CHAPTER 04

VIENNE

“Oh, Vienne.” Princess Nicolette draped herself across the empty seat next to me and sighed wistfully. “Don’t you think Prince Urban is the dreamiest, most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” Tucking her hands beneath her cheek, she batted her lashes my way. “I certainly do.”

I furrowed my brow. Personally, I’d been thinking I was going to lose my mind if my back didn’t stop aching. I hadn’t been able to get comfortable in the last three weeks, no matter whether I was standing, sitting, or lying. So, yeah… no. Thinking about the attractiveness of princes from foreign lands hadn’t even registered with me.

“Hmm,” I answered, frowning when I messed up a stitch on the booties I was sewing and had to undo it. I shifted in my chair, relieving an ache in my spine only for my side to cramp. Drat. There had to be ~some~ comfortable way to arrange myself.

Nicolette was still waiting for an answer, so I distractedly said, “Yes, well… he didn’t seem disfigured from what I could tell.”

“Disfigured?” Nicolette screeched, sitting upright to gawk incredulously. It didn’t seem fair that no matter how she moved in ~her~ chair, she looked as comfortable as a baby kitten nestled in a bed of soft blankets. I kind of wanted to hate her for that.

“Why, he was ~beautiful~. Simply breathtaking. You must not have gotten a good look at him.”

I trapped my tongue between my teeth, concentrating as I redid the stitches I’d just undone. “You’re probably right. You ~did~ get much closer than I did.”

Nicolette nodded, seemingly appeased, and fell back into her chair with ease. Lucky brat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more handsome than he. He was just so dashing and…and manly. Maybe when I’m of age, he and ~I~ can marry.” She reached for my arm and squeezed warmly. “You’d be my bridal attendant, of course.”

With a soft chuckle, I nodded. “That sounds delightful, Princess. I’d be honored.”

I’m not quite certain why she’d taken a liking to me. Yasmin was her true sister-in-law; I was merely a cousin-in-law. You’d think Nicolette would trail the ~queen~ around all day. But whenever Brentley—who was Nicolette’s first choice of companions—wasn’t available, the young princess seemed to prefer my company. I had to admit, it was flattering. But I always wondered—why me? I wasn’t anything special.

Or maybe it was because I wasn’t a big talker, which gave her leave to blurt whatever was on her mind… which she did often. In random spurts. It was quite amusing. I typically loved listening to her when I wasn’t in pain.

Or possibly, she appreciated the fact that I never corrected her. Yasmin was forever trying to persuade the princess to act with more decorum. She’d suggested to Caulder more than once that Nicolette be sent away to a boarding school where she could be tutored to be a true lady.

I winced, trying to forget the school my sister and I had attended as children. As dutiful then as I was now, I’d never been one to misbehave, yet I still couldn’t count the amount of times I’d gotten into trouble for standing wrong, or sitting wrong, or freaking breathing wrong. Once, I’d been woken in the middle of the night and beaten for ~sleeping~ wrong. True story.

Putting Nicolette in an academy like that would kill the most spirited, lovely part of her. The very idea made something deep inside me steam with anger. So I was pleased that my brother-in-law kept resisting Yasmin’s suggestions, and the king let Nicolette stay at the castle with us and be herself.

“Oh! They’re little slippers,” Nicolette said suddenly after frowning at the booties I was knitting.

Glad my first attempt at crocheting was at least recognizable, I smiled and nodded. “They are, indeed. Thank you.”

“I hope your baby’s a girl,” she went on. “That way, I can actually spend time with her.”

Soren didn’t agree. He’d only ever referred to the child as ~he~. I don’t think it had even occurred to him that I might not provide him with a male issue on the first try.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pausing in confusion. “You could spend time with a little boy as well.”

Nicolette nodded and let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I know, but sometimes I wish I had a sister.”

I ~don’t~ I almost muttered aloud before realizing how ungrateful and awful that would sound. Pursing my lips, I swallowed down the terrible thought, even while I continued to think Nicolette probably wouldn’t be so quick to wish for a sister if she’d ended up with one like mine.

