Burning for Love by Evangeline Anderson
17
Before the words had quite sunk in, the double golden doors to the right side of the throne opened with a flourish, revealing the Duke himself. He was wearing a scarlet coat and buckled shoes with heels that were at least four inches high. His long, drooping mustaches twitched like excited dogs wagging their tails as he gave Rissa a lascivious smile.
“Duke Grabbington?” Rissa gasped. She looked up at the Steward, who seemed to be barely paying attention. “Your Stewardship—Uncle!” she exclaimed. “Please, this man cannot be your choice for me!”
It was, of course, extremely improper for her to dispute the Steward’s choice. She had held her tongue when she had been presented both with the old man and the boy but Rissa found she could not hold her tongue now.
“Uncle, you cannot do this to me!” she protested. “Do you not know the Duke’s reputation? Why, he ruined poor Prunella Ascott only last Season!”
“Lies—all salacious rumors and lies, I assure you, your Stewardship,” Duke Grabbington said smoothly, as he came to stand before the throne.
The Steward, for his part, glared down at Rissa as though he was angry with her.
“What’s this? How dare you complain about my choice for you, girl?” he demanded.
“I’m not complaining, exactly,” Rissa said desperately. “I would just…like to know your thoughts, your Stewardship. Why would you think the Duke would be a suitable match for me?”
The Steward scowled.
“You’ve apparently been saying that you wanted to marry someone your own age for some ridiculous reason, so when the Duke came to me and proposed himself as your suitor, it seemed the perfect solution.”
“The perfect solution?” He’s twenty years older than me!” Rissa protested.
“That’s nothing. Anyway, tis better that the husband be at least a few years older—then he may better lead the wife,” the Steward remarked.
“But…but he ruined Prunella Ascott,” Rissa pointed out again.
The Steward waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing her words.
“Show me the Royal who hasn’t sewn his wild oats, girl! Such rumors do not signify.”
“But—” Rissa began.
“But nothing,” the Steward said, frowning. “The Duke has Royal blood aplenty and will be able to breed babies into you that come out with the Sheen to their skin. Also, he’s almost your same age, so that TittleTattle bitch—whoever she may be—can’t stir up rumors about me that I’m trying to hold the throne for myself by assigning you unsuitable suitors.”
“But Uncle, I cannot—” Rissa cried again. However, the Steward wasn’t about to let her get a word in.
“Let’s hear no more about this,” he said, glaring down at her from the double golden throne. “If you have some objection to the Duke, you have only to wait a month and then you can reject his suit. Until now, this matter is finished!”
“But I don’t know if I can wait another month!” Rissa said desperately. “My Heat Cycle—”
“Is a blasted nuisance, girl—as are you, yourself!” the Steward said sharply. “I cannot be spending all my time trying to find you suitors that are to your exact specifications. I have a planet to run! Servants, help me up!”
Two page boys came running to his sides to haul him out of the throne. They took him by the arms and pulled until, with another loud burst of flatulence that left the pages red in the face with repressed giggles, the Steward finally came to his feet. He left the Throne Room muttering loudly about ingratitude and how irritating it was to have to deal with the matters of “young people” constantly and the other servants and the herald followed him. Soon no one was left but Rissa, the Duke, and of course, James, who was still by her side.
“Well, Your Highness, it seems that we are a match,” the Duke drawled, stepping up to her.
James growled, low in his throat, and took a step closer to Rissa’s side.
“We most certainly are not,” she said. Having the big Kindred standing close to her gave her courage to speak her mind. “And I fear I must inform Your Grace that we will never be.”
“Ah, but I think we will. I think the two of us will be seated on that throne, up there, before this month is out.” The Duke nodded at the double throne and sidled closer, his mustaches twitching.
“Step back,” James ordered, putting himself between Rissa and the Duke. “You are getting too close to the Princess.” Despite the Duke’s four-inch heels, the Kindred still towered over the other man.
“And I shall get closer still, Sir Robot,” Duke Grabbington sneered. “Close enough to marry her and put my Royal babies in her belly, I should think.”
The thought of having the disgusting Duke that close—of letting him kiss her and impregnate her—made Rissa want to retch.
“Never!” she exclaimed, looking around James’s broad shoulder to glare at him. “You’ll never get that close to me. You should know right now, Duke, that I intend to reject your suit at the end of the month for I quite despise you.”
“Ah, but as you told the Steward, you might not have a month before your Heat Cycle rises to a crescendo and overcomes you.” Duke Grabbington smirked in a self-satisfied way. “And I dare say that, as much as you despise me, you would prefer having me as your husband to self-immolation.”
“You are wrong, Sir,” Rissa said coldly. “For I tell you now that I would rather burn to ashes than to let you touch me!”
For a moment, Duke Grabbington looked taken aback. Then his self-satisfied smirk returned.
“Well, you shall be obliged to let me touch you tonight, for you can no longer refuse to dance with me, my dear,” he told her. “I am your legal suitor and by Court rules, you must dance every dance with me and hear what I have to say, in order to give me a chance to press my suit.”
Rissa felt a wave of horror and disgust wash over her as she realized what he said was true. She was in for a miserable month, for she could not break the Court rules, which did, indeed state, that she must dance with the Duke and sit with him at any state dinners in order that he might get a fair consideration before she refused him. Still, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him see her feeling defeated or upset.
“Very well, Your Grace,” she said with icy formality. “I shall dance with you and dine with you and hear what you have to say. But I shall never, never marry you and at the end of this month, I will refuse your suit publicly. And after that I shall snub you completely and never speak to you again!”
The Duke’s face sagged with something like surprised realization—he knew as well as she did that if Rissa, as the Crown Princess, snubbed him so publicly, the rest of the Court would too. It would be the end of his social life and it would ruin any chance he might have of finding a wife among the nobility.
“How dare you, you little bitch?” he began, but suddenly James had him by the neck and was glaring down into his face.
“You will not speak to the Princess in that way or call her derogatory names and insults,” he growled, his long fingers tightening around the other man’s throat. “The next time you do, I’ll rip out your tongue and you’ll never be able to call anyone anything ever again. Do you understand?”
The Duke quailed for a moment, then glared back at James.
“Very well, Sir Robot—I admit, that was ungallant of me,” he said in a rather tight voice, since James still had him by the throat. “But you cannot stand between me and the Princess forever. Tonight we will dance every dance and I will hold her in my arms all night long!”
He’s right, Rissa thought, feeling sick. I won’t be able to help it—I must dance with him!
She could feel her Heat Cycle rising, the Fire Blood rushing in her ears and heating her cheeks and neck and points until she felt like a volcano, about to explode. Unfortunately, the Duke seemed to notice her face getting flushed.
“What’s wrong, Your Highness?” he asked, smirking at Rissa. “Is your Royal blood heating up? Perhaps we had better get married now so that I can slake your Heat.” He leered at her. “It will be my pleasure, you know. Despite your complaints to the Steward about my age, I am in the very prime of my life and it will be my pleasure to ‘plow your furrow,’ as the servants say.”
“That’s enough!” James’s big hand tightened on the other man’s throat until the Duke’s face turned bright red.
But Rissa couldn’t watch anymore. Her blood was rising so hot and fast she truly felt as though she might either explode or faint. Turning, she swept from the Throne Room, trying not to wobble as she walked because she didn’t want to display any weakness in front of her odious suitor.
But though she walked straight and held her head high, inside she was burning up and her Heat Cycle was rising higher and higher.
It was out of control and there was nothing Rissa could do about it.
