The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy
~ 4 ~
Though Gen knew it was part of keeping up appearances, it was odd to attend the formal dinner and ball that night, given the disorienting events and horrifying revelations of the day. That was another strange aspect of adventure—or maybe just of this one—they went from frenzied battles with monsters to kicking their heels at various parties, pretending to be frivolous nobles. A pretense that must be maintained still. Even though the royal family knew something of the group’s real quest, the other guests and courtiers at Castle Marcellum didn’t. As far as they were concerned, Gen and her friends were simply part of the crown prince’s entourage, interested in nothing more than frolicking and sightseeing.
It was up to the able-bodied and -minded among them to keep up the façade, but it was getting more difficult all the time.
“If only these people knew the sights we’ve seen,” Lena commented drily, echoing Gen’s thoughts. Lena sipped her sparkling wine idly, eyeing the crowd with a regally bland expression. She had at least grown up in the court at her parents’ palace in Nahanau and, as a bona fide princess, had been trained to deal with such events appropriately. Same with Astar and Stella, though Stella and Jak had seized the excuse to stay in bed and sent their regrets. Stella hated crushes like this anyway, the bombardment of so many thoughts and emotions overwhelming to her empathic senses. Rhy, on the other side of the ballroom, pretending like he wasn’t staring at Lena, slouched broodingly against a pillar, not bothering to be social at all. Not that it stopped the gorgeously dressed young women from eyeing him in giggling groups.
Zeph wasn’t any better at court manners than Gen was, but at least her mother had drilled Dasnarian etiquette into Zeph’s head. She appeared, however, to be gamely attempting to hone her skills. With her arm looped through Astar’s, Zeph flitted about in a sapphire gown with slashes that revealed emerald silk below, dazzling everyone. Every once in a while, she gazed at Astar, clearly so besotted she was actually enjoying herself.
Gen would like to be enjoying herself. The first few balls she’d attended—including the incredibly glamorous one at Castle Ordnung on the night of the crystalline moon—she’d been so excited. Dressing up in the pretty gowns had been fun, being part of the whirl, wondering if she might meet her true love and dance all night…
Well, she’d gotten jaded awfully quickly. “At least we’re not stuck at Midway Inn wondering if we’ll get eaten or freeze to death first?” she replied, belatedly, to Lena’s observation.
Lena flashed her a smile, the camaraderie of all they’d been through making them perfectly clear to each other. “Are you going to dance?” Lena asked.
“I suppose I should,” Gen answered without much enthusiasm. “In keeping with our cover and all. Are you?”
“I’m torn between dancing with someone so I can enjoy watching Rhyian lose his shit or avoiding it entirely so I don’t have to endure Rhyian losing his shit.”
“Tough call,” Gen observed, giving Rhy a little wave, his scowl deepening. “At least you have an option.”
“Don’t sound so glum.” Lena elbowed her. “Prince Wilhelm is headed this way.”
“Unless he asks you to dance, Princess Salena Nakoa KauPo.”
“I bet he asks you. Double or nothing.”
“Speaking of which”—it suddenly occurred to Gen—“who won the bet on Jak stealing Nilly’s virginity?”
Lena grimaced. “Zeph, of course.”
Gen snorted, laughing. “Of course.”
“Laughing at me?” Wim asked with a smile warm enough to show he wasn’t offended by the possibility.
“Girl talk,” Lena assured him.
Wim waved over a server. “Your glasses need refreshing,” he explained, swapping out their half-full ones for fresh, full flutes of the sparkling wine. “It’s best drunk cold, to fully savor the pleasure of it.” He smiled at Gen as he said that, Lena shifting to step on Gen’s slippered foot meaningfully—and painfully enough that Gen nearly slopped her sip of wine. Wouldn’t that make a great impression?
“You ladies haven’t been dancing yet,” Wim observed. “Is our music not to your taste?”
“We were simply waiting for the perfect partners,” Lena simpered in a very un-Lena like way. Gen narrowed her eyes at her friend, who batted her lush lashes in return. Lena looked stunningly beautiful in her gown borrowed from Queen Nix. The bronze velvet brought out the golden highlights in her caramel hair, styled into sleek ringlets hanging from an elaborate crown of braids. The color complemented Lena’s brown skin, emphasizing the deep blue of her eyes. And the low decolletage flattered her enviably rounded bosom, the tailored fit and full skirts making her narrow waist look tiny. No wonder Rhy couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Gen resigned herself to being the too-tall, small-breasted wallflower yet again, while Wim danced with her gorgeous friend.