I loved Yasmin, I honestly did. I would die to protect her. And when she got her way, she was perfectly pleasant. But she had this annoying habit of wanting the best of everything, or at least the version better than what I received. And it made her a bit…hmm, what’s a tactful word to use? Unmanageable, maybe. I honestly believed that if King Caulder had picked me to be his bride instead of her, she would’ve had me murdered in my sleep. Yasmin would do anything to get what she wanted.

As if sensing my unpleasant thoughts, the queen sauntered into the room with a trio of servants trailing behind.

“Ladies,” she greeted us with a pleasant sigh as she flowed our way. “Please tell me I’m not missing any good gossip. If we’re talking about the dress Princess Allera was wearing, don’t worry, I’ve already ordered three replicas in even better colors. And I’ll let you borrow them once I’ve worn them all.”

Since Nicolette had been lounging in the nicest chair in the room, she scurried to stand so Yasmin could have the seat of honor instead. With a gracious nod to the teen, Yasmin seated herself next to me, her maids bustling around her to arrange the skirt of her dress so she looked perfect.

“Actually, we were discussing the new prince,” I said.

I decided not to mention we’d already bypassed that topic and were now onto my baby, because Yasmin was still irritated that I’d gotten pregnant before she had.

It was always best not to irritate the queen.

Heads might roll. Literally.

“Yes. Isn’t he just amazing?” Nicolette gushed, flopping down on the other side of me and ignoring the settee closest to Yasmin. “His eyes were so blue and his jaw so firm.”

Yasmin merely sniffed as she examined her painted fingernails. “He’s a little too tall and muscled for my taste. Only servants should be that brawny. And that scar at the corner of his mouth was simply—”

“Delicious,” Nicolette announced, making Yasmin gasp in outrage. “But the tattoo by his eye is the sexiest part, I think. Why, just looking at it made me so heated, I nearly had to fan myself right there in the Throne Room.”

“Nicolette! A lady your age doesn’t say such things.”

Nicolette rolled her eyes at Yasmin and promptly turned to me. “You’ve heard what they mean, haven’t you?”

“What ~what~ means?” I asked, trying to follow the conversation as I tied off the yellow string of yarn to start a row of light green.

“The tattoo by his eye, of course,” Nicolette pressed. “It’s a ~love~ mark.”

I glanced up, not expecting to hear such a term, especially not about the stern-looking prince who’d arrived today with his sister. “A ~love~ mark?”

“Pfft. It’s pure absurdity is what it really is,” Yasmin muttered. “Soren says the entire tradition behind those damned tattoos is a bunch of evil sorcery, plus a lousy excuse for them to mate below their station if they wish. Hell, before you know it, they’ll rut with the livestock and try to excuse it by saying the ~mark~ told them to do it.”

I blinked at her, totally lost. I’m not sure what bothered me more: the horribly prejudiced words coming from her mouth, that she was quoting ~my~ husband, or that my husband had talked with her about something he’d never discussed with me, because I had no idea what either lady was talking about, and I felt distinctly left out.

“It is ~not~ evil sorcery.” Nicolette sounded aghast. “Brentley told me the women of magic who perform the rituals are High Cliff’s most cherished priestesses. So they’re quite holy.”

“Whatever.” Yasmin rolled her eyes. “It’s still a stupid custom.”

“Well, I think it’s romantic,” Nicolette muttered under her breath.

Moodily embarrassed by my ignorance, I glanced to either side of me before quietly asking, “What’s this ritual we’re talking about again?”

I’d never seen anyone with a tattoo like Prince Urban’s before. I’d had no idea it was part of some kind of custom.

“Oh, it’s incredible,” Nicolette started, lighting up, only for Yasmin to snort.

“Idiotic, she means.”

After sending a pointed glare Yasmin’s way, Nicolette turned back to me, her eyes alight with excitement. “Only these super important magic priestess women in High Cliff can perform the ritual or it won’t work. They burn the holy trees in that region and take the leftover ashes to use in an ink to tattoo the mark of a heart within a circle right by that person’s left eye. And once that’s done—”

“Ladies,” a dry voice from the doorway interrupted, making me want to growl because I’d really wanted to hear the rest of Nicolette’s story.

