Grieta had remembered his preferences down to the last detail, Mikhail realized, and the thought made him somewhat uncomfortable.
Her new girl was dressed simply in the familiar white Vezdan tunic, and as she was escorted into the room, her eyes met his, and she immediately glanced away, the color rising in her cheeks.
He saw them only for an instant, but it was long enough to ascertain that her eyes were blue-- not the rare blue-green that House Eosin was famous for-- but close enough.
She was slender and small-boned as well, with long, dark hair hanging loose over her thin shoulders and down her back.
Mikhail swallowed thickly. Now that Grieta had seen the Princess with her own eyes, she must have realized exactly where his preferences stemmed from.
The girl jumped at the sound of the door closing behind her, and then gave a small sheepish grin, as if she were apologizing for her nervousness. She waited in silence for him to address her. She did not bow, or greet him, but she did clasp her hands awkwardly in front of herself as she waited, as if she did not know what else to do with them.
Grieta had no doubt trained her in mannerisms as well... the shyness, the blushing, the air of naiveté, and a certain amount of arrogance in not greeting him... these were all traits he'd once imagined the Princess would display if they were ever alone together.
It did not work for him now. He watched the girl warily, disappointed that he felt almost nothing. Perhaps if he squinted, or closed his eyes entirely...
Mikhail dropped into a high-backed padded chair and motioned for her to approach. Even the walk was wrong. The new girl had a graceful and regal gait, as though she were trying to imitate Queen Ora. The real Princess moved more like a warrior, because she'd trained as one. Her careful footsteps made almost no noise, and she was always scanning the area around her-- assessing the room for threats.
Years ago, after returning from his first meeting with Queen Ora, he'd stumbled into Grieta's brothel, drunk and in the company of his rowdiest soldiers.
He had gone to Vezda under a white flag, with a bag of orange jelly candies in his pocket and thoughts of the small blue-eyed girl who had stuck out her tongue and run from him laughing after saving his life. He had left Vezda with the empty ache of longing-- all thoughts of the child obliterated by the image of the beautiful young woman she'd grown into. The candies were still in his pocket.
By the time he arrived in Torobirk and gave his report to the Emperor, the quiet, beautiful, young woman with ocean eyes haunted his every waking thought.
His long held desire to protect the girl from all harm was now at war with a new desire-- an almost violent urge to take her for himself-- to have her, to keep her, to taste her, hoard her-- to force her to look at him, and only him.
He knew it was wrong, and he fought against this new desire with anger and self-loathing-- pushing the image of her from his mind each time it slipped in. It was difficult enough not to think of her while he was awake, but completely impossible to prevent while he slept. Back then, he often woke in the night, horrified at the filthy things he did to her in his dreams.
It was a confusing and frustrating state to live in, and so... even though he normally avoided the brothels... he had gone to Grieta's hoping to find relief.
What he'd found there was not relief, but a new way of training his body. A way to control himself. Grieta had become not exactly a friend, and not exactly a teacher. She was an uncomfortable ally. The two had come to trust each other, not through affection or mutual respect, but through necessity. Each knew the other's secrets. Each could destroy the other.
"My lady says that I should call you Mischa..." the girl began.
Mikhail cringed and shook his head.
"No. Don't talk," he snapped. "Come here, girl."
He pointed at the floor between his legs and she obediently dropped to her knees before him.
She removed a few golden bangles from her wrist, and set them on the floor before sliding her hands lightly over his knees and thighs. She glanced boldly up at him, and smiled as she reached toward the lacing of his pants.
He gave her a nod of permission and then leaned back and closed his eyes.
He tried to imagine it was her between his legs, touching him, as he had so often done before, but it was terribly difficult.
Now that the Princess was more than the woman he viewed from a distance and never spoke to... he could not replace her with anyone else. She moved different, smelled different, smiled in different ways, all of them unique to her.
The girl freed his member from his pants, and began to manipulate him with quick, practiced strokes.
Mikhail squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. He could not see her in the girl before him, but now he had actual memories.
His thoughts went at once to the bath, to the moment the Princess had pressed her small, wet body against his as she kissed him-- to her fingers scratching at his arms and back, sliding down, down... imaging what might have happened next. Imagining her hand gripping him, stroking him.