“I’m willing to send a friend over to partner you, if you like, Princess.” Wim gave her a friendly wink. “It’s the least I can do, because I’m afraid I’m about to be unforgivably rude and steal Gen away for a dance.”
“Go right ahead,” Lena responded before Gen could, snatching Gen’s flute from her hand. “Let me hold this for you.”
The next thing Gen knew, she’d been whisked onto the ballroom floor, Wim’s strong arms and graceful stepping whirling her into the foreign dance with ease.
“You look lovely tonight,” Wim told her, holding her a bit away so he could look her over.
Involuntarily, Gen glanced down, only somewhat remembering what the borrowed dress looked like. Oh yes—it was the powder-blue silk. Not really her favorite color, but Gen was taller and narrower than Lena, so she’d left the fuller fitting gowns to her friend. Stella was the most petite of all of them, but she naturally hadn’t needed a gown for tonight. The one Gen had found fit well for the most part, except that the castle seamstresses had needed to add a forearm’s length of lace ruffle to the hem to make it long enough. Regrettably, though she wore flat slippers, she still towered over Wim, feeling gawky and more than a little foolish. And so much older—though Jak had pointed out that he and Wim were about the same age, which made him only a couple of years younger than Gen.
“Thank you,” she replied, hearing the doubt in her own voice.
“It brings out the blue in your eyes,” Wim told her confidently. “Tala blue, isn’t that what they call it? The deeper the color, the more shapeshifting magic you have, I’ve heard.”
“That’s more or less true.” Wim sure was interested in her shapeshifter nature. Better than not interested in you at all. “There are exceptions. Stella, for example, has deep gray eyes, like Queen Andromeda, which is an indication of their magic as sorceresses. I’m just a plain shapeshifter.”
“Nothing plain about you,” he replied warmly. “Tell me, what’s the largest animal form you can take?”
Gen fervently wished she could just say “dragon” and watch his mouth fall open. As it was, however, she hesitated to answer. It felt a little weird. No wonder her mother had gotten in the habit of saying “several” and shutting down further questions.
“Probably a polar bear,” she said, then regretted it when Wim goggled.
“You can become a freaking polar bear?” He gasped. “I’ve never even seen one.”
“Good form for cold weather,” she offered, for lack of anything else to say. The saber cat might be bigger, but it was also considered mythical, which upset mossbacks, and it depended on if you were figuring by length or body mass anyway. Truly, it was kind of a dumb question. “That’s if you’re talking land animals,” she felt compelled to add. “If we count aquatic, a blue whale would be my largest.”
“A whale,” he echoed in astonishment.
What was wrong with her? She was dancing with a handsome prince at a ball—pretty much the literal answer to her wishes—and she was going into the weed on land versus aquatic forms. She needed to get her head together and enjoy the moment. Get back on the horse. Or the ass, as it were.
“So, you and Marjolein might rule jointly?” she asked, seizing on the inspiration as Wim’s twin sister danced by with a handsome dark-skinned man.
Wim grimaced after his sister, who noticed and stuck her tongue out at him over the man’s shoulder. “It looks that way,” he agreed glumly, then brightened. “Though she’s not so bad. Smart. The main problem is if she marries before we take the throne of Erie. Any royal family worth their salt will want their son on the throne, not me.”
“The same isn’t true if you marry first?” No matter how much time Gen spent with her father’s mossback family, politics of the Thirteen Kingdoms made little sense to her.
“Oh, it is,” he assured her. “It’s just that Marjolein has a lot more options than I do. Unmarried princes tend to be more diligent about hunting for available princesses who can bring them thrones rather than the reverse.”
