Читать книгу Untouched Queen By Royal Command - Kelly Hunter - Страница 10

SHE WAS A gift from her people to the King of Arun. An unwanted gift if the King’s expression spoke true, but one he couldn’t refuse. Not without breaking the laws of his country and severing seven centuries of tradition between his people and hers. Sera observed him through a veil of lashes and the protection afforded by her hooded travelling cloak. He could not refuse her.

Although he seemed to be considering it.

She was a courtesan, born, bred and shaped for the King’s entertainment. Pledged into service at the age of seven in return for the finest food, shelter and an education second to none. Chosen for the beauty she possessed and the quickness of her mind. Taught to serve, to soothe, and how to dance, fight and dress. One for every King of Arun and only one. A possession to be treasured.

She stood before him, ready to serve. She wasn’t unwilling. She’d already received far more from the bargain than she’d ever given and if it was time to pay up, so be it.

He was a handsome man if a tall, lean frame, firm lips, a stern jaw and wayward dark hair appealed—which it did. He had a reputation for fair and thoughtful leadership.

She definitely wasn’t unwilling.

He looked relaxed as his gaze swept over her party. Two warriors stood to attention either side of her and another watched her back. The Lady Lianthe, elder spokeswoman for the High Reaches, preceded her. A party of five—with her in the centre, protected—they faced the Arunian King, who stood beside a tall leather chair in a room too cold and bleak for general living.

The old courtier who had guided them to the reception room finally spoke. ‘Your Majesty, the Lady Lianthe, elder stateswoman of the High Reaches. And party.’

He knew who they were for they’d applied for this audience days ago. His office had been sent a copy of the accord. Sera wondered whether he’d spent the past two days poring over old diaries and history books in an effort to understand what none of his forefathers had seen fit to teach him.

He had a softness for women, this King, for all that he had taken no wife. He’d held his mother in high regard when she was alive, although she’d been dead now for many years. He held his recently married sister, Queen Consort of Liesendaach, in high esteem still. His name had been linked to several eligible women, although nothing had ever come of it.

‘So it’s time,’ he said, and Sera almost smiled. She’d studied his speeches and knew that voice well. The cultured baritone weight of it and the occasional icy edge that could burn deeper than flame. There was no ice in it yet.

Lianthe rose from her curtsey and inclined her head. ‘Your Majesty, as per the accord afforded our people by the Crown in the year thirteen twelve—’

‘I don’t want her.’

Lianthe’s composure never wavered. They’d practised for this moment and every variation of it. At the King’s interruption, the elder stateswoman merely started again. ‘As per the accord, and in the event the King of Arun remains unmarried into his majority, the people of the High Reaches shall provide unto him a concubine of noble birth—’

‘I cannot accept.’

‘A concubine of noble birth, charged with attending the King’s needs and demands until such time as he acquires a wife and produces an heir. Thereafter, and at the King’s discretion—’

‘She cannot stay here.’ Finally, the ice had entered his voice. Not that it would do him any good. The people of the High Reaches had a duty to fulfil.

‘Thereafter, and at the King’s discretion, she shall be released from service, gifted her weight in gold and returned to her people.’

There it was, the accord read in full, a concubine presented and a duty discharged. Sera watched, from within the shadows her travelling hood afforded her, as Lianthe clasped her bony hands in front of her and tried to look less irritated and more accommodating.

‘The accord stands, Your Majesty,’ Lianthe reminded him quietly. ‘It has never been dissolved.’

The King’s black gaze swept from the older woman to rest broodingly on Sera’s cloaked form. She could feel the weight of his regard and the displeasure in it. ‘Lady Lianthe, with all due respect to the people of the High Reaches, I have no intention of being bound by this arrangement. Concubines have no place here. Not in this day and age.’

‘With all due respect, you know nothing of concubines.’ Fact and reprimand all rolled into one. ‘By all means petition the court, your parliament and the church. Many have tried. All have failed. We can wait. Meanwhile, we all do what we must. Your Majesty, it is my duty and honour to present to you the Lady Sera Boreas, daughter of Yuna, Courtesan of the High Reaches and valued member of the Order of the Kite. Our gift to you.’ Lianthe paused delicately. ‘In your time of need.’

Sera hid her smile and sank to the floor in a curtsey, her head lowered and her cloak pooling around her like a black stain. Lianthe was not amused by their welcome, that much was clear to anyone with ears. This new King knew nothing of the role Sera might occupy if given the chance. What she could do for him. How best he might harness her skills. He didn’t want her.

More fool him.

He didn’t bid her to rise so she stayed down until he did. Cold, this grey stone hall with its too-righteous King. Pettiness did not become him.

‘Up,’ he said finally and Sera risked a glance at Lianthe as she rose. The older woman’s eyes flashed silver and her lips thinned.