I glanced up to find Soren standing stiffly in the entrance of the room, his hands folded behind his back.

My husband bowed formally to us. “I’ve come to collect you for dinner.”

“Ohh,” Nicolette cheered, leaping from her chair. “Thank God it’s time to eat. I bet he’s there. I can’t wait to see him again.” She raced from the room without waiting for anyone else. As I struggled to stand, two of Yasmin’s maids came forward to take her hands and help her rise.

Seeing how much effort it was taking me with my full, pregnant belly to get out of my own chair, my husband sighed impatiently and stepped forward to offer me a hand.

I sent him a tight smile. “Thank you.”

Nodding, he eyed the tangle of yarn I set on my abandoned seat and grimaced. “What is that?”

“Oh.” I blushed with embarrassment. “I’ve been trying my hand at crochet. Attempting to make booties for the baby.”

“Good Lord, is ~that~ what you’re doing?” Yasmin asked with a laugh. “Who would’ve guessed?”

Her words hurt, and I’m afraid I didn’t conceal the crease between my brows before Soren caught the look. With a placating smile, he leaned toward me and murmured, “I’m sure you’ll improve with time.”

I nodded at him, my smile faint.

Since Yasmin was the queen, Soren held out his elbow to her to escort her to the dining hall, because it was only right for the lady with the highest title in the room to be escorted before anyone else. And I swear, no one stood on propriety as much as my husband did.

As he led her away, I followed them, setting my hand on my stomach when the child within shifted. I loved it when the baby moved. I always wondered what she was thinking. Had my movement frightened her, or did she like the ride? I kept smoothing my fingers over her, hoping I was soothing her in case she was scared. I didn’t want my child to fear anything. I wanted her to be brave enough to rule the world if she so desired.

“Ah, there’s my lovely bride,” Caulder’s boisterous voice called as soon as we entered the dining room moments later.

I liked how enamored the king was of my sister. He spoiled her mercilessly, and she’d turned out quite content because of it. He was a good man all around—kind and generous, yet protective of his people.

There was, of course, a part of me that was jealous he’d chosen Yasmin and not me to be his wife. Yasmin and I had become engaged to our husbands on the same evening. My father had invited the king and his cousin to dine with us so Caulder could pick which sister he wanted. The unpicked sister was left to Soren by default.

Truth be told, I was glad I hadn’t become the queen. That was a position I didn’t relish. I would hate having so much of the public eye on me. And there was no fault with Soren. He’d never mistreated me. But I’d always felt more ~comfortable~ around Caulder than I did with Soren. There was just something more open and pleasant about him. Plus, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be so tense and worried during all our personal contact if ~Caulder~ had ended up in my bed.

Not that any of that was neither here nor there, just silly wishful thinking. I was relieved the small splash of jealousy I had wasn’t strong enough to eat me from within. And Soren had certainly never done anything to displease me. He just hadn’t done anything to necessarily ~please~ me, either.

“Brentley’s fetching Princess Allera and Prince Urban as we speak,” Caulder was telling his wife as Soren led her to the seat next to him. “As soon as they arrive, we may begin.”

Yasmin sent him a stiff, bitter smile. “So ~kind~ of them to make us wait.”

“Yasmin,” her husband chided softly as I sat myself next to her. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “They’ve only just arrived. They know nothing yet of our schedules or customs. Give them a chance. Please. We need this alliance.”

“Of course, darling.” My sister nodded gracefully to her husband only to turn to me and roll her eyes before whispering for my ears alone, “Soren certainly doesn’t think we need the alliance. ~He~ thinks we should’ve aligned with Far Shore instead.”

I held my tongue. But my, my. She and Soren certainly talked a lot. Besides, it probably wouldn’t do for me to disagree with my own husband, because I had to side with Caulder on this topic.

