when they are warranted,” he replied.
Lenore felt herself almost swept away with her thoughts of him as she stood beside him at the door leading from the antechamber to the great hall. When servants opened it, she could see the feast in full flow; could hear the music of minstrels and see the tumblers providing entertainment further down the hall where the common folk sat.
“We should go in,” her mother said. “Your father will no doubt wish to show his approval of this marriage, and I am sure that he will want to see how happy you are. You are happy, Lenore?”
Lenore looked into the eyes of her fiancé, and could only nod.
“Yes,” she said.
“And I shall strive to see that you stay that way,” Finnal said. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips, and the heat of that contact shot through Lenore. She found herself imagining all the other places that he might kiss, and Finnal smiled again, as if knowing the effect he was having. “Soon, my love.”
His love? Did Lenore love him, so soon after meeting him? Could she love him, when there had been only this brief moment of contact? Lenore knew it was nonsense to think that she could, the stuff of a bard’s songs, but in that moment she did. Oh, how she did.
Smiling, she stepped forward in perfect step with Finnal, knowing that together they must look like something out of legend to those who watched, moving like one thing, joined together. Soon they would be, and that thought was more than enough for Lenore as they went to join the feast.
Nothing, she thought, could possibly ruin this moment.
CHAPTER FOUR
Prince Vars downed a flagon of ale, making sure he had a good view of Lyril as he did. She lay, still undressed in his bed, sitting up and watching him with just as much obvious interest, the bruises of the night before showing only a little.
As well she should, Vars thought. He was a prince of the blood after all, maybe not as muscled as his older brother, but at twenty-one he was still young, still handsome. She should watch him with interest, and deference, and maybe fear if she could tell all the things he thought about doing to her in that moment.
No, better to leave that for now. Being rough with her was one thing, but she was just noble enough for it to matter. Better to leave the fullness of it for those who wouldn’t be missed.
Lyril was rather beautiful herself, of course, because Vars wouldn’t be sleeping with her if she weren’t: flame-haired and creamy-skinned, full-bodied and green-eyed. She was the eldest daughter of a nobleman who fancied himself a merchant, or a merchant who’d bought nobility, Vars couldn’t remember which, and didn’t particularly care. She was less than him, so she did as he commanded. What else was there?
“Seen enough, my prince?” she asked. She stood and moved across to him. Vars liked the way she did that. Liked the way she did a lot of things.
“My father wants me to join him on a hunt tomorrow,” Vars said.
“I could ride out with you,” Lyril said. “Watch you and offer you my favors as you ride.”
Vars laughed, and if that caused a flash of hurt to her, who cared? Besides, Lyril would be used to it by now. Ordinarily, he didn’t sleep with women for long before he grew bored with them, or they drifted off elsewhere, or he hurt them too much and they ran. Lyril had lasted longer than most. Years now, although obviously there had been others in that time.
“Embarrassed to be seen with me?” she asked.
Vars stepped close to her, stopping her with a look. In that moment of fear, she was as beautiful as anyone he had seen.
“I will do as I wish,” Vars said.
“Yes, my prince,” she replied, with another shiver that set its answer trembling along Vars’s arms with desire.
“You are as lovely as any woman alive, and noble born, and perfect,” he said.
“Then why is it that you’re taking so long to marry me?” Lyril asked. It was an old argument. She’d been asking, and hinting, and commenting for as long as Vars could remember.
He stepped in, quick and sharp, grabbing her by the hair. “Marry you? Why should I marry you? Do you think you’re special?”
“I must be,” she countered. “Or a prince like you would never want me.”
She had him there.
“Soon,” Vars said, pushing down his flash of anger. “When things are right for it.”
“And when will things be right?” Lyril demanded. She started to dress, and just the sight of her doing it was enough to make Vars want to undress her again. He moved over to her, kissing her deeply.
“Soon,” Vars promised, because promising was easy. “For now though…”
“For now, we’re meant to be at your father’s feast, celebrating the arrival of your sister’s fiancé,” Lyril said. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder if he’s handsome.”
Vars spun her to him, his arms grasping hard enough that she gasped. “Am I not enough for you?”
“Enough, and more than enough.”
Vars groaned at the trap in that, then went and dressed, finding a flask of wine and sipping it as he went. He offered it to Lyril, who also took some. They headed out into the castle, making their way through its twists and turns, down toward the great hall.
“Your highness, my lady,” a servant said as they passed, “the feasting has already begun.”
Vars rounded on the man. “Do you think I need you to tell me that? Do you think I’m stupid, or that I have no idea of the time?”
“No, my prince, but your father—”
“My father will be busy with the politics of it all, or he will be listening to Rodry boast about whatever my brother has done now,” Vars said.
“As you say, your highness,” the man said. He made to go.
“Wait,” Lyril said. “Do you think that you just get to go? You should apologize to the prince, and to me, for interrupting us.”
“Yes, of course,” the servant said. “I am most—”
“A proper apology,” Lyril said. “On your knees.”
The man hesitated for a moment, and Vars leapt in. “Do it.”
The servant sank to his knees. “I apologize for interrupting you, your highness, my lady. I should not have done it.”
Vars saw Lyril smile at that.
“No,” she said. “Now go, get out of our sight.”
The servant all but ran off at her command, like a greyhound after a rabbit. Vars laughed as he went.
“You can be deliciously cruel sometimes,” he said. He liked that in her.
“Only when it is amusing,” Lyril replied.
They