‘Your Majesty, you appear to be mistaking the Lady Sera for a pet.’

‘Probably because you insist on giving her away as if she is one,’ he countered drily. ‘I’ve read the housing requirements traditionally afforded the concubines of the north. I do hope you can supply your own eunuchs. I’m afraid I don’t have any to hand.’ His gaze swept over the warriors of the High Reaches and they stared back, eyes hard and unmoving. ‘No eunuchs accompany you at the moment, I’d wager,’ he said quietly.

He wasn’t wrong. ‘I can make do without if you can, Your Majesty.’ Sera let warm amusement coat her voice. ‘However, I do look forward to occupying the living quarters traditionally offered the concubines from the north. I’ve read a lot about the space.’

‘Is there a face to match that honeyed voice?’ he asked, after a pause that spanned a measured breath or four.

She raised her hands and pushed her travelling hood from her face. His eyes narrowed. Reluctant amusement teased at his lips. ‘You might want to lead with that face, next time,’ he said.

Sera had not been chosen for her plainness of form. ‘As long as it pleases you, Your Majesty.’

‘I’m sure it pleases everyone.’ There might just be a sense of humour in there somewhere. ‘Lady Sera, how exactly do you expect to be of use to me?’

‘It depends what you need.’

‘I need you gone.’

‘Ah.’ The man was decidedly single-minded. Sera inclined her head in tacit agreement. ‘In that case you need a wife, Your Majesty. Would you like me to find you one?’

* * *

Augustus, King of Arun, was no stranger to the machinations of women, but he’d never—in all his years—encountered women like these. One cloaked in a rich, regal red, her beauty still a force to be reckoned with, never mind her elder status. The other cloaked in deepest black from the neck down, her every feature perfect and her eyes a clear and bitter grey. Neither woman seemed at all perturbed by his displeasure or by the words spilling from their lips.

He was used to having people around who did his bidding, but he called them employees, not servants, and there were rules and guidelines governing what he expected of them and what they could expect from him.

There were no clear rules for this.

He and his aides had spent the last two days in the palace record rooms, scouring the stacks for anything that mentioned the concubines of the High Reaches and the laws governing them. So far, he’d found plenty of information about their grace, beauty and unrivalled manners. So far, he’d found nothing to help him get rid of them.

A concubine of the High Reaches was a gift to be unwrapped with the care one might afford a poisoned chalice, one of his ancestor Kings had written. Not exactly reassuring.

‘These living quarters you’ve read about…’ He shook his head and allowed a frown. ‘They’ve been mothballed for over a hundred and twenty years.’ As children, he and his sister had been fascinated by the huge round room with the ribbed glass ceiling. Right up until his mother had caught them in there one day, staging a mock aerial war on a dozen vicious pumpkins. She’d had that place locked down so fast and put a guard detail on the passageway into it and that had been the end of his secret retreat. ‘There’s no modern heating, no electricity, and the water that used to run into the pools there has long since been diverted. The space is not fit for use.’

‘The people of the High Reaches are not without resources,’ said the elder stateswoman regally. ‘It would be our honour to restore the living area to its former glory.’

They had an answer for everything. ‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ he warned and looked towards his executive secretary. ‘Let all bear witness that the terms of the accord have been satisfied. Let it also be recorded that my intention is to see the Lady Sera honourably discharged from her duty as quickly as possible. I’ll find my own wife in my own good time and have no need of a concubine.’ He was only thirty. Wasn’t as if he was that remiss when it came to begetting an heir and securing the throne. His sister could rule if it ever came to that. Her children could rule, although her husband, Theo, would doubtless object. Neighbouring Liesendaach needed an heir too, perhaps even more so than Arun did. He nodded towards his secretary. ‘Show them the hospitality they’ve requested.’

If the abandoned round room didn’t make them flinch, nothing would.

The guards bowed and the women curtseyed, all of it effortlessly choreographed as they turned and swept from the room, leaving only silence behind. Silence and the lingering scent of violets.

* * *

Sera waited just outside the door for Lianthe to fall into step with her. Two guards and their guide up ahead and another guard behind them, a familiar routine in an unfamiliar place.

‘That could have gone better,’ Sera murmured.

‘Insolent whelp,’ said the older woman with enough bite to make the stone walls crumble.

‘Me?’

‘Him. No wonder he isn’t wed.’

The King’s secretary coughed, up ahead.

‘Yes, it’s extremely damp down here,’ offered Lianthe. ‘Although I dare say the rats enjoy it.’

‘We’re taking a short cut, milady. Largely unused,’ the man offered. ‘As for the rooms issued for the Lady Sera’s use, I know not what to say. You’ll find no comfort there. The palace has many other suites available for guests. You have but to ask for different quarters and they’ll be provided.’

