The Pale Waters (#1 Reclaimed Souls) (12 page)

“No,” I moan. Vaguely, I am aware that she
holds, in one hand, a jeweled dagger.

***

I’m conflicted on whether to cry out in pain
or pleasure. It all feels the same at this point.

Cat leans up and watches me writhe in
intense pleasure, a wicked smile on her feline face. Using the
jeweled dagger, she carves a pattern into the skin just below my
breast. But I don’t care. Even
that
feels good.

“I will claim you,” she says into my
mouth.

***

I sag against the bed, spent, as Cat’s
tongue begins to lick the wound under my breast. Her saliva stings,
but I’m too exhausted to say anything. I watch as she rubs a
healing balm over the carving.

“I knew you would be delectable,” she says a
moment later, after she straightens her fabriskin robe and pulls me
to my feet. Cat looks impeccable; not even one hair out of place.
She fixes my hair, which is
everywhere
. I feel drugged,
intoxicated, and delirious all at once.

There is no way I can even stand up on my
own, much less attend some sort of formal event. I say as much to
Cat.

“Nonsense,” she declares in her
authoritative tone. “But we must get going. We are almost nearly
fashionably late.” She winks at me.

She drapes the silky-soft sterling silver
fabriskin robe over my shoulders and fastens it down my front with
lightning speed. The metal is cool against my skin, but seems to
warm up quickly as it molds to my curves. I feel like a moving
chandelier. I step into matching slippers.

Movement at Roland’s bedroom door catches my
eye. I suddenly stop. The shadow retreats.

“What is it?” Cat asks, a slight worry in
her brow. She retrieves her communicator tablet and resumes her
chief of staff stance. I wonder what she would do if she knew
Roland watched our entire lovemaking session.

“Nothing,” I say with a quick smile.
“Nothing at all.”

TWENTY-FOUR

I’M HYPER AWARE OF CAT AS we descend Roland’s
apartments, take the lift to the fourth floor, and walk down a
long, yet densely decorated hallway filled with paintings of the
city’s long, distinguished past. She moves effortlessly,
confidently, and seductively. And she’s not even trying. I know
what her
trying
looks like now, and it’s enough to kill a
person weaker than me.

“Have you seen Roland yet?” I ask her. I
want to know if she’s seen the transformation and her thoughts
about it.

“Briefly,” she says noncommittally as she
types something into her tablet. “He said he needed complete
privacy before the formal welcome ceremony.”

“Formal welcome ceremony? Has someone
returned?”

Cat smiles.

“You can say that. It will be Roland’s first
public appearance in twelve years. Everyone who is
Anyone
will be here.”

“Would he have kept the ceremony scheduled
if the prototype didn’t work?”

She turns and looks at me sharply. I can
tell this is news to her. Her features soften.

“Roland has a way of keeping his scars,
physical or otherwise, close to the chest.”

I sigh at her non-answer.

“Is this one of those conversations where I
have to guess your meaning, or can we save some time and you tell
me outright?”

“I can see why he admires you. Yes, he would
have kept the ceremony. It happens each year whether or not he
attends.”

“Why?”

“The city’s
elevated
citizens
celebrate his father’s birthday. Roland normally sits in his rooms,
gets drunk, and comes to the party just as it dies down. No one
knows it is him. He secretly listens to the elders and the other
royals discuss their undying faith and loyalty to the former
king.”

“But his father was a true barbarian!” I
know this firsthand.

“True,” Cat says with a sense of hesitancy,
as if maybe she isn’t ready to declare her true feelings to me.
“The elders enjoyed their leisure and rich lifestyle during
Roland’s father’s reign. Roland, upon his assumption of his
father’s role, which, by the way has never been declared or
abolished, cut them off, eased the taxes on the population, and
sought a way to repair his father’s messes. He’s done a lot of
good, but not nearly as much as he’d like. He needs their support,
and I have a feeling that tonight may change the course of our
future.”

“Why isn’t Roland king?” I have always
thought of him as a rogue prince, but now that the conversation
came up, it does seem logical that Roland would be the king.

“Roland doesn’t have the backing of all of
the royals because his seat is contested by Roland’s maternal
uncle, Lord Theodore Jaucey. But, thus far, Jaucey hasn’t done much
other than voice his objection, so the status quo remains.” She
looks at me as if I should already know this. Cat appears puzzled
for a brief second before the look vanishes.