Gen considered mentioning Berendina, granddaughter of King Groningen and ambitious princess from Jorrit. She’d made the trip from her home in the hinterlands to Castle Elderhorst in order to pursue Astar, and she’d certainly been diligent in her bid for the high throne via marriage. She might be willing to settle for the throne of Erie, now that Astar was thoroughly taken. But none of them had much liked the imperious, predatory woman—which was saying something for a group of shapeshifters who enjoyed taking the forms of predators—and Gen wouldn’t wish her on anyone, much less Wim, who she did like.
“You’ll find someone,” she reassured him, fully aware of how little she liked receiving that very same empty promise.
“Maybe I already have,” he replied warmly, leaning in to brush her temple with his lips.
She was no good at flirting, unclear on whether she should clarify or assume he did mean her. Her mother would flirt and evade; her father would insist on clarification. As she so often did, Gen went with her father’s stolid mossback soldier ways. “Do you mean me?” she asked bluntly.
Wim laughed a little. “It wouldn’t be very romantic of me to kiss you and be talking about someone else.”
True, but… “That didn’t answer my question.”
“Fair enough. I like that you’re plain-spoken. Genuine, no games. Yes, I mean you, Gen.”
She gazed back at him uneasily. “I’m no princess, remember? Just a partblood shapeshifter.”
“There’s no ‘just’ about it. I think you’re fascinating. Besides, can’t we just spend some time together, without there being thrones and politics involved?”
“That pretty much describes my usual life.” Except for the spending time together part. But she’d wanted this, right? Flirting: she could do it. “I’d like that, Wim.”
“Me too.” Moving the hand on her back a bit lower to settle intimately on the upper curve of her bottom, he snugged her in closer, pressing a kiss under her ear. “You know what I’d really like?”
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’d like to take you to bed,” he murmured, “to discover the delights of that marvelous shapeshifter body. Want to get out of here?” he asked, saving her a reply to that startling declaration.
“Yes,” she made herself answer, before she declined out of nerves. And before she said something sarcastic like how polar bear sex was off the table. Lena could say that without sounding too snarky. So could Zeph, though she probably wouldn’t mean it. Ugh, she groaned internally as Wim smiled, took her hand, and led her off the dance floor. What am I doing?
You are getting back on the horse,she answered her more timid self sternly.
Yes, but what if he turns out to be an ass?
Zeph was right about that much—Gen really needed to get over herself.
Wim threaded his way through the crowd, drawing her along and occasionally glancing back to grin at her. They passed Lena, who gave her a big, toothy smile and a thumbs-up. Ugh. Gen attempted to grin back, but it felt kind of wobbly.
Once free of the crush, Wim tucked Gen’s hand in the crook of his elbow, leading her up a grand staircase. They passed other guests, all bowing to Wim and eyeing her speculatively, whispering to each other after they’d passed. Unfortunately, out of the noise of the ballroom, Gen’s keen shapeshifter ears picked out their words easily.
That’s one of those Tala people.
Are you sure? I thought they all had black hair and brooding good looks like that Prince Rhyian. Hers is mud brown.
Not very pretty, is she? Not like Crown Prince Astar’s fiancée.
No doubt why she’s trying forour prince.
Freakishly tall and rather plain.
That dress is wearingher. Puffed sleeves—really? Those sleeves are three times the size of her bosom!
Did you see how she added a foot of lace to the hem? Tacky.
Gen kept the smile fixed to her face, nodding as Wim—completely oblivious—pointed out paintings of his ancestors to her. Those snide remarks shouldn’t sting so much. They weren’t saying anything she didn’t already know. Even among her father’s mossback family, the women bemoaned their mud-brown hair. And Gen had always known she wasn’t pretty. She also should have gone with a simpler gown. Wearing something that sparkly on her long, lanky body was like dressing up one of her grandmother’s hogs in sequined satin. And the neckline flounce did little to conceal the sagging material over her too-small breasts. She should have gone with one of her cached ballgowns, even if everyone had already seen all of them.
“These are my chambers,” Wim said, breaking into her increasingly glum thoughts. He nodded as the guards bowed, guiding her through the doors they opened. She took in the graciously appointed outer room decorated in browns, burgundies, and golds. Masculine and warm, comfortable and comforting. Surprisingly, she felt at ease in the space, as she didn’t always in mossback rooms. Big windows looked out on the wintry night sky, and a fire crackled in a large fireplace, reading chairs set before it.
