Burning for Love by Evangeline Anderson
16
Rissa felt weak in the knees as she waited at the foot of the dais that held the tall, golden double throne where her father and mother used to sit. Her mind was filled with questions.
Who was waiting behind the double golden doors of the side entrance to the Throne Room? Who would the Steward approve to be her suitor? Would she like him? Would he be closer to her age, at least?
Rissa hoped desperately that she didn’t have to deal with another male who was either fifty years her senior or fifteen years her junior. It had been so awkward meeting both of her previous suitors and she had known at once that she couldn’t pick either of them. Yet, by the rules of the Court, she had been forced to wait an entire month, dancing with both every night and making polite small talk, until she could formally refuse them.
It had been quite excruciating in both cases and had taken up two valuable months of her time as her Heat Cycle grew ever worse. At one point, Rissa had even considered taking the older suitor—a Lord Hearwhat—as her consort, simply because she feared she might go up in flames in her bed one night if she didn’t have someone to slake her Heat.
But in the end, she couldn’t bear the thought of those thin, spittle-flecked lips pressed to hers or his liver-spotted hands crawling over her flesh. That was when she’d begun taking more than once cold bath a day and using the ice gel packs on her points.
Now she hoped desperately that the Steward had found her a man she could bear to be with, so that she could at last conquer her Heat Cycle and ascend the throne.
But no matter who he picks, it won’t be James, whispered a little voice in her head. And you know you won’t like whoever it is nearly as much as James.
Rissa tried to put such thoughts from her head. It was ridiculous to feel such an attraction and attachment to a man she’d only met yesterday.
But that’s not true—you met him ages ago, in your dreams, the voice reminded her.
Indeed, she had dreamed about the big Kindred again last night, Rissa remembered now. She had dreamed she was watching him while he held her. It was almost as though she was hovering over her own body, watching herself sleep as James held her close.
He had touched her so tenderly in her dream—stroking a tendril of hair out of her eyes and caressing her heated face with his big, cool hand. And the look on his usually stoic features as he watched her sleep had been…well, it had been extraordinary.
He looked like he was having emotions—emotions about me, Rissa thought, as she waited nervously before the throne. Tenderness and caring had been written on the big Kindred’s dark face and he held her carefully against him, as though she was the most delicate porcelain that might break if he was rough with her…
She cut her eyes to the left, where her new Companion was standing, right beside her. He looked so tall and muscular and handsome in his black clothing and the new maroon frock coat which had been brought to him by the Royal Tailor only that morning.
But she must stop thinking this way, Rissa told herself. After all, it had been only a dream. In reality, James had no emotions—not even for her. He was only doing what he needed to in order to keep her safe and he would only be around until she found a husband and married. He—
“Announcing his Stewardship!” cried the herald and blew a blast on his silver horn.
After a moment, the Steward shuffled out. He looked slightly ridiculous in his baggy golden clothes, though his waistcoat, as always, was tight over his paunch, which he had grown since her father had died and he had begun eating the richer fare of the Royal table. His wig was slightly askew and he settled himself on the double golden throne with a loud burst of flatulence which caused the page boys around him to giggle and snort.
“Hush, now, hush,” he muttered, getting himself settled more firmly on the red velvet cushions. “Let’s come to order here and get this business done with, shall we?”
This did not seem to be an auspicious beginning to choosing the man who might be with her for the rest of her life, Rissa thought. But she hoped that things might get better soon and tried to keep a positive outlook as she waited for the Steward to go on.
“Princess Ka’rissa,” he said, squinting at her from under his crooked wig. “There you are. Now let’s see—there has been some talk of me not doing my duty by you and finding you a suitor of your own age.”
“Indeed, I have not heard such things, Uncle,” Rissa said politely. “Though I am happy to hear you may have a new suitor for me?”
“Yes, indeed. Indeed, I do.” He nodded decisively. “And since my stomach is sour this morning, let us dispense with formalities and get to the announcement.” He looked at the herald standing to one side of the throne. “Well? Go on—announce him!”
The herald blew a blast on his trumpet and called out,
“Announcing, His Grace, Duke Ferdinand Grabbington the Seventeenth of Elersham!”