He opened a door and there was sunshine and a small walled courtyard stuffed with large pots of neatly kept kitchen herbs. Whoever tended this garden knew what they were about. Another door on the other side of the little courtyard plunged them into dankness once more before the corridor widened enough to allow for half a dozen people to walk comfortably side by side. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of huge doors wrought in black wood with iron hinges. Two thick wooden beams barred the door closed.

The old guide stood aside and looked to the High Reaches guards. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

‘Very welcoming,’ murmured Sera as the guards pushed against the bindings and ancient wood and metal groaned. ‘Perhaps some plinths and flowers either side might brighten this entrance hall? Discreet lighting. Scented roses.’

With another strangled cough from their guide, the bars slid to the side and the doors were pushed open. A soaring glass-domed space the size of a cathedral apse greeted them, encircled by grey marble columns and shadowy alcoves. What furniture remained lay shrouded beneath dust sheets and if rugs had once graced the vast expanse of grey stone floor they certainly weren’t in evidence now. Dust motes danced in the air at the disturbance from the opening of the doors, and was that a dovecote in one of the alcoves or a postbox for fifty? Another alcove contained the bathing pool, empty but for dirt, but the plumbing had worked once and would work again—it was her job to see to it. There were faded frescoes on the walls and a second floor with a cloistered walkway that looked down on the central area. Chandeliers still hung in place, struggling to shine beneath decades of dust. There was even a circus trapeze roped carelessly to a tiny balcony set one floor above the rest. Illustrations in the journals of the courtesans of old had not done the place justice.

‘Well, now.’ Sera sent a fleeting smile in Lianthe’s direction. ‘Nothing like a challenge.’

The older woman nodded and turned to their guide. ‘Can you offer us cleaners?’ The man looked unsure. ‘No? Then we shall invite our own, and tradespeople too. I suppose we should thank the monarchy for preserving the space in all its historical glory. At least there are no rats.’

‘And I think I know why.’ Sera stared up at the domed glass ceiling to where several lumpy shapes sat, nestled into the framework. ‘Are they owls?’

Lianthe looked up and smiled. ‘Why, yes. A good omen, don’t you think? Would you like to keep them?’

‘Depends on the rats.’ Call her difficult but if the rats were gone Sera was all for providing alternative living space—and hunting options—for the raptors. ‘We may need the assistance of a falconer. I don’t suppose King Augustus keeps one of those any more either?’

‘No, Lady Sera. But King Casimir of Byzenmaach does,’ said their guide.

‘Ah, yes.’ Lianthe nodded. ‘The falconers of Byzenmaach are men of legend and steeped in the old ways. Tomas-the-Tongue-Tied is head falconer there these days is he not? How is the boy?’

‘Grown, milady, although still somewhat tongue-tied,’ said the old guide and won a rare smile from Lianthe. ‘But ever devoted to his winged beasts. If you need him here, we can get him here.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Sera. Eyes on the prize, or, in this case, the speedy removal of hunting birds from her future living quarters. ‘Let’s aim for that. Unless by “Don’t get too comfortable” King Augustus meant for me to sleep with the wildlife? Perhaps I should go back and ask.’

‘You must definitely ask,’ said Lianthe.

It was decided. Sera shed her travelling cloak and watched the old courtier blink and then raise his hand as if to shade his eyes from the glare. Granted her dainty six-inch heels were a burnt orange colour and her slimline ankle-length trousers were only one shade darker, but her tunic was a meek ivory chiffon and the gold metal bustier beneath it covered far more than usual and ran all the way up and around her neck.

‘Something wrong?’ she asked the old guide.

‘Headache,’ he said, and touched two fingers to his temple.

‘I know massage techniques for that,’ she began. ‘Very effective. Would you like me to—’

‘No, milady. No! You just…’ He waved his arm in the air ineffectually. ‘Go and see Augustus. The King. King Augustus.’

‘I know who you mean,’ she said gently, sharing a concerned glance with Lianthe. ‘Are you quite well? I’d offer you a seat if I could find one. Or a drink. Would you like me to call for water?’

‘No, milady. I’m quite recovered.’

But he still looked painfully pinched and long-suffering. ‘Is it the jewels? Because the bustier isn’t quite my normal attire. It’s part of the courtesan’s chest.’

‘It certainly seems that way, milady. I must confess, I wasn’t expecting the bejewelled wrist and ankle cuffs either.’

Ah. ‘Well, they are very beautiful. And surprisingly light given all the bronze and amber inlays and gold filigree. There are chains to go with them,’ she said.

‘Of course there are.’ The man’s fingers went to massage his temple again.

‘Will I find the King in the same place we left him?’ asked Sera, because sometimes it paid to be practical.

‘He may be back in his office by now. Two doors to the left of the room you met him in. The outer area houses the secretary’s desk. The secretary’s not there because that would be me and I am here. The inner room is his, and the door to it may or may not be open. Either way, knock.’

