled into a whirling tempo that had me breathless in seconds.

I shoved out of my chair, biting back a curse as my stiff legs nearly toppled me, and scrabbled for the candelabrum on the dressing table. If he found me sitting here alone in the dark sulking, what would he think I’d been doing?

Worst case, he’d come to the correct conclusion: that I’d been sitting alone in the dark, sulking—and also wondering where the hell he’d been all day.

He rapped out a brisk knock on the door. Fuck, I’d run out of time to light the candles the mundane way. In desperation, I turned my attention to the wicks—all of them at once.

And of course the door opened right as all three candles exploded into flame, sizzling halfway to the ceiling and all but taking my eyebrows with them. I yelped, fumbled the candelabrum and barely caught it, and Andreas dived for me and almost knocked it out of my grip again, wrapping his hand around mine where I held the base of it.

The flames settled down with a hiss and a spit of green and purple sparks. I looked up, breathing hard, to find Andreas’s eyes fixed on my face.

His hand tightened, fingers pressing between mine, spreading them apart. Magic shot up my arm and arrowed into my chest and then down.

“Andreas,” I whispered, and his eyes widened, going dark and molten.

Somehow we fumbled the candelabrum and the wooden box he’d carried in with him onto the table before his mouth came down on mine, hard and claiming. I stumbled back, his weight slamming me into the dressing table with a rattle and a slosh of the basin, his hands behind my knees to hoist me up onto the top. Andreas’s hard cock pushed between my legs, insistent even through several layers of clothing, his hip bones bruising my thighs. I clung to his shoulders, tearing my mouth away so that he could bite at my throat and let me moan.

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