If Delnamal had not insisted on moving Jinnell and Corlin into the palace, where they were both always under someone’s watchful eye, Jinnell had no doubt she could have easily rid herself of her virginity by now. She always displayed the proper maidenly modesty in front of others, but she was well aware that she was pretty. Everyone told her so, and she could not miss the occasional admiring glance from the men who crossed her path. But whereas at home, she was well versed in the art of escaping scrutiny, such was not the case in the palace, where she couldn’t take a step without encountering a guard, a servant, or both.
Over the course of the past week, she had been carefully reviewing her options, and taking a close look at those men with whom she had the most regular contact. While she was not looking for a genuine romantic tryst, she did hope to find someone whose touch she would not find repellent, so she quickly dismissed many of the older men from consideration. Of those who were not old enough to be her father, she felt Corlin’s hateful tutor was the most interested, but she would no more let that creature touch her than she would jump off the cliffs.
She had finally settled on Salnor, one of the most junior members of the palace guard. He had not developed the iron stoicism of his elders, and was far more apt to make eye contact when she spoke to him. He also had a free and easy smile that she could not deny she found appealing. She was careful to speak to all the palace guards from time to time so that no one would think she was paying undue attention to Salnor, but she was more generous with her own smiles when he was around, and she noticed how the color rose in his cheeks when she met his eyes. She had little doubt he was interested, but she was not sure how to go about her own deflowering.
She decided to start by stumbling and “turning her ankle” as she passed him in the hall on her way back to her rooms after a walk in the gardens. Since she was within the residential wing of the palace, she did not have her honor guards trailing around behind her every moment, which gave her at least a semblance of privacy.
She flashed Salnor a smile as she walked past him, then pretended to trip. She let herself fall to the carpet with a cry of pain that was clearly convincing, for Salnor leapt from his post and hurriedly squatted before her.
“Are you hurt, Miss Jinnell?” he asked, his eyes wide with alarm.
Jinnell reached for her ankle, “inadvertently” pushing her skirt up and giving him a teasing glimpse of leg. She moaned as she squeezed the ankle, and though she could not quite manage to make herself cry on demand, she blinked rapidly as if on the verge of tears. “I really twisted it,” she said with a wince.
Salnor reached out as if to test the ankle himself, then jerked his hand back as he thought better of it. It was all Jinnell could do not to smile when she saw that telltale flush of pink in his cheeks.
“Can you stand?” he asked, offering her a hand.
Jinnell took his hand and had to stifle a grimace of distaste at the rough, calloused feel of his skin. As a junior guardsman, he still spent a great deal of his time on drills and exercise, and his hands were much the worse for it. She did not imagine they would feel terribly pleasant against more sensitive skin—but surely they would feel more pleasant than Prince Waldmir’s hands.
Leaning on the guardsman heavily, she climbed laboriously to her feet and tried to take a step, then clutched more tightly to Salnor’s hand as she winced. “I don’t think I can walk,” she said.
The flush in Salnor’s cheeks deepened, and he glanced up and down the hallway. For once, there was no one else in sight. Jinnell had chosen her ambush site wisely.
“I suppose I should carry you,” he said doubtfully.
“I would be ever so grateful. If you can take me back to my rooms, I’m sure the ladies will know what to do with this dratted ankle. I broke it once when I was a little girl, and it’s never been quite right since.” That was at least half the truth, for though she had indeed once broken her ankle, a healer had been called for and it had been whole and healthy within a few hours.
Salnor swallowed hard as she slid her arm around his neck to make it easier for him to pick her up. He swept her off her feet with no difficulty—all that training had made him strong as an ox—and she settled comfortably against him as they began the long trek back to her rooms. She could feel the rapid patter of his pulse, and knew it had nothing to do with exertion. She wriggled a little, letting her breast rub against his chest. He swallowed again, proving he was fully aware of the contact despite the barrier of his mail. She smiled up at him brightly.
“I’m very sorry to have put you out like this,” she said. “You won’t get in trouble for leaving your station, will you?”
“Not under the circumstances,” he assured her. “It’s no trouble at all, miss.”
She batted her eyelashes at him, though she failed to grasp why doing so was supposed to be a flirtatious gesture. “You needn’t be so formal when I’m cradled in your arms.”
His flush deepened, and he cleared his throat. “I would never treat you with anything less than the utmost respect, Miss Jinnell.”
“You wouldn’t?” she asked, widening her eyes in false innocence. “Why, I’m beginning to think that’s a mighty shame.”