We reach the end of the hallway, near the
door to The Gardens, and I can hear the buzz of a hundred voices
talking at once. Behind us, five service robots zip by in convoy
form, holding various trays of food and drinks. They slip into a
hidden panel in the wall that moves aside just as they reach it and
moves back after the last one enters.

“Why will our futures change? Do you mean
the Palace Skyscraper’s future, or the future of the citizens of
the continent?”

Cat begins to answer me just as we are
interrupted.

“I’m not sure—”

“I’d like a moment alone with Rahda,”
someone says from behind us.

Roland. I would never mistake his voice.

I hear Cat’s audible gasp as she stares at
Roland.

“Amazing,” she says. “Great work, Rahda.”
Cat briefly squeezes my hand, her eyes bright, then, before she
enters The Gardens’ secret door, she gives Roland a knowing look.
He nods at her, and Cat disappears.

I watch her go and then turn my attention to
Roland.

He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look
pissed, either. Sometimes I think that Roland has a dark side that
he cannot hide.

***

Roland stands tall, rigid, and striking in a
dark, metallic charcoal-colored suit and matching shoes. His brown
hair is slicked back, pulled tight into a knot at the base of his
neck. I notice the small tubular bump in his front pocket: the
prototype, but cleverly hidden behind a white triangular silk
scarf. His skin is clear and blemish free.

Just then the five service robots return
through their secret portal, empty trays in their metal hands,
ready to be replenished. Briefly, I wonder who cooks the food.

“Before we go in there, I should explain a
few things,” he says. “This is a political and royal party to
celebrate my father’s birthday. It disgusts me to no end but I have
no desire to end it since I learn more in one night than I do
throughout the year. This year is different. My uncle seeks the
support of the royal elders to remove me from power and declare his
daughter the rightful heir.”

“I see,” I say.

“That’s why I did everything I could to get
you here this time. This,” he gestures in front of his transformed
face, “is necessary so I can face them. No one wants to put his or
her faith in a scarred, deformed prince. They’ve heard rumors, but
none of them know the truth. Once they see me looking the way I do
with
you
on my arm, I’ll have the royals on my side. The
truth is I cannot go in there without you.” He closes the distance
between us and places a hand over my heart. “I can’t do this
without you.”

“I can manipulate how you look, but I can’t
be anything more. I’m not special.”

“How can you not know what you are to me, to
the continent? Don’t you feel the continent’s pain and how she
calls to you, Rahda? Listen to your
soul
. How is it you
don’t know how remarkable you are?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, time is running out. I know
things that you don’t know about your own family, Rahda. After
tonight I’ll tell you what I know. The rest, however, is on you.”
He pauses, then, “You shouldn’t have let Cat mark you.”

Ah, so it finally comes up.

“You saw?”

“Everything,” he whispers in my ear. “The
way she touched you. How her long tongue licked you and explored
you and tasted you. I heard every moan and whimper that came out of
your mouth.
I
wanted those sounds all to myself.” I feel my
heat rising. “I saw her dagger cut you open and mark you.
Brand
you. I hope you realize that as she lapped you up,
sucked on you, and made love to you, that in one moment of weakness
you’ve granted her the ability to try and claim part of your
soul.”

A dreadful feeling builds in my stomach.
Dear Goddess,
I think,
I’ve messed up big time.

He watches me closely and I see the
confusion grow on his face.

“I doubt she’ll try,” I say in a manner that
sounds more convincing than it really is.

“You actually have no idea of who you are,
do you?” he asks incredulously, his handsome face bright. “At first
I thought it was a ruse, but now I can see that you don’t know.
Let’s get through tonight first.” Roland does a half turn, halts,
and offers me his arm. “I forgot to mention that you are my date
tonight.
You
belong here. Whatever you hear, do not, under
any circumstance, reveal any emotion. No surprise. No pain. No
happiness. The royals will eat you alive.”

