The Affiliate Page 19

  REMEMBER…

  COURTIER THROUGH AND THROUGH.

  THROUGH AND THROUGH.

  —K

  Kael was right.

  Cyrene hated when he was right.

  When she had been lost in Edric’s gaze, she had forgotten everything but that moment between them. But he had done exactly what Kael had said. Edric was playing a game like any other courtier. He had been raised to be the King of Byern, but he had also been raised alongside Kael. Edric knew exactly how court life worked.

  Of all the games for Kael to play, he’d had to choose this one. And he had the advantage of not even being on her ship so that she could give him a piece of her mind. He’d had someone else deliver the message. The arrogant, self-righteous, pompous—she didn’t even have enough words for her anger. Why did he have to ruin this?

  She tossed the useless envelope onto her bed and flopped backward into the down comforter, infuriated by the man and his words. His meaning was glaringly obvious, and it fit with the conversation she had been delighted to have with Edric only minutes earlier. If Edric had the chance, he would take it. He had said as much in his study when he had invited her to his chambers…and she had agreed.

  She didn’t know what she felt for the King. He had more power than she could ever dream of, yet when she looked at him, she saw something else…something more…something that could never be.

  That thought infuriated her further, and the anger welling within her pushed her off the bed and into action. She had more to do in her lifetime than be cast about at the King’s whim. She needed to be irreplaceable if she was going to hold any weight in court. How many other Affiliates stood in my position, feeling the misplaced importance?

  Something in the back of her mind prodded her to feel her own importance. Stiffly, she walked to her bags on the other side of her room. Only one had been unpacked for the voyage. A few dresses hung in the wardrobe, and undergarments were tucked away in the dresser. At her insistence, the servants had left her largest bag tightly packed.

  She bent down, hovering over the bag. Her hands shook as she undid the buckle and extracted a small leather satchel from its hiding place.

  Cyrene sat on the cushioned green chair and set the pouch on the table. From within the small bag, she removed the cracked leather book with the strange symbol that looked like a tilted F on the front.

  She released a deep sigh, reminding herself that it was just a book after all. They provided information, stories, and maps but nothing more than that.

  Everything in her world had an answer.

  She would find it.

  Elea’s handwritten note on the inside made her smile. A pang touched her heart. She missed her sister. Before leaving for the procession, she hadn’t even gotten a chance to say good-bye. It was disappointing.

  ASK FOR BASILLE SELBY IN THE LAELISH.

  Yes, a lot of help he had been.

  Cyrene had no idea what to make of him. He had been terrified of her…of the book. What could this book possibly hold to make him act that way?

  Turning to the first page, Cyrene stared down at the iridescent swirly font. The one time she had tried to read the font, Maelia had interrupted her, and then she had been too afraid to pick it up again. The knowledge that Elea and Basille could not see the font had shut her brain down. How can I see something that others couldn’t?

  But there it rested, still as captivatingly stunning as the first time she had laid eyes on it.

  She attempted to piece together what the strange font said, but it was unlike anything she had ever seen. Yet, in the back of her mind, she felt a familiar tugging, as if she should know what it said. The faint tickle in her mind seemed to tell her to try harder…to just know.

  Her eyes narrowed, and her brain worked overtime to try to discover what it all meant. She broke into a sweat as she stared endlessly at the font. Frustration creased her temple, and her lips puckered. She let out a disgruntled groan and flipped the page, hoping that maybe she would have better luck.

  Now, two pages of the dazzling shimmery font taunted her, and she was no closer to understanding its meaning, no matter how much she felt like she should know what it said.

  Crying out in irritation, she slammed the book shut and stood. Disappointment crushed her, and she had to restrain herself from flinging the useless thing across the room. What was the point of being able to see it if all it did was mock her with its impossibility?

  She grabbed a kerchief from her vanity drawer and wiped her brow. How did staring at that thing cause me so much distress? Red splotches marred her cheeks. She was practically out of breath.

  This is ridiculous. It’s just a book.

  Steeling her determination, Cyrene sat down and opened it back up to the first page. She decided she would try a different approach. Before, she had concentrated until she felt like her temples would burst. Now, she would try not to concentrate too hard. The shimmering font revealed itself again, and she waited. She didn’t want to push herself or force it. Maybe it would suddenly make sense. By the Creator, it should make sense!

  Despite her change in approach, the font never made any more sense. It remained eternally useless, the knowledge of how to read it hanging just out of memory. Her heart sank for a second time. She pushed the book aside again, defeated. But she would get it…eventually. What had terrified her shortly before now left her with a stubborn resolve. I will figure it out.

  A quick rap on her door made her jump.

  “Just a minute,” she called out, replacing the book into the leather pouch. She hastily positioned it back into the pocket of her bag.

  She jogged across the room and opened the door to see a maid waiting for her. Her stomach churned at the thought of the King’s earlier comment.

  “Good evening, Affiliate,” the maid said meekly, dropping her chin in deference. “It appears you never received your dinner invitation. The afternoon storm must have upset your stomach, quite like the others on board.”