“I took the liberty of having an iced carafe sent up for us,” Wim said, handing her a full flute of more of the sparkling wine.
“Your chambers are very nice,” she said, figuring that was the polite thing to say.
Wim looked around, too, a line between his brows. “They belonged to my brother,” he confided. “After Isyn left, Marjie and I wagered on who would get them. I won, obviously, and it’s driving her crazy that I haven’t had them redecorated.”
“Why haven’t you?”
Wim grinned. “Because she had all these grand plans, and it’s driving her crazy that I’m not ‘appreciating what I got.’”
Gen laughed, because she figured she was supposed to, then wandered away, examining the bookshelves. “These aren’t your books, then?”
“No.” Wim stepped up beside her, sounding vague. “I mean, why did Isyn keep so many in here when there’s a huge library downstairs?”
“So he could access them easily,” Gen replied, surprised that he could be so insensible.
“I don’t know why he’d want to. He’d read them all already.”
“All the more reason,” she insisted, shaking her head when Wim only gave her a puzzled frown. An emerald-green cover caught her eye, sitting out as it was by itself, clearly well-thumbed. “May I?”
“Sure. It’s not like Isyn would know or care. He’s long gone.”
Setting her glass aside, she examined the well-worn book. Tales of the Fae. A rose in full bloom, exotic and magical in style, was etched in gold on the cover under the intricately scrolled title. It wasn’t a book she’d seen or heard of before, though Lena would almost certainly recognize it. Oddly disappointed, she found that it seemed to be written in a language other than Common Tongue. The Tala weren’t much into reading and writing—their written language quite spare, in fact—but Gen had learned Common Tongue along with her mossback cousins. This… she could pick out a word here or there, but not read it easily. With a sigh, she started to put it back, surprised at her own reluctance to part with it.
“Keep it,” Wim said. “A memento of tonight.” Moving up behind her, he settled his hands on her waist, nudging aside one of the curls the maidservant had carefully styled so he could kiss the side of her neck.
She held still, wanting to enjoy the caress, but his lips felt weirdly cool. And wet. “Should you be giving away your brother’s books?” she asked lightly.
“Like I said,” Wim murmured against her skin, pressing kisses down to her shoulder, which he bared by tugging down her puffed sleeve, “it’s not like he’ll know, even if he did care.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t take his books with him when he went to be king of the Isles.”
Wim shrugged, tugging down her other sleeve to kiss that shoulder. “There was some question of whether he could take anything physical with him, so he erred on the side of leaving his valuables behind rather than lose them between realms.” He spun her to face him. “And why are we talking about my brother?”
She held onto the book still, keeping it between them like a shield over her breasts, but she produced a smile. “I don’t know.”
He plucked the book from her hands and tucked it into a deep pocket in her voluminous skirts. “There. My gift to you.” Pressing her back against the shelves, he angled his head and kissed her. He was more gentle than Henk had been, though he introduced his tongue rather startlingly fast. Trying to play along, she returned the kiss, placing her hands awkwardly on his shoulders. Wim pulled back, giving her a slight frown. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“No,” she answered emphatically, and quite honestly.
“I’ve heard the Tala are freer than we are,” he replied, pressing his body against hers. “That you all have sex with anyone, all kinds of ways and partners.” His hand came up to cup her breast, and she had to work not to flinch away. Why wasn’t she enjoying this more?
“That’s true for some,” she agreed, able to talk because he was busy working the bodice of her dress down, apparently done with the kissing effort. “But, as I mentioned, I’m a partblood. My father is—well, was, though he’s still active in many ways—a lieutenant of the High Queen’s personal guard, and he’s not a shapeshifter. All of his family lives near Castle Ordnung, on extensive lands that they farm. They’re all pretty much farmers, except for the hunters and trappers. And I have a few cousins who work at the castle in various capacities.”
Wim closed his mouth over the nipple he’d bared and she squeaked. “Mmm,” he murmured, rubbing her other nipple between his finger and thumb. “Petite and delicious.”
She stared steadfastly across the room as Wim messed about with her breasts, resigned to the “petite” remark, wondering about the “delicious” comment. Didn’t a nipple taste pretty much like… a nipple? Not that she should be thinking about that. Shouldn’t she be overwhelmed with desire or something? Somehow she was doing this all wrong. Surely she shouldn’t be… bored.
