The Princess was far too quiet. Not that he had expected her to immediately agree to his proposal, but her silence, her downcast eyes, her blank expression... he had not expected that either.
He had drawn the bath for her himself, and though he would have liked to join her in it, the way she had pulled away from him earlier and how she had rebuffed his every attempt at conversation, was a clear indication that she did not want the company.
Even mentioning that he had already seen about her maid, Fioria, and his lie that she was resting comfortably with a slight head cold illicited nothing other than a curt nod.
If Grieta had been nearby, he would have gone to her at once and threatened her to learn what he had done incorrectly.
However, the Princess did not appear to be injured or even angry... she was simply... quiet.
Mikhail scowled as he pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. He could not afford to obsess over what was likely a passing mood. His main purpose had been achieved.
The herb was in the wine. She had definitely swallowed some of it. The difficulty would be in the timing.
He had drunk a good deal more of it than she had, and with any luck, his own body would act as a clock.
He yanked the rope again before remembering that he had dismissed his brother's servants. He swore under his breath, and reached for his shirt to leave the room but then stopped.
Rumors spread quickly at court... he remembered this well from his youth. Today, he would use this to his favor.
Leaving his tunic on the floor, he snatched up the Princess's discarded gown and left the room, striding purposely down the outer hall. There were very few nobles admitted to the royal family's private wing of the palace, but those few would be enough.
He stopped when he reached the doors to the outer gardens. There were always favor seekers gathered there. Those who held the Emperor's favor were given the liberty to visit the gardens at will and walk there, and even in the cold weather, nobles would come to sit on the veranda or gather in the adjacent drawing rooms just to see and be seen.
Prince Mikhail entered the sitting room shirtless and ignored the scandalized glances and stiffled gasps of the ladies assembled there.
"You there..." he called, signaling one of the servants pouring tea.
The girl set her tray down and bobbed a nervous curtsy.
"I need you to run down to the office of the chamberlain and find two Vezdan seamstresses who should be waiting there. Tell them the gown the Princess was wearing needs mending and be quick about it! She is to be presented at court today," he ordered.
The looks exchanged between the noble ladies in the room assured him that by the time the Princess reached the court, everyone would know whose woman she was.
"My Prince... are your servants-"
"You dare question an order from your Prince?" he growled. "My servants have been dismissed due to the customs of my wi... of the princess... the Vezdan royal family do not allow their servants to sleep in rooms connected to their own. Now, do as I say and be quick about it, or I shall personally see to your punishment!"
The trembling girl bobbed her head again, offered a strangled apology, and ran from the room.
Mikhail whistled at her back and the frightened girl turned to see him hold up the dress and shake it. With a burning face, she raced back and took it from him, bowing several times again before dashing down the hall.
Mikhail did not bother to greet or acknowledge the other nobles. He swept the room with his cold gaze and turned to walk away.
The hum of whispers grew almost the moment he turned his back and began to walk, and he smirked, imagining the look on his brother's face when he leaned that the whole court was gossiping about his relationship with the Princess. By the time rumors of her pregnancy got out, there wouldn't be a single person at court who wouldn't know who the child's father was.
The Emperor would not be able to take a woman pregnant with his brother's child-- not even as a lesser concubine-- without offending all of the high court.
The Emperor would make no offer to the Princess at this time, which would certainly further his own suit for her hand.
Of course, he would still have to be vigilant. If his brother was truly determined, the Emperor would simply have him killed and offer the Princess 'chasal' terms. Chasal-- the absorption of a dead brother's household into one's own-- was once a common practice after all, and few nobles would look down on such an arrangement.
But it was not a simple enough arrangement to have it settled before the council representatives arrived. No, the Emperor was a cautious and long-sighted man. He would take the easiest route to secure the presumed heir.
And with no offer from the Emperor, the Princess would only have his own proposal to consider.
Mikhail paused with his hand on the door to his room. He rarely gave much thought to his own feelings. It served no purpose other than to deepen those negative emotions which were ever present- but the idea of being married to the Princess... and so quickly at that... it didn't exactly give him any pleasure.
He could admit that in moments of weakness or boredom, he had certainly imagined such a thing before, and such day dreams, which he rarely allowed himself, had always been a pleasant and almost intoxicating escape.
Of course in those dreams, the Princess was a willing participant-- reaching for his hand of her own volition or gazing into his eyes as she smiled shyly.
He shook his head and pushed the door open, clearing the image of her blank expression and downcast eyes from his mind.
It would be no true marriage anyhow. Simply the means to an end - a way of protecting the girl from the Emperor until he could find a way to send her to safety in Frem.