His gaze darted all around, as if he were searching for rescue, and Jinnell feared she was moving far too fast for him. She knew how to flirt with an awkward young nobleman at a ball, but that was a very different skill than trying to seduce said awkward young nobleman into her bed. While he was on duty in her uncle’s palace, no less. If he were to be suspected of inappropriate behavior with the king’s niece, he would be subjected to a severe flogging at the very least. More likely, his punishment would be considerably more dire, and that possibility would be running rampant through his mind right now. It would behoove her to move as slowly as she dared, though she feared every day that passed led her closer and closer to an engagement that would spell the end of her life.
“I was just teasing,” she said with a breathy little laugh. “That was terribly rude of me. I’m sorry.”
“No apologies necessary,” he said, but she was still very much aware of his stiffness and discomfort.
As she was trying to think of something else to say to both stimulate his interest and calm his discomfort, he turned a corner, and suddenly it seemed like every human being in the palace caught sight of them at once. They were immediately swarmed with servants and guardsmen alike, all asking after Jinnell’s well-being. Despite her protests, one of the older guardsmen took her from Salnor’s arms and insisted on summoning a healer right there and then. Salnor darted back toward his post with every evidence of being relieved, and Jinnell was left trying to assure everyone that her ankle was much better now and she could walk on her own.
As seductions went, clearly her first attempt had been a dismal failure, and though she had no doubt Salnor was interested, it would obviously take a concerted effort to overcome his sense of propriety. But she did not have the time to be slow and gentle in her pursuit, and that meant that however distasteful it might be, she needed to set her sights on someone less innocent and thoughtful. Someone who would be so eager to take what she was offering that neither his conscience nor his common sense would interfere with his desires.
Reminding herself that no alternative could be worse than a marriage to Prince Waldmir, she decided that she could stomach Corlin’s tutor for long enough to do what needed to be done. And when her lack of chastity was discovered, she would happily confess the identity of her secret lover without any feelings of guilt whatsoever.
When next she had a moment alone with Master Wilbaad, she would bait the trap. Even if the very thought of letting that man touch her made her stomach turn.
There were very few things Ellin wanted to do less than have a private audience with Lord Tamzin. Bad enough that she had to sit in endless council meetings with him every day. Since he’d goaded Graesan into the ill-fated assassination attempt on Zarsha, the very sight of him made something clench in her belly, and it was all she could do to manage anything resembling civil discourse. However, the rumor that she and Semsulin had started so long ago, the one that was meant to plant hope in Tamzin’s mind and tame his attempts to undermine her rule, was clearly no longer having the desired effect. Worse, it seemed to be spreading and gaining strength—no doubt thanks to Tamzin and his supporters.
When Tamzin had requested the audience, her first inclination had been to refuse. Indeed, everything in her had begged her to refuse. There could be no pleasant reason he wished to speak with her in private, and the temptation to hide from whatever trouble he was planning to cause now had been nearly overpowering. However, he was her lord chamberlain, and refusing to see him would be not only childish but irresponsible.
She did not immediately look up from the paper she was reading when Tamzin was shown into her private study. Not that she was actually reading the paper, mind you. It was nothing but a prop, meant to show Tamzin that she wasn’t especially concerned about his request for an audience. It also gave her an extra few heartbeats to adjust to the tension his very presence caused—and to put the reins on her temper when she knew that, if not for him, Graesan would still be coming to her bed at night, warming her with his body and his love.
A few heartbeats was all she had, for instead of standing respectfully awaiting her attention, Tamzin dropped into one of the chairs before her desk without invitation. It was an unthinkable breach of etiquette even for a close family member, much less a member of her royal council. She put down her paper and glared at him, but there was no point in rebuking his behavior. His message of disrespect was best left unacknowledged.
“Lord Tamzin,” she said in a flat voice that she hoped hid most of what she was feeling. “I only have a few minutes, so please be brief.”
Tamzin grinned at her. “Yes, your new secretary informed me of your tight schedule. Whatever happened to the last one? I rather liked him, but I haven’t seen him around in ages.”
Ellin’s heart leapt into her throat, and she felt as if she were choking on it. There was no question Tamzin knew why she had a new secretary, though she doubted he knew exactly what had happened to Graesan. It would not occur to someone like Tamzin that Zarsha was a decent enough man to allow his would-be assassin to live, much less give the man a home and a job. No, Tamzin thought he was poking at the open wound that was Graesan’s death at Zarsha’s hands, and he was enjoying himself.
“I sincerely doubt you asked for an audience to discuss the disposition of my staff,” she gritted out. Try as she might, she could not hide her anger and her pain. She hated giving Tamzin even that much satisfaction.