Our kingdom wasn’t even sixty years old. Being so young made us vulnerable. But worse than that, we’d grown and prospered far too quickly for our own safety. And news of our wealth was spreading. In the past handful of years, we’d become a ticking time bomb with a target on our backs. It would only be a matter of time before someone tried to take what we had, and sadly, we were sorely lacking in defense if they did. Any chance we had to align ourselves with a powerful, intimidatingly strong, and wiser kingdom, we should take—especially one with an army like High Cliff’s—not Far Shore’s.

Besides, I thought Donnelly could learn much from a kingdom as old and respected as High Cliff.

“There they are!” Nicolette called excitedly, jumping from her chair and racing around the table.

Pulled back to the present, I grinned at her enthusiasm, glad neither of her brothers had ever tried to temper her spirit. I’m sure to them, it had more to do with sympathy over the fact she’d lost enough when both her parents had died two years before, but nonetheless, it was refreshing to see a female simply get to be her true self and not conformed into something her society deemed appropriate. It made me wonder if I would’ve ended up anything like her if I’d never had to attend that dreadful school.

Probably not, though. Even as a girl, I’d been quiet and reserved. But still, I couldn’t help but think it would’ve been nice if I hadn’t been ~forced~ into the life I led, that I could’ve been allowed to choose it willingly. To be able to choose ~anything~ for myself.

Turning my attention to the newcomers, I smiled at Brentley. He couldn’t seem to stop puffing his chest with pride and grinning as he escorted the lovely Princess Allera into the room on his arm. It was obvious he was pleased with her. I desperately hoped she didn’t turn out to be callous and cold. A tender soul like him deserved a warm, affectionate partner.

I liked Brentley and had always thought I would’ve been completely content to be ~his~ wife if the tide had turned that way. But if he was going to be forced into his own arranged marriage, then I wanted someone for him who could make him happy.

When I noticed that Princess Allera had changed from her emerald gown into something yellow with purple accessories, I sent a sidelong glance toward Yasmin, wondering how many replicas of ~this~ outfit she’d order. It looked quite striking on the princess of High Cliff.

Yasmin’s mouth pinched with annoyance as she gave the princess a haughty once-over. She definitely felt competitive. And oh dear, it was never good when Yasmin felt competitive.

The pulse in my neck thumped rapidly with worry. Sometimes it took everything I had to contain Yasmin before she did something awful and impulsive. I may just have my hands full with this situation.

“Prince Urban,” Nicolette called, hurrying to him as he entered last. “Would you care to sit next to me? I’ve much I’d be delighted to discuss with you throughout the meal.”

The prince had been following his sister like a guard, but paused to bow before Nicolette when she addressed him. “I would be honored, Princess.” He cast her a grin and then a wink before he held out his elbow for her to take his arm. “And maybe you can help me keep my deplorable table etiquette under control in the process.”

His request caused me to smile. After marrying Soren, I’d come to truly appreciate a man who could pick fun at himself. It was a talent my husband did not have but probably should.

Nicolette laughed and answered, “Of course. I’d be delighted.”

Despite his apparent affability toward the teen, something very alert—almost dangerous—hovered in the air around the prince. The way his fingers tapped restlessly against the hilt of his sword and his gaze swept the room, raking in every detail as if he were cataloging it all away as important information, screamed soldier. I focused on his sword to find it gleaming as if it were taken good care of but quite worn and nicked. His blade has seen action. I wondered how many battles he’d fought, enemies he’d killed. Probably quite a few.

He was exactly the kind of protective resource we needed in Donnelly. If only we could ensure his loyalty somehow.

As he escorted Nicolette past me where I sat at one table, I noticed Yasmin had been right. There was indeed a small white scar at the corner of his lip. Agreeing with Nicolette, however, I decided it made him look rather dashing and rugged.

My gaze shifted up toward the tattoo.

I’d learned how he’d gotten it, but I had yet to learn what it actually meant.

Thankfully, my curiosity was soon appeased. Nicolette brought up the subject as soon as everyone was seated and the servants had brought out the first course.

“Prince Urban, could you tell me about your love mark?” she blurted, making all other conversation at the table fall quiet. “Please, I’m so curious.”