A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood #1)(19)

“A wonder,” you pronounced, your gaze devouring the bow of her lips, the line of her jaw. “A genius.”

Now I understood why you were so enamored with her. She was as cunning as you were, and as cold as a Transylvanian winter. Beneath the fripperies and the giggles there was a girl made of steel, one who would do whatever it took to survive.

You could never resist a survivor. Or a mirror.

You took her hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse on the inside of her wrist. The nobles were watching; people could see you. You didn’t care.

“And what would you sacrifice, my Lady Machiavelli, for your freedom? What would you give me if it were in my power to promise you total immunity from the shackles of society? A life without limits, without laws to chafe against?”

“Anything,” Magdalena said, without a moment’s hesitation.

“If I could take you away from all this tomorrow, would you let me?”

“Yes.”

You smiled against her skin.

“Good.”

The rest of dinner passed in a blur. I ate whatever Magdalena hand-fed me, I listened to the warm lull of your voice as she trailed her fingers along mine. I gently touched the curls that had come loose at the base of her neck while you fed her little sips of wine from your glass; she whispered salacious nothings in your ear while her ankle brushed against mine under the table. We grew increasingly entangled, the air between us close and hot, and it was no surprise when you said:

“It’s getting late. Will your excellency be retiring soon?”

“I think I shall,” she said breathlessly, catching your drift immediately.

“Allow me to escort you to your rooms,” you said, standing to pull her chair out for her. She threw a dark-eyed glance through her lashes at me. It was a look men would have razed whole cities to the ground for.

“Will Lady Constanta be joining us?” she asked.

I wrung my napkin tightly in my lap, out of sight, and tried to keep my voice level. I was being invited to bed with you both, and you would be enjoying each other tonight, whether I came or not.

“Later, perhaps. I’d like to take some of the night air first.”

“Of course,” you said magnanimously, as though you were allowing me some indulgence instead of taking your own. You leaned over and kissed my brow, your hand hovering over the small of Magdalena’s back. “I have your permission, don’t I?”

You said it so quietly I doubt Magdalena even heard. I nodded mutely. There was no other answer.

“Good,” you said, and disappeared with Magdalena into the hallway.

I didn’t stay at dinner long after that, but I wandered the halls for a while before heading to your bedroom. You would be waiting there for me, I was sure, with Magdalena, probably in some kind of compromising position.

God, what was I allowing?

It felt like something that was happening to me, but I had agreed to it, hadn’t I? Part of me wanted this. Wanted her. I shouldn’t be feeling so dismayed.

I walked circles through the drafty halls, trying to decipher my own feelings for a small eternity. But I knew I had to go into the bedroom eventually. The suspense about what I would find, and no small amount of anticipation, was tangling my insides into knots. I steeled my heart and tried to quiet my fluttering stomach as I pressed silently into your bedroom.

Magdalena was spread out on top of the sheets, her skin a splash of cream on the dark fabric. One of your hands encircled her delicate ankle, hooked over your shoulder, while the other gripped her ass tight enough to leave bruises. The sight seared itself into my memory.

You were fucking her in our bed.

No. Your bed.

I was only ever a guest, every night contingent on my good behavior.

And Magdalena was behaving very well for you. Arching the small of her back and digging her long nails into your shoulder-blades while you drove into her. She made soft, eager noises, rising and falling like the cooing of a dove. Pretty, perfect Magdalena, with her cheeks and nipples rouged for you like a king’s courtesan.

I stepped into the room, silently unpinning my hair as though nothing was out of the ordinary. This was my place, after all, in your room. Nothing, not even the slick circle of Magdalena’s panting mouth, could make me feel ashamed to be there.

You kissed her throat, the tender junction of her neck and shoulder, and then spoke with your lips still on her skin, with your prick still inside her.

“Constanta, I can feel you over there brooding.”

Magdalena gave a little gasp, eyes alighting on me as though I were a ghostly apparition. She had been too engrossed to hear me enter, apparently.

I smiled at her, letting my eyes travel over the lines of her body before coming back onto her face. I would know every inch of her. She would not be able to hide anything from me. Not her nakedness, not her secrets, not her designs for you.

“Will you come to bed?” you asked me, breath ragged as you slid in and out of her. Slow, controlled. The way you liked to start. Magdalena shuddered, biting her lip to suppress a little noise. She must not have thought it seemly to moan in the presence of her lover’s wife.

I watched her squirm while I unfastened the emeralds from my ears and dropped them onto the vanity. It was difficult not to. She was a cornucopia overflowing with carnal delights. My hands itched to touch her, but I maintained my icy mask.

“Am I to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table?” I said coolly.