He was fully hard now, and as the girl leaned forward and took him in her mouth, he pressed his lips together to keep from groaning or crying out.
He was close... too close, too quickly, he realized, and he caught the girl by the back of her head to guide her movements, and force her to slow down.
The Princess would never... just imagining using her mouth in such a way felt profane and dirty... and yet thrilling.
The girl gagged and choked.
Without realizing it, he'd begun to thrust while still holding her head.
"Fuck!" He cried, letting go of her in horror. "Stop. STOP!"
The girl leaned back, gasping for air and glanced up at him confused.
"I'm sorry, my Prince," she panted. "Should I-"
"No... it's... it's fine... I... did I hurt you?" He demanded.
"No, my Prince," she assured him as she stood, and pulled her tunic over her head.
She reached for his hand, but he was faster, and pulled away.
"Don't," he warned. "Don't touch me."
"My... Prince?" She asked.
Absorbed in his own daydream, for the briefest moment, he'd imagined it was the Princess who gagged and choked as he held her by the hair and thrusted into her mouth. It was an image that made him feel sick and almost paralyzed with self-loathing.
The girl stood naked before him, waiting to give him the release he'd been needing, and yet the very thought of using her body felt wrong somehow.
It was necessary for the Princess's safety and his own sanity, he reasoned, and yet every time he looked at the pale expanse of naked flesh before him he felt like a man dying of thirst being offered salt water.
"I have too much on my mind this evening," Mikhail dismissed her, as he tucked himself in and began lacing his pants. "My guard will pay you for your time and efforts."
He reached for the bell rope and pulled it twice to signal the guard.
The girl barely had time to pull her tunic over her head before the door opened and his guard entered.
"See the girl out and make sure she is paid for her services,"he ordered.
The girl appeared surprised and confused, but bobbed a quick curtsey and allowed herself to be led from the room.
He would go and see Grieta tomorrow instead, he decided. He had things to discuss with her anyhow, and she had a rare talent for getting a man off quickly with limited theatrics.
The door opened again, and as he raised his head to berate whoever had entered without announcing themselves, he found himself staring at the actual Princess of Vezda.
She appeared to be wearing only his robe, and her skin was frighteningly pale against the deep blue color of the silk. Her hair hung loose and full about her, and those beautiful eyes... those eyes that haunted him daily... were wide and frightened.
She crossed the room in an instant and kneeled in front of him before he even had a chance to move.
"Prince Mikhail, forgive me," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "I should never have... I didn't mean for you to die, and when I saw you suffer, I realized too late that... that I... I was wrong... I was..."
Mikhail suspected that he was dreaming. Perhaps the poison had sent him into a coma, and everything had been a dream.
Her voice though... why would he dream it to be so ragged and broken? She sounded as if she was becoming ill, and she was even paler than usual.
He reached out and placed his hand against her cheek.
Cold. Just as he thought. She was always cold. She shouldn't be wandering this late in the night wearing only a robe.
In fact, she shouldn't be wandering at all! She was supposed to be sleeping in a secure but comfortable room under guard, and why had she been able to enter his bedroom? Only Ilya had the privilege to make the guards stand aside.
Which gave credence to the idea that he was imagining all of it.
"You're very cold," he informed her. "I will call for-"
"No. Aren't you listening to me?" She cried. "I'm sorry. I won't ever try to kill you again, I swear it..." she leaned forward, placing her hand on his thigh in her sincerity.
Mikhail froze. The fact that the Princess now kneeled between his legs in the exact same spot, and in almost the exact same position as the whore had been only a few moments before gave him the strangest feeling he'd ever experienced- namely a crushing sense of guilt, but also a nightmarish sort of thrill-- the thought that perhaps he was dreaming and that if he just held very still, things would progress in the same manner as they had with the girl.
"Well, that is... I mean to say... I won't try to kill you again, unless I know for certain that you've done something horrible, and in which case, I would have no choice but to..." the Princess rambled nervously.
She paused in her explanation to look up at him, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the effect that quick glance had on him.
The Princess dropped her eyes as if embarrassed and they fell naturally to the bulge in his lap.
At that moment, she realized her own inappropriate position and removed her hand.