Tamzin smiled. Somehow, when others saw that smile, they were charmed, but Ellin couldn’t understand how so many missed the malice that she saw so clearly in his eyes. “No, I merely sought to satisfy my idle curiosity.” His nostrils flared briefly, as if he could scent the pain he was causing. “What I truly wanted to discuss with you is a delicate matter, which is why I requested a private audience rather than bringing it up during a council meeting.”
There was that flash of malice again, the flash that told her whatever “delicate matter” he wanted to discuss was something designed to hurt her in one way or another. She steeled herself, searching for a well of calm to mask her true feelings. “Well, what is it?” she asked, and was pleased that her tone betrayed nothing but impatience.
“There are some at this court who believe you have formed an…unhealthy attachment to Zarsha of Nandel. It is understandable, certainly, for a young woman to form an attachment to the man she is going to marry, but once that engagement is over…” He shrugged and made a regretful face. “Well, it’s best for all that both parties move on.”
Ellin was confident that the only member of her court who was concerned about this “unhealthy attachment” was sitting on the other side of her desk. If rumors had sprung up about any possible impropriety in her relationship with Zarsha, Semsulin would have heard of them and brought them to her attention. She was certain that neither she nor Zarsha had given the court any cause to suspect them of a romantic entanglement, and not even Semsulin knew that Zarsha was still pursuing a possible engagement.
“I won’t even dignify that nonsense with a response,” she said.
“But you should, Your Majesty. I’m sure you know rumors and rumblings don’t have to be true to cause a great deal of trouble and inconvenience. It would be best for you—and for our kingdom—if you were to put those rumors to rest before they grow out of control.”
“Is that why you tried to have Zarsha assassinated?” she blurted. Later, she might regret putting the accusation into words, but it was too late to swallow them now.
Tamzin widened his eyes in feigned shock. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Your Majesty. Who would dare make such a baseless accusation?”
“If you had as much concern for the good of the kingdom as you claim, you would never have risked having the nephew of Sovereign Prince Waldmir murdered while he was a guest of the Crown.”
“I must insist you present the evidence upon which you have leveled this outrageous charge!” The look in his eyes said he was far more amused—and entertained—by her accusation than worried by it.
Realizing she was only fueling Tamzin’s hunger, Ellin forced herself to return to the subject at hand. “I will take your warning under advisement,” she said coldly and with no sincerity. “And I would ask you to put the needs of the Kingdom of Rhozinolm above your own personal ambitions.”
“And I would ask the same of you,” he retorted. “If you wish to quell the unpleasant rumors before they take root, then send Zarsha of Nandel home so that we can all rest assured that he is not trying to woo his way onto the throne. And let us—discreetly, of course—make it known that you and I will marry when your mourning is over. Rhozinolm needs a king, and we both know I am the most suited for the position.”
I would sooner take a poisonous snake to my bed than you, she thought, but thankfully she refrained from saying it. “As I have made abundantly clear, I have no intention of discussing my marriage arrangement until after my mourning is over.”
Tamzin removed the mask of courtesy he’d hidden behind and fixed her with a look that chilled her to the marrow. “You may refrain from publicly discussing the arrangement until after your mourning has ended, but it is past time you let it be known to the members of your royal council. I’m sure you know they will happily support me, and I sincerely doubt you can find another candidate of whom you can say the same.”
“I will take your warning under advisement,” she said again, and with as little intention of doing so.
“You do that. But don’t think about it too long, Your Majesty. I fear for the security of your throne if you don’t act to quell the rumors about your relationship with Zarsha of Nandel. You cannot even begin to imagine the visceral outrage the thought of a Nandelite sitting on the throne of Rhozinolm would create in your people.”
Ellin clenched her teeth to keep from voicing any of her thoughts. He hadn’t quite gone so far as to openly threaten her, hadn’t said enough to warrant a treason charge—even if she’d had a witness—but there was no question of his intent.
If she didn’t send Zarsha home and agree to marry Tamzin, then he was going to start spreading whispers about her and Zarsha. He would rile up those who already opposed her and frighten those who were currently neutral. The rumor might even be ugly enough to turn some of her own supporters against her.
Once he’d sufficiently stirred the pot, Tamzin would take up arms against her. And as long as he had the support of the lord commander and the lord high treasurer, she would be helpless to stop him.