“I can’t wait,” I say through my teeth as I
take his arm. It never occurs to me to refuse his arm. I’m not
thrilled with his methods, but if I’m honest with myself, I
want
to be near him, I
want
to be on his arm. He
smiles down at me and I think about his words:
Don’t you feel
the continent’s pain and how she calls to you, Rahda? Listen to
your soul. How is it you don’t know how remarkable you are?
How
does one respond to something like that? Strange thing is, though,
is that sometimes I do feel an intense pain that isn’t mine, and I
don’t know how to process it.

My thoughts are interrupted as the The
Gardens’ door hisses open. We waltz in, Cat whispers something into
Roland’s ear, and a loud announcement is made. Suddenly, the room
erupts in uproarious clapping, yelling, and other congratulations
aimed in our direction.

It’s the announcement that stuns me.

Roland smiles down upon me, as if he loves
me, as if he owns me, as if it’s the happiest day of his life. I’ve
been cornered into a new battle. The Grandfather never prepared me
for this. How could he?

The announcement is made again. I’m not
dreaming.

“Please welcome home Prince Roland Demetrius
Eduard Rexus and his future bride, the Lady Rahda Sevradan
Plesti.”

TWENTY-FIVE

THE NEXT TWO HOURS ARE AGONY as Roland sweeps
me around the room, introducing me to everyone who matters but no
one I’ll remember, while Cat, ever-so-ready with her communicator
tablet, gives me sly, yet guilty, looks every ten minutes.

Everyone is thrilled to see Roland.

“How were your travels?” “How many languages
do you speak now?” “When did you meet your lovely bride-to-be?”
“Twelve years is way too many years to be away, especially after
the sudden shock of your father’s death.” “Oh, we understand that
you needed to get away and mourn properly. We wouldn’t have let
you, that’s for sure. Have I introduced you to my pretty niece, the
Lady Claire?” The last is accompanied by a devious look at me.

It only takes twenty-five minutes before the
topic of an heir is brought up by many of the elderly ladies.

“You’ll want to get started right away.
Don’t wait for the nuptials. No one cares about that these days
anyway. Plus, you cannot trust the priests.” “Give us a healthy
boy, Lady Rahda. You have a lovely name. Sevradan, you say? Thought
the Sevradan line died out when Amaris killed her children.” “Are
you a foreigner? Don’t get too many of those anymore, mostly the
half-humans. Everyone else is leaving the continent.” “Is your
mother a scholar, by chance? Didn’t like them much, but I’ll
reconsider on your account, ma’am.” “Only eat green goose meat for
the first trimester, Your Highness—
I am repeatedly called this
throughout the evening
—This will guarantee you a boy!” “I love
your smooth skin, Lady Rahda. Do you recommend the goat’s milk
cream all the rage these days or something else?”

“Prince Roland—
firm handshake
here—
excellent seeing you tonight. Heard the nastiest rumors
about you being scarred for life, as the young ones would say, but
relieved to see that it is unfounded. Plump little future bride
here. Get her with child before she wanders off with a servant.
Still happens, you know. Lord Jaucey is here. Excuse me
please.”

Finally, a small break.

“How does everyone know my maternal name?” I
ask Roland. I’ve never formally used the Sevradan name.

“Because I told them.”

“And how do
you
know?”

“I told you I know things about your
family.” Roland maneuvers me into a corner. “Is the prototype still
working,
Your Highness
?” I wish I could lie to him, but I
won’t. Plus, he seems to be in a better mood. He must be getting
good signals from the royal elders.

“It appears to be fine. But I don’t think we
should test it for more than another hour. I would estimate that it
has a four-hour lifespan.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“It’s an educated guess. Nothing more. Also,
after all of this, I change my mind. I do want to kill you.”

Roland stiffens and at first I think it’s
because of what I said, but then I follow his line of seething
vision.

“Let me acquaint you with my nearest
relative, Rahda,” he says sarcastically in my ear.

An attractive man, perhaps ten years
Roland’s senior, walks through a parting crowd. All eyes are on
him. His clothes are impeccable: a crisp white, pearl-encrusted
fabriskin robe split down the middle—much like a cape—opened to
reveal a suit of such a rich blue color that I find it difficult to
look away from him. If the sky were still blue, it would be
that
color. His short black hair has a hint of curl on the
top, and, as he leisurely approaches us, he makes a small bow at
me, ignores Roland, and takes the liberty of introducing
himself.