There was, however, an interesting painting on the far wall of a misty island shoreline. The longer she looked at it, the more it seemed she made out shapes in the shadows. Animal shapes? There was a feline slinking behind a tree, a snowy owl roosting in the limbs above. A flock of birds shimmered and disappeared, the waves seeming to churn against distant rocks, an orca breaching in the farther sea. It seemed like a work of art you might see something new in every time.
“Gen, are you with me?” Wim had stopped kissing her breasts and inserted his face into her field of vision. He let out a sigh. “You are not enjoying this.”
“I, ah, what?” she stammered. Good going, Gendra. Congratulations: you are officially terrible at sex. “Not at all! No, I was just, um, savoring the, um, lovely kisses. Shall we get in bed?”
His mouth quirked in a wry smile, and he tugged her bodice up again, covering her petite breasts. “I don’t think so. Not when you don’t want to be here.”
She opened and closed her mouth again, feeling like a foolish fish. “I do want to be here, Wim. I like you.” He’d been so much more considerate than Henk. And now she’d blown it.
“I like you, too.” His smile turned rueful, and he kissed her cheek. “But sometimes the passion isn’t there. I don’t want you to go through with this just to please me.”
“That’s not what I was…” She trailed off, because that was far too accurate. “The truth is, I’m no good at sex,” she confided in a mortified whisper. “But I’m trying to learn.”
He canted his head, regarding her with an odd expression. “I doubt that’s true.”
“I am trying to learn,” she insisted. Oh, Moranu, how had she screwed this up so badly?
“I mean,” he said, cracking a real grin, “that I doubt you’re no good at it. The right partner can make all the difference. Clearly it’s not me.”
Ouch.“I’m sorry, Wim.”
He shrugged. “So it goes. Though it’s just my luck: four gorgeous women turn up at my castle in the middle of winter, and not one of them is interested in me.”
“There are extenuating circumstances,” she offered weakly.
“There always are. Anyway, let me escort you back to the ball, so you can at least have some fun tonight.”
Double ouch.“Actually, I think I’ll just go back to my room. I’m more tired than I realized.”
He nodded sympathetically. “You all have been through a lot. I’ll escort you back to your room, then.”
“You don’t have to,” she assured him. “I can find my way.”
“I’m sure you can, but it would look bad to the others if I sent you out to walk back by yourself.” When she looked blankly at him, he waved a hand at the greater castle. “I don’t know if you noticed, but there are always people watching and gossiping.”
“I noticed.” She decided not to say more than that. She really should know better than to let overheard comments like that get under her skin.
“Ah.” He smiled mirthlessly. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to preserve the fiction that we had a glorious evening together. For the sake of my reputation, too.”
“Glorious, but brief,” she pointed out, charmed despite her chagrin over the entire failed enterprise.
“Well, no help for that.”
“There is,” she declared firmly, taking up her flute of wine. “I see you have a game board to play kiauo. Shall we?”
“Is that what that thing is?” Wim studied the multitiered boards embedded with lovely spiraling tiles. “It’s Isyn’s, of course. I thought maybe it was some kind of weird art piece. He goes in for that stuff.” He waved a hand at the painting Gen had admired.
“Kiauo is a strategy game from Nahanau,” she explained, extracting the game pieces from a sliding drawer in the base. “Lena is obviously much better at it than I am—partly because her parents are masters of the game—but I can at least teach you.”
“All right.” He rubbed his hands together. “And then I can teach Marjie, but only enough so that I can make sure to win every time. That’ll get her.”
Gen had to laugh. “You should be nicer to your sister.”
“Aww.” He thrust out his lip in a mock pout. “Where’s the fun in that?” He watched Gen set up the board. “So, about Lena and Rhy…” Gen glanced at him sideways, and he held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning innocently. “You aren’t interested in me, so I figured it’s not wrong to ask.”
“Fair enough,” Gen said, finding it didn’t smart at all. “It’s complicated between Lena and Rhy. I can tell her that you and I decided to be just friends, but if I were you, I wouldn’t get in the middle of that mess.”
Wim considered that thoughtfully. “That kind of complicated, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