The words he spoke... the words he said to her while kneeling... he would have to be more careful of such thoughts slipping out of his mouth in the future. Even the Princess, who seemed somewhat fixated on out-dated notions like love and romance, had appeared to be disdainful and a bit taken aback by his unguarded thoughts. Cautious thing that she was, she had immediately suspected him of ulterior motives.
He felt a bitter urge to laugh, but suppressed it
"Where is my gown?" her angry voice assaulted his ears the moment he opened the door.
She stood in the center of the room, wrapped in one of his dressing robes. Her hair, wet and freshly braided, circled her head like a crown in Vezdan style. Though she tied the sash of the robe tightly around her small waist, the robe was so large that it pooled on the floor around her, and the sleeves hung well past her hands. She looked like an ancient queen from the temple murals.
"The fabric was torn slightly in the back. I took it to be fixed," he answered calmly.
She sighed in a frustrated way and motioned toward the destroyed corset she'd retrieved from under the bed. The long sleeve flicked impatiently.
"And what of that... thing? That cage thing women wear to fit into their gowns? How am I supposed to go before the Emperor in a dress I won't be able to fasten properly?" she demanded. "Must you always destroy my clothing at the most inopportune of times?"
Mikhail frowned in order to hide the twitching he felt at the corners of his mouth. She might throw something at him if he laughed. Still, a wave of relief washed over him at seeing her usual sharp tongue and demeanor restored.
He glanced toward the corset and realized that it only needed new lacing.
"Easily fixed, Princess," he murmured. "I shall have a servant fetch lacing and--"
"Could you send for a few other things as well?" she interrupted, her voice suddenly quiet... shy almost.
He glanced quickly in her direction. The fiery way she had greeted him upon entering the room had been a welcome relief after her earlier silence and withdrawn behavior. Now she again stood with downcast eyes, her covered hand resting gently against her waist.
"What does the Princess require?" he asked.
"Oh... well... that is... I am suddenly feeling unwell," she frowned, her hand moving protectively to cover her lower abdomen. "I... there are a few... if you would be so considerate... there is a rather simple medicine I can make from a few ingredients... a concoction very common to Vezdan healers that--"
"The Princess... is injured?" he asked, feeling the blood drain from his face. He had hurt her! He should never have even-
"Injured?" she scoffed. "No. I said unwell. I am unwell. My stomach is... unsettled."
It should be hours before the herb caused any such symptoms, he thought, glancing her up and down. He felt nothing at all, and since he had swallowed a great deal more, it should affect him well before it did her.
Still... she was much smaller than he was. Perhaps he'd made a grave mistake and given her too much. If she sickened now-
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she sighed impatiently. "Indigestion isn't a death sentence. Can you have your servants fetch a cup of goat milk, a few dried leaves of yeksprig, a piece of hutteroot, and a quarter dale of powdered kesh?"
"Uhh..." he mumbled, scratching his head.
"What? Do you not keep goats in the north?" she snapped her fingers under the sleeve impatiently.
"Hutteroot... is a very powerful-"
"Yes, yes, but it's counteracted by the kesh, and once you boil it in milk, it weakens the properties substantially. In Vezda, it's gentle enough in such form to be given to children in small doses," she insisted.
Mikhail frowned and rubbed his forehead nervously. He could not allow her to take anything which might countereffect the herb, but if she was already feeling unwell, perhaps he should send a request for her audience to be held sooner.
"I can ask after those things, but it may take the servants some time to gather them. I do not think they could be procured before your audience with the Emperor. Perhaps a glass of warm alkan would-"
"No. I prefer the medicines of my own people," she shook her head, interrupting him. "It is no matter. If your servants can not find the ingredients before my audience, then I shall soldier through and see to the medicine after. It is only a very mild case of indigestion, after all. Your servants could surely gather them together before the evening meal, could they not?" she asked.
"Yes," he agreed,
"Then that will have to do," she said.
Mikhail nodded and turned to leave.
"Prince Mikhail!" she called after him. "Is it common for the Prince of the Empire to wander about the palace without his shirt?"
"No," he admitted, pausing in the doorway.
"Then would it not be prudent to perhaps put one on before leaving your rooms?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Unless it is your intention to scandalize the entire court."
"Of course not," he lied and stooped to reach for the shirt he had earlier discarded on the floor.
"Perhaps a fresh shirt that doesn't smell as though it's been used to scrub out a horse stall?" she suggested lightly.
He glanced up to see her trying to hide an amused smirk.
He had worried for a moment that she had guessed his true motive for leaving the room without a shirt, but she was only teasing him.
Teasing him... while wearing only his robe, smelling of his soap and watching him with those large beautiful eyes that sparkled like the sea.
Her moods were also as unpredictable as the sea that day. Stoic and withdrawn and then angry and then shy and then amused and teasing... why did this feel familiar somehow? Why did it set off a warning bell in his head?
"Of course, Princess," he agreed and headed for the closet.