  She stared at the maid in surprise. What did she mean?

  Cyrene had only been in her room for an hour at the very most. How could I have missed a dinner invitation? And what storm? Their send-off from Byern had included a cloudless sky, and the ship hadn’t rocked at all since she had locked herself in her room.

  The maid continued, “If you will follow me, King Edric has requested your presence. I believe he has prepared a small meal as well.”

  What in the Creator’s name was this girl talking about? I just ate. Just as she had the thought, her stomach growled noisily. The maid held back her smile, but Cyrene looked astonished.

  “This way.” The maid began to walk down the hallway.

  Cyrene’s mind locked on the sudden loss of time. She numbly followed the maid through the passageway before stepping out onto the main deck. When she looked up at the pitch-black night sky with stars twinkling all around them, her mouth dropped. Her silk slippers struggled to find purchase against the slippery deck. Clearly, a storm had hit the ship while she was safely under.

  How did I lose time? She had been reading the book, and suddenly, poof. Did the book…steal the day away from me?

  The maid broke through Cyrene’s thoughts while ushering her down a flight of wooden stairs separated from the rest of the ship that led to the King’s quarters. At the far end of the hallway, the maid knocked on the door and announced Cyrene’s presence. She gave Cyrene an encouraging smile before backing away and allowing her to pass.

  Upon stepping inside, it was apparent to Cyrene that the King had spared no expense. To say Cyrene’s rooms were extravagant compared to the King’s would be like comparing a puddle to the ocean. Interchanging rugs covered the floor, creating a carpeted appearance. Gilded frames held portraits on the walls. A deep mahogany table in the center of the main room was set for four with an assortment of dinner items.

  Through an adjoining door, Cyrene could see an enormous bed draped in Dremylon green and cream. She flushed and looked awa
y.

  “I wasn’t sure what you wanted for dinner,” King Edric said. “So, I had the kitchen staff bring a bit of everything, including some of my favorites.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, still standing in the doorway.

  “Please, come and sit.”

  Cyrene found a place at his table. They didn’t speak as she ate small portions of the roasted chicken, thick stew, and rolls. She hadn’t noticed that she was hungry. Then, she had felt like she was starving. She took a sip of wine, hoping to calm her nerves.

  “You seem out of sorts,” the King said finally. “I hope your seasickness has passed.”

  “Quite,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  “That is good to hear.” He leaned his elbow against the table and smiled.

  By the Creator, he is handsome.

  For the first time, she let her mind consider what the Consort had meant when she said that Cyrene was here for the King’s entertainment. Her eyes darted to the silky large bed once more, and she quickly tried to banish that thought from her mind.

  Edric carefully watched her. “Come here, Cyrene.”

  She swallowed. She was in the King’s bedchamber, they were alone, and he was addressing her plainly. This was the King of Byern. She didn’t want to disobey.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Cyrene whispered.

  Kael’s warning be damned, her walls were falling all around her. She stood on shaky legs, and her feet carried her toward him.

  “Edric,” he reminded her. “Please call me Edric.”

  “Edric,” Cyrene repeated, feeling his name on her tongue.

  “That’s better.”

  He stood to face her, and the flickering candlelight dilated his pupils, reflecting back the ring of blue-gray in his eyes. She noticed all the endearing little things about him—the stubble on his strong jawline, the light smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth, the way his hair curled lightly at his ears. She reached forward and brushed it back. Then, she caught herself and retrieved her hand.

  “My apologies,” she breathed. What tethers me to him? How did I always make such mistakes?

  He reached out and took her hand in his own. “No need to apologize.” He slowly traced his thumb over her knuckles, and then he drew her in closer.

  She kept her eyes down, focusing on the heat spreading through her from her hand to her arm and down into her chest. This was bad, so bad, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to withdraw from him. Her body trembled lightly in both fear and anticipation. She wanted him to move forward, but she didn’t know what would happen to her if she gave in.

  “You’re shaking,” he said.

  “I…”

  “What is troubling you?” He brought his hand up to her chin and tilted her head so that she would look at him.

  “The Queen—”

  “Is not aboard my ship.”

  Cyrene bit her lip. “She is still my Receiver,” she whispered. The words fell flat.

  “She is what she is,” Edric said dismissively, clearly not wanting to discuss Kaliana.

  “Your Queen,” Cyrene said. “She is your Queen.”

  “A queen who does not fulfill her duties is no queen at all.”

  Cyrene startled. She didn’t know what that meant. What duties is the Queen not fulfilling?

  Edric sighed and closed his eyes. “Forgive me. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  She held her breath expecting him to pull away, but when he opened his eyes and stared down at her, she melted. There was such passion and warmth and desire trapped within. His eyes pleaded with her to understand, to feel the depth of what was passing between them. Her heartbeat picked up, and that same spark that always ignited between them flared. The cord binding them together was the fuse, and every touch and look and emotion was the match igniting the flames.

  He took a step toward her until their bodies were nearly pressed together. His eyes held a question in them.

  “Cyrene,” he whispered.