As a general rule, Delnamal seemed to take great pains to avoid seeing or speaking to Jinnell and Corlin, difficult as that was when they were all living in the same wing of the palace. Jinnell was perfectly satisfied with that arrangement, and would have been happier still if she never saw her uncle at all. It certainly would be safer for Corlin, who, far from being cowed by the vicious beating Delnamal had ordered, had discovered a taste for rebellion and a remarkable talent for getting under the skin of his elders. So she was far from pleased when Delnamal stepped into the sitting room where she was reading and instead of immediately finding an excuse to leave, strode toward her.
Reluctantly, Jinnell put the book down and stood so she could give him the curtsy protocol required. She bowed her head demurely and murmured a respectful greeting, which he failed to return. He picked up the book she’d been reading, and beneath her lowered lashes, she saw the look of surprise on his face.
“A Devotional?” he said in some astonishment. “I did not think you a pious sort.”
“The dowager gave it to me and urged me to read it,” she said, remembering the painful awkwardness of the moment. Jinnell had studied the Devotional growing up, as any well-brought-up lady should, but she could not say its teachings called to her. However, the dowager seemed to find great peace and serenity from reading it, and Jinnell had a desperate need for peace and serenity. Her safety depended on her ability to seduce Master Wilbaad, and yet she could not see him without thinking about his brutal treatment of her little brother.
“Your obedience is admirable,” Delnamal said, and there was an unmistakable edge in his voice that made her pulse speed. He had no reason to be angry with her—unless he blamed her for not controlling her little brother’s bad behavior—but she had little doubt that he was.
“Have I displeased you, Your Majesty?” she asked in a tremulous voice, racking her brain for something she might have done or said to draw his ire. Corlin might claim not to be afraid of their uncle, but Jinnell felt no shame in admitting that she was. There was so much anger in his heart, and he hardly seemed to see her and Corlin as people, much less as family. In his eyes, they were only their mother’s children, and as such were weapons to be used to wound her.
Delnamal raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Have you done something with which I should be displeased?” he asked.
Her eyebrows drew together in a frown of puzzlement, and she shook her head. “No, Your Majesty.”
“So you have behaved with perfect propriety and decorum at all times since last we spoke.” His narrowed eyes and growling tone made her long to take a step backward.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. She had certainly intended impropriety when she had “tripped” in the hallway, but since her intentions had not come to fruition…
“The captain of the palace guard reported to me that he was forced to reassign one of his men because you made improper advances.”
Jinnell gasped in mingled fear and outrage. She had done nothing that might be considered improper!
Well, she had made an unwisely flirtatious comment to Salnor, but no one could know what she’d said. Unless Salnor himself had reported it to his superiors. She had known she’d made him uncomfortable, but she’d had no idea he was that much of a prig!
“I did no such thing!” she said indignantly, though she feared she sounded more frightened than angry.
“So the guardsman lied?” Delnamal sneered. “You did not suggest that he deviate from the proper, respectful behavior of a guardsman? Very well. I shall have him flogged. An offense of this magnitude requires a stern punishment. Perhaps fifty lashes.”
The blood drained from Jinnell’s face. Salnor had betrayed her, but that was hardly a crime worthy of fifty lashes. The pain would be immense, and he would bear the scars for the rest of his life. She could not allow that.
“I didn’t say he lied,” she murmured. “I said I did not make improper advances. I’ll allow as how he might have misinterpreted my words, but I was merely teasing him to make him blush. I meant no offense.”
“Hmm,” Delnamal said, looking at her with glittering eyes. “It is a dangerous game for a pretty girl to ‘tease’ a young man like that. It is hardly surprising that he might have misinterpreted your intent, for that is often the way of young men. You are fortunate that he requested reassignment rather than acting upon what he saw as an invitation. Once a man hears such an invitation—whether it was intended as one or not—he often has a great deal of trouble discerning when that invitation has been revoked.”
“I will be more circumspect in the future,” she promised.
“See that you are. Your kingdom needs you fresh and unspoiled when you are presented to Sovereign Prince Waldmir, for those trade agreements are of vital importance. If through some naïve, childish error on your part, you were to find yourself unfit to be his bride, I might be forced to regard your behavior as something akin to treason, for it would not be only your own good name you dishonored—it would be Aaltah’s.”
Jinnell quailed, for she could see in Delnamal’s eyes that he was deadly serious. Being branded unchaste would land her in the Abbey; being branded a traitor would land her at the block. Tears filmed her eyes, and her lower lip trembled.
“I have done nothing wrong, Uncle,” she said, then cursed herself for the familiar form of address.
Delnamal’s eyes continued to bore into her. “See that it stays that way. Do we understand each other?”
Jinnell bowed her head and closed her eyes, for she did indeed understand. Losing her virginity to avoid a marriage with Prince Waldmir was no longer among her options.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”