The carriage rattled and swayed, pitching the Princess against his side for the third time since the ride began. Mikhail was keeping track, almost against his will, of every moment of physical contact.
It was all he could think about since the moment that the words 'marital duties' had left her mouth.
Only an hour earlier, while discussing the marriage agreement, the Princess of Vezda had raised her blue-green eyes to his own, cocked her head to one side, and with a deceptively innocent expression asked: 'And how often would I be expected to perform... marital duties?"
He'd wanted to do the chivalrous and morally correct thing, and immediately assure her that she was under no obligation whatsoever. It was no true marriage in the sense that one would expect an heir to be produced, and so, to lay such duties on her was purely for his own--
And yet she had asked in a way that suggested that it was almost a foregone conclusion. Perhaps it was even something she wanted to be assured of for her own--
No. Never assume, he reminded himself. While he had not offered her freedom from such obligations, he had, at the very least, offered to leave it to her discretion.
And now... he was keeping score of every small touch. The time she reached for his hand to enter the carriage. The time she had tapped his knee lightly to call his attention to a market corner she found interesting-- each brush of her shoulder, each time her body jostled against his own in the cramped carriage-- as if a certain amount of contact would confirm to him that she wanted those marital duties. That she longed to be in his arms in the same way that he longed to hold her.
The irony that he was bringing her to a whore house to meet the woman who had spent more time in his bed than any other, was not lost on him.
He would have to watch Grieta very carefully. The woman was notorious for saying the exact thing she should not. She had thought it very humorous indeed, when he'd informed her that he would no longer be using the services of herself or her house. Even explaining that he simply meant to humor the Princess's customs until she could be safely dispatched to Frem, did not wipe the knowing smirk from her face.
Grieta was a devoted student of human behavior, and could generally guess all the things a person did not say with her sharp eyes. No bit of knowledge ever went to waste. She carefully filed her observations away until she needed to press on a person's weakness.
She could be devious, yes, and certainly ruthless, but to some degree, he had always admired those sharp qualities of hers.
Queen Ora had somehow kept Grieta on a short leash. The Princess was certainly every bit as intelligent as her sister, but also far more brash and impatient. He could not allow Grieta to set a match to the powder keg in her.
The carriage turned a sharp corner and she was thrown against him once again.
"Sorry," she mumbled, righting herself, with lowered eyes.
He did not trust himself to answer. He'd had no sleep the night before. Wound up by the brothel girl's visit, and then forced to lay immobile beside the Princess's sleeping form, he'd considered slipping away to hide in the bath and give himself some relief-- however, he feared waking her. She had immediately rolled toward him, as if unconsciously seeking his warmth, and he was able slide his arm beneath her and pull her closer still, nestling her small body against his own which was somehow both addictively comforting and achingly unfullfilling at the same time.
Clearing his throat, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was avidly watching the city flash by her window.
"You understand that this meeting is only so that you might have some understanding of Queen Ora's time in Unaria. I would tell you myself if I were able," he reminded her.
"Yes," she agreed, but her tone seemed very detached.
"Grieta is not a person you should have a relationship with," he repeated once again.
"So you've said. My sister must have held her in some esteem to-"
"Queen Ora saw that she was useful. She respected her for her quick wit and her loyalty to Vezda. I would not go so far as to say Queen Ora trusted her," Mikhail corrected.
"Indeed," Talia agreed in a noncommittal tone.
Mikhail frowned. Grieta would certainly try to win the Princess over to her way of thinking. He would not put it past her to badmouth him or to try to drive a wedge between him and the Princess to accomplish it. There were many things she could tell the Princess that would make him appear to be untrustworthy.
"You should know that there is a rumor spreading through the capitol concerning you. You may hear of it today," he began slowly.
The Princess's gaze sharpened, her attention turning from the window to him at once.
"What rumor?" She asked.
"That you are with child... with my child," he admitted.
"What sort of rumor is that?" She demanded her voice rising slightly. "Who would spread such slander?"
"I did," he answered simply. "At the time, it seemed the easiest and quickest way to pressure the Emperor into agreeing to our marriage."
Her face frozen in shock, the Princess opened her mouth and then closed it again. He could see that she was thinking-- perhaps going over the events that had happened the day before and realizing that-
"So when you poisoned me..." she began and then stopped, shaking her head.