  Their breaths mingled in the space between them. They were so close that their noses almost brushed. His hands came around her waist, and then his lips fell lightly, ever so lightly, on her own.

  Time froze.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and the taste of him consumed her. His lips were tender and appreciative, covering her mouth and perfectly fitting against her. He drew her against his broad chest, and she circled her arms around his neck.

  The kiss intensified. Their mouths moved in time together, leaving her head dizzy. She wobbled on the tips of her toes as he held her in place. He started walking her backward into the bedroom. His hands dug into her dress, bunching the material around her waist. Her knees hit the footboard of the massive bed, and she could barely breathe as she realized where this was all going.

  And still, she didn’t stop. The spark had turned into an inferno, flames engulfing them, and they were trapped in the blaze that was their passion.

  His hands slid up to cup her face before easing into her hair. “Cyrene,” he murmured between kisses, “stay with me.”

  She pulled back from his lips and stared in disbelief at what he was so boldly asking. The surge of emotion welling inside of her shocked her. Sensation seemed to build up and then ripple out through her body. Her breathing was ragged. Even the tips of her fingers tingled.

  “Stay?”

  “Here. Tonight.”

  She closed her eyes to try to calm her racing heart and get the echo of his words out of her mind. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be his mistress. She deserved more than that.

  “I…I think I should leave,” she stuttered out.

  “You should stay.”

  She shook her head and stepped around him. “No. No, I should go.”

  “Cyrene…”

  “It’s improper,” she muttered, wishing for nothing more than his lips to be on hers again. Even as she backed away from him into the entryway, she couldn’t look at the bed behind him.

  “To hell with propriety!”

  Her gaze wavered briefly and then held. He had kissed her! She had been kissed before, but none of them were anything compared to this. Her very insides had quivered at the touch of his lips on hers. The King of Byern had given her the best kiss she had ever had in her entire life.

  Yet she couldn’t continue like this.

  She could not be his Queen, and she would not be a mistress.

  Her skin crawled at the thought.

  “I’m sorry, Edric. I can’t.”

  “I cannot force you to stay.”

  She didn’t believe that.

  “But I would prefer it if you did. I have only four days without an entire court full of people watching my every move, four days with only Daufina to judge me.”

  “Four more days until the gossip begins, you mean,” she said softly, taking another step away from him.

  “Just by your mere presence on my ship, the gossip will ensue whether you want it to or not.”

  Cyrene turned her face from him. “Please do not make me, Edric.”

  He strode across the room and took her hand. “Tell me you do not feel as I do.”

  “My feelings are inconsequential.”

  He brushed his lips against her knuckles. “Never.”

  Cyrene looked up into his pleading eyes.

  He could have forced his hand at any point. As the king, he could have commanded her to do what he said. He could have used her. He didn’t need to consider her feelings to get what he wanted.

  Yet he was.

  She said the words anyway, “You are the king. You have a queen and a court and a country to run. I have nothing to offer.”

  “You.”

  Her eyes begged with him to be reasonable. “I cannot give you that.” She turned to leave.

  “Your time then,” he said, reaching for her once more.

  “My time?” She slightly turned her head to the side to judge his words. “Just my time?”

  “I require nothing further.”
>
  Could he hold to that bargain after that kiss? She wasn’t certain she could.

  Time with him would only endear her to him more completely. Perhaps he knew that. His offer was tempting. She enjoyed his company, making it difficult for her to hold any kind of resolve. He might be the courtier Kael insisted he was, but he hadn’t pushed past any boundaries she hadn’t consented to. Edric was asking to get to know her. Is that such a bad thing?

  “What else do you have to do during the next four days?” he asked with a smile.

  The next day, Eren stopped in when Cyrene was with Maelia. Cyrene told Maelia that she would return to check on her later and left the two of them alone with a sneaky smile.

  Maelia’s sea legs never returned, and without much effort, Cyrene found herself fulfilling the request the Consort had made of her. She and Edric paced the deck, discussing everything from geographical formations to ancient history to gardening. Over meals, they found themselves contemplating various cultural differences between the cities of Byern, and at night, they practiced languages and read aloud late into the night. They listened to a minstrel on board, danced their favorite jigs, taught each other card games, and watched the sun set over the Taken Mountains.

  Cyrene felt alive again for the first time since she had become an Affiliate. The Queen had sapped the life out of Cyrene with the boring agricultural regimen and forced paralysis in her education. Suddenly, she felt like all the studying and tutors had been worth the effort. Edric, in particular—if not the other courtiers aboard—found her interesting and knowledgeable.

  “You bloom like a rose,” Daufina said in passing one evening.

  Edric was dancing with Affiliate Neila, a favorite of Daufina’s. He kept glancing in Cyrene’s direction and smiling. It was hard to keep the euphoria from her face. They hadn’t kissed since that first night, but it was times like this when she wanted to ignore the rationality of her mind and listen to the thrum of her heart.

  “Thank you,” Cyrene said, tearing her eyes from the King’s lingering gaze.

  “I believe Kaliana made a mistake in placing you in agricultural studies. It is such a waste when you would make a wonderful Ambassador or court advisor.”