Glitter (Glitter Duology #1)(59)
Trying to salvage some scrap of my dignity, I edge closer to Duchess Darzi. “Clearly I’m new to all of this, but does everyone truly dally with their secretaries?”
“Not everyone, of course, but it’s a centuries-old tradition, my dear. Surely even you can’t be surprised.” She turns to me. “I assumed you were trying to make a statement to His Highness. Were you not?”
At my alarmed face, she lets out a low chuckle. Perhaps I should have realized, but I avoid thinking of Saber and the King in the same sphere whatsoever.
“You’ve got some PR work to do, don’t you?”
“Oh, goody,” I say under my breath as the duchess leaves the room and I have no choice but to follow.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed making a fool out of me.”
I nearly jump and crash into Saber when His Majesty ambushes me the moment I step from the retiring room. “Good lord, Justin, but I shall have to put a bell around your neck,” I say, trying not to look affected.
“I’d like to put something else around yours.” I’m not sure how he maneuvered me up against the wall, but his body is nearly flush with mine and his hand spans my collarbones in a near-embrace sure to look romantic to passersby—and there are a good few of them. His lips brush the side of my neck and I turn my face away instinctively, only to find my eyes locking with Saber’s.
My body stills and humiliation fills me from the toes up, but I can’t look away from his damning gaze. I’m too terrified to move, but everything within me wants to scream, to protest to Saber that I don’t want this. Don’t want him. That my life is a sham and what I really want is—
I force my eyes shut. I can’t even let myself think it. Not with His Highness’ steaming breath on my skin and the heat from his body seeping through my clothes. Then, blessedly, the hand is gone and His Highness has pulled me from the wall and placed my hand in the crook of his elbow and is sweeping me into the Hall of Mirrors. “I don’t give a damn if it’s true or not, but you’d better convince all of them that it’s not.”
“What?”
“Your piece of eye candy back there. You want to keep him? I expect you to prove to everyone that you haven’t brought him in for the sole purpose of cuckolding me, which is precisely how it appears at the moment.”
“I didn’t know,” I protest when he hands me a flute of champagne. “I had no idea there were rules and…and claims.”
“I’ll fire him and toss him from the palace myself if the rumors don’t stop, and now.”
“How in the world am I—”
But he answers by pulling his arms tight around me, pressing his mouth hard on mine; I taste the brandy he’s been drinking and understand. If I’m to keep Saber, I’ll have to play the lovesick fool—the pretty bit of finery delighted to hang on the King’s arm. I wonder how much this fit of pique has to do with our encounter this afternoon. Whether he’s truly jealous.
His face separates from mine and he raises his glass and shouts, “Her Grace!” The crowds around me raise their own glasses and return the toast. I smile until my cheeks hurt.
I don’t dare look at Saber—can’t even glance in his direction. His Highness sweeps me off to the dance floor, and my feet pay for the audacity of bringing in such a handsome young secretary. I’m forced to dance for nearly an hour without pause before being unceremoniously escorted to a wall and left there, alone.
I’m grateful for the moment, though—I need to compose myself and rid my skin of the crawling sensation of being near my fiancé.
“Sorry to be so very tardy,” Molli says, sidling up beside me a few minutes later and linking her elbow with mine. “I’m afraid Mother isn’t feeling well tonight and I wanted to see her settled before I began getting ready. And you know how long that takes. So,” she says, hardly drawing a breath, “what have I missed?”
IT TAKES A few days to satisfy my sleep deficit, but Saber turns out to be well accustomed to working into the small hours of the morning. Moreover, for all his grumbling, he seems to navigate the palace—and life within its walls—without serious incident.
“Saber?” I call softly, knocking at the small door to his quarters.
“Come in; I’m almost ready.”
I clear my throat politely when the door opens to Saber tucking his shirt into his unbuttoned breeches, but he neither pauses nor hurries. Every motion is mechanically precise, like a clock ticking along, one task after the next. Artless, but efficient almost to the point of choreography. It’s the same when he’s mixing product; perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that he dresses in such a manner as well.
Still, it’s not until his waistcoat is buttoned and his jacket pulled snugly over the whole ensemble that I find myself drawing regular breaths.
“Can you help me with this thing or do I need to call one of those bots in here?” He holds up a crisply pressed cravat. “I can tie a full Windsor in ten seconds, but this? This is impossible.”
Windsor? I have no idea what he’s talking about. Sadly, I also have no idea how to tie a cravat, never having been sufficiently intimate with a man to necessitate such a skill. Nor do I have time to search for a tutorial on my Lens. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to toss away the opportunity to lay my hands on Saber’s neck.