Sera found the King exactly where the old courtier said he would be; the door through to his office was open and she paused to check her posture before knocking gently on the door frame. He lifted his gaze from the papers on the big black table in front of him and blinked. And blinked again.

She curtseyed again, all but kissing the floor, because this man was her King and protocol demanded it.

‘Up,’ he said, with a slight tinge of weariness. ‘What is it?’

Not Come in, so she stayed in the doorway. ‘I want to invite Tomas the Byzenmaach falconer to call on me.’

‘Tired of me already?’ He arched an eyebrow, even as he studied her intently, starting with her shoes and seeming to get stuck in the general vicinity of her chest. The golden bustier was quite arresting but not the most comfortable item of clothing she owned. ‘That was quick.’

‘I need him here so he can remove the raptors from my quarters.’

‘Raptors as in dinosaurs? Because it’s been that kind of day.’

‘Raptors as in owls.’

‘I’m almost disappointed,’ he said, and there was humour in him, sharp and slippery. ‘What is that you’re wearing, exactly? Apart from the clothes. Which I appreciate, by the way. Clothes are useful. You’ll get cold here if you don’t wear more of them.’

‘You mean the jewellery? Your secretary seemed very taken by it as well. It’s ceremonial, for the most part, although practical too.’

‘Practical?’

‘D-rings and everything.’ She held up one wrist and showed him the loop and then pointed to another where the bustier came together at the back of her neck. ‘So do I have your permission to call in the falconer?’

‘Is this a plea for different living quarters? Because I’m being as clear as I can be here. I don’t want to give you any quarters, but, given that I must, you are welcome to more suitable living arrangements than the ones you have requested. I would not deny you that.’

‘It’s not a plea for new quarters.’ He tested her patience, this King with the giant stick up his rear. ‘And, yes, you’re being very clear. Perhaps I should be equally clear.’ Save herself a few meetings with him in the process. ‘I want your permission to clean and ready my living quarters for use. I will call in experts, when necessary. I will see the courtesan’s lodgings restored and it will cost you and the palace nothing. I will take all care to preserve the history of the rooms—more care than you or your people would. I will submit names, on a daily basis, of each and every craftsperson or cleaning person that I bring in. By your leave, and provided I have free rein to do so, I can have those rooms fit to live in within a week. Do I have your permission?’

‘You argue like a politician. All fine words, sketchy rationale and promises you’ll never keep.’

‘I’ll keep this promise, Your Majesty. Consider this a test if you need a reason to say yes.’

‘And when you leave again? What happens to all these home improvements then?’

‘I expect the next courtesan will benefit from them.’

‘Sera.’ He spoke quietly but with an authority that ran bone-deep, and it got to her in a way the authority of her teachers never had. ‘There’s not going to be another courtesan delivered to a King of Arun. This I promise.’

‘Then turn the place into a museum,’ she snapped, defiant in the face of extinction. ‘You don’t value me. I get it. You don’t need my help, you don’t want my help, and you don’t understand the backing you’ve just been blessed with. So be it. Meanwhile, we’re both bound by tradition and moreover I have dues to pay. Do I have your permission to engage the help I need to make my living quarters habitable?’

‘And here I thought courtesans were meant to be compliant.’

‘I am compliant.’ She could be so meekly compliant his head would spin. ‘I can be whatever you want me to be. All I need is direction.’

His face did not betray his thoughts. Not by the flicker of an eye or the twitching of a muscle.

‘You have my permission to make your living quarters habitable,’ he said finally. ‘And Sera?’

She waited.

‘Don’t ever walk the halls of my palace in your ancient slave uniform again.’

* * *

The King’s secretary had gone by the time Sera arrived back in the quarters she’d claimed as her own. She held her head high as she entered, never mind that the chill in the air and the ice in the King’s eyes had turned her skin to gooseflesh. She wouldn’t cry, she never had—not even at her mother’s funeral—but the gigantic task of readying this space for use and earning Augustus of Arun’s trust, and, yes, finding him a wife, was daunting enough to make her smile falter and her shoulders droop as she stared around at her new home.

Lianthe and the guards had already begun pulling covers off the furnishings and for that she would be grateful. She wasn’t alone in this. Other people had faith in her abilities.

‘I’ve already sent for cleaning equipment and linens,’ Lianthe said when she saw her. ‘Did you find him again?’

‘I did.’

‘And?’

‘He’s a funny guy. He’s also hard as nails underneath, doesn’t like not getting his own way and he’s going to be hell on my sense of self-worth.’

‘We knew this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. I’m sure you’ll come to a greater understanding of each other eventually.’

‘I’m glad someone’s sure,’ she murmured.

‘And what did he have to say about securing a falconer to help get rid of our feathered friends?’

‘Oh, that?’ She’d forgotten about that. ‘He said yes.’