"Yes. It was so that you would display the symptoms of pregnancy before the court, but also because the poison causes the body to mimic the pulse of a pregnant woman. When the physician examined you, he confirmed that you were pregnant, and reported as much to the Emperor," Mikhail explained.
"You should have explained yourself instead of using me in such a way!" The Princess snapped. "I might have agreed to work with you, but-"
"You would not have done so," Mikhail shook his head. "You are clever, and above all, you do what is best for Vezda. If the Emperor had also made a marriage offer, you would have feigned interest to both of us and requested time to make your decision. Then you would have used the time to gather information on the King of Blackside. I could not be sure that you would accept me with other, possibly more beneficial, offers on the table. A public rumor of your pregnancy doesn't only stop him from making an offer, it protects me from the Emperor. He would not hesitate to have me killed to make sure that he is your only option. Now, at least, if he does so-- the court will talk."
The Princess scowled, but appeared to consider his words.
"And why are you telling me this now?" She asked.
Truthfully, he would have told her eventually, but his reason for telling her at that exact moment was to keep Grieta from being able to use it against him. That was not a reason the Princess would like. Mikhail frowned and thought for a minute.
"Last night... you spoke of us being.... you said... that you wanted to trust me.." he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
"You WERE listening," she realized.
"I thought... if I have someone who can tell you about Ora... and if I told you... if you knew everything... if you understood how much danger you're in... maybe you would trust me," he scowled at the floor. He was telling a truth, he reasoned to himself, just not the truth she was looking for.
The Princess was silent and then her small, cool hand slipped into his. Surprised, he looked up to see that she was watching him with a slight smile, but her eyes seemed to convey sadness... it was not a smile he had seen before, and it tugged at his heart.
"You want me to understand you better... that is what you mean. You want me to understand why you do the things you do," she guessed.
"Perhaps," he grunted, looking away again. "You should know... I would not send you to Frem, if I believed there was any chance you could survive here."
"You wouldn't?" She prodded. "What what you do if there were no Emperor or ancient ones?"
"I would return you to Vezda where you could... live in peace. Where you would be happiest," he answered quickly.
"And if there were no Vezda?" She countered.
Confused, Mikhail glanced at her again and saw another look in her eyes that he had never seen before.
"I would... I suppose... wherever you preferred..." the strangely expectant look on her face dimmed, as Mikhail stumbled over his words.
"Why do you ask a question like that? How am I supposed to answer?" He muttered.
"Nevermind," she said dismissively, reclaiming her hand, and turning again to the window.
"I wouldn't return you to Vezda and you know it well. I am far too greedy. I would keep you at my side every day for as long as you live, and even when you grew tired of me or disgusted, I would keep you still. Even if it was only so that I could see your face. Even if you hated me, which you would grow to do," he growled.
"Why?" She demanded.
"Why would you grow to hate me? Because I'd-"
"No. Why would you keep me by your side?" She asked, wearing that same expectant look again.
"Because I want you. Because you..." his voice trailed off and he pressed his lips together.
"Stop doing that. Just say it. Why do you want me?" She pushed.
"Because I... because you're..." Mikhail shut his mouth and turned his head so that he could look anywhere but into those deep ocean eyes.
"Because you're... pretty, I suppose," he mumbled.
"Because I love you," he thought. "Because I want to keep you. Because I want you to be mine only. Because I want to make you smile. Because I want you to look at me the way you're looking at me now, every single day. Because I can forget every awful thing if you keep looking at me that way...
"Pretty!" The Princess scoffed.
"But there is Vezda, and the Emperor and the ancient ones," he reminded her.
The carriage hit a pothole at that moment, which flung the Princess directly into his arms. Mikhail swallowed thickly, adding another tally mark to the scorecard in his head. He did not release her. His hands did not seem to want to obey his thoughts.
"Prince Mikhail?" The Princess whispered, looking up at him. She must have used some sort of cosmetic on her lips, for they were redder than usual. He knew exactly how they would taste-- how they were going to taste because he was at the end of his ability to resist. If he didn't put space between them now, he'd have her on the floor of that carriage in seconds.
The Princess glanced past him, and her eyes widened.
"Is that...?" Her voice trailed off in wonder as she stared.
Mikhail turned to see the familiar red brick building.
"Yes. Grieta's place. We've arrived," he said.