Page 9 of The Royal Curse

“There’s other ways to enjoy your own touch. Or someone else’s. Without, um.” He chewed on his lip, gaze going all shifty, his grip tightening even more. Had he leaned closer? Or had my depth perception gone the way of my common sense and my coordination? He looked me in the eyes again, his own mesmerizingly dark and intent. “The ladies I’ve talked to about it prefer a mouth much of the time, anyway, so it’s not like you couldn’t make one happy,” he said, voice going all deep and rough. It gave me an odd shiver along all my limbs. “And—you know, men do too. Not to mention the other, um, possibilities. Your Highness.”

I tipped my head back on the cushion and gazed up at him, completely at a loss for words. Probably for the best, given what I’d said so far. But…I ought to have been offended, probably, by being given such patronizing, unsolicited, and entirely useless advice—I mean, really. As if I hadn’t thought of all of that on my own. My two attempts to put it into practice had left me shamed, hating myself to such a degree that I’d never been able to try again. And neither encounter had left me with what you’d call sexual experience. My inability to perform had ended things before I could gain any.

But it seemed I’d lost the capacity for offense along with all my other useful functions. Besides. Andreas sounded so…sincere. And no one but Amara had bothered to give a damn about my intimate life, or lack thereof, well—ever.

His grip had started to feel anchoring rather than restrictive. Pleasant. Gods, the warmth and texture of his skin. Calluses, and the subtle vibration of his heartbeat.

More than pleasant. No one but my family and my valet had touched me in so long. How would it feel to have those powerful arms around me?

He hadn’t looked away from me.

“You can let me go,” I whispered. I really wished he wouldn’t.

Andreas hesitated, but just when I thought he might not after all, he released me and stepped back.

Cold, fog-laced air rushed in to fill the gap, my skin instantly clammy. I shivered, suddenly fucking freezing, and lightheaded, and beginning to be hung over, and starving, and utterly, hopelessly miserable. I closed my eyes and wrapped my own arms around my ribs. It didn’t come near to what I’d imagined a moment ago. He needed to leave. Being seen like this made me want to cry or hit something. But I didn’t know if I could even stand up on my own, find the will to stagger inside and get warm, ring the bell for something to eat. Unlock the door to let the servants in. Take a bath.

Gods.

“Your Highness, please tell me what’s wrong,” Andreas said abruptly into the heavy silence. “It’s not—what we were talking about. It’s something else. What’s happened? I can’t, ah, take care of you if I don’t know what the threats are.”

The threats. I started to laugh again, and this time it really did come out as a hitching sob.

“The only threats are in my mother’s mind,” I said. “She won’t let me go. It’s been—five years. The potion’s not working as well as it used to. I need to go. And she says I’ll, she doesn’t trust me. Not to do something stupid once I’m out of her sight.” I dropped my hands and met his steady, serious gaze. I’d wanted his sympathy, and now I had his pity. Lucky me. “I’m twenty-eight fucking years old, Andreas! And my mother doesn’t trust me to lead a few guards and servants over a mountain pass that hasn’t had a bandit on it in decades. Because it’s going to beraining,” I spat. “Because I used to ride out without a guard and I didn’t listen to her, and now she’s punishing me like a naughty schoolboy. It’s pathetic. I’m fucking pathetic. Just go.”

A muscle ticked in Andreas’s jaw, and after a moment he nodded and walked away.

Well, I’d asked for it.

I rolled over and buried my face in the cushion, a wave of sadness and loss and maudlin drunken loneliness overwhelming me.

But Andreas hadn’t left. He’d gone inside instead. I heard voices inside my rooms, Andreas and—Benetto, my valet. “…needs some supper,” Andreas said. “His Highness isn’t feeling well. A sick headache, I think.”

That made me smile into the cushion even through another hiccup. His attempt to tactfully gloss over the state I was in would fail, because Benetto would not only see the bottles but see me. Still. He’d tried.

I closed my eyes and waited for Benetto to come and fetch me, trying to savor the last bit of numbness from the wine. All too soon, I’d be sobered up, and then I’d have to face what a fool I’d made of myself.

Not to mention the utter shambles of my life.

Chapter Four

As I’d expected and feared, the following morning brought an entirely unwelcome clarity. Benetto startled me awake by pulling back the drapes from my bedroom windows with a horrifying scrape and clatter of curtain rings on rods. I rolled over with a moan, and instantly remembered asking Andreas if he could get it up.

And I remembered his expression when I asked, too: horror and disbelief.

As soon as I felt better, I needed that hole in the ground to crawl into, but for now, my bed would do.

“Benetto, not yet,” I whispered. “Thank you. But later.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” he said quietly—but not quietly enough. My temples pulsed. “The queen’s sent for you. It’s a few minutes after eleven, and she requires your attendance before her meeting at noon.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and flopped onto my back again, blinking up at the pale green velvet canopy above. It matched the curtains Benetto had left open to the unforgiving sunlight currently filling the room and burrowing into my brain.

When I’d been a hopeful adolescent, I’d wanted to change the color scheme of my room, thinking that potential lovers might find the pretty shade unmanly and laugh at me. Black, perhaps. Silver and dark blue.

Well, the green hadn’t really made much of a difference, had it? I’d stopped worrying about it once I realized no one would be seeing it after all.

No lovers.

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