Serpent and the Throne (Fedosian Wars #1)

12. Dance with Me

twelve

Dance with Me

Sofia looked at the dress he’d brought for her, then at him.

“You don’t have to wear it if you think it’s stupid,” he said. “I just like looking at them. It may be because I won’t ever have a bride.”

Laid out on the bed was a wedding dress, traditional, white and simple with a red silk sash. Sofia took off the shirt to slip into the dress, naked underneath, and tied the sash around her waist. Using a few hairpins, she bundled up her long curls, but she missed a few strands and they fell over the side of her face and dangled down the back of her neck.

He was sitting on his bed. “You look… It fits,” he said.

Sofia liked the dress. The fine fabric was soft on her skin and didn’t irritate her nipples tender from last night’s rough activity.

“Why did you become a sentinel, may I ask?” She walked around the bed to him, the cool smooth surface of the hardwood floor soothing the soles of her bare feet. She cupped his nape and he leaned into her and rested his head against her belly. He drew in a long inhale, and a deep sigh followed.

“My father,” he said softly. “When he asks, he’s not asking.”

“There aren’t any portraits of your mother in your home.” She caressed the back of his neck and slid her hand down the collar of his shirt but didn’t venture to where he’d hurt himself.

“My father burned them after she ran off with a sentinel,” he said. “He pursued them across the country and killed them both. Brought her head back and it was on a pike outside for some time.”

“Do you think that’s a typical behavior?” she asked.

“To kill your wife? Probably not.”

“No, to parade in front of your son his slain mother,” she said. She hoped he understood that was not all right and that his father had been a horribly abusive and excessively cruel man.

“I think he was making a point. He didn’t like me much.”

“Clearly,” she said, and regretted it. She hadn’t meant to sound harsh. With the other hand that wasn’t cupping his neck, she stroked his crown, twirling her fingers through his midnight locks.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“I heard he took his own life,” she said. “Why does the queen think the archmage was involved?”

“My father? He was at Raven when he died,” he said. “His death wasn’t typical. I found him inside the stone wall. It felt like unknown alchemy, and the archmage is the most powerful spellcaster we know. That’s why.”

“I’m not sure there is any spell that puts a man inside a wall,” she said. “Through a wall, perhaps. He was with the archmage?”

“No, the only person who entered his chamber that day was…” Aleksei tilted his head back and looked up at her. “How are you so beautiful?” He didn’t want to talk about it and she let it be.

“It’s in the eye of the beholder, darling.” She gently pushed him back onto the bed, letting him slowly lie down. Pulling up the skirt of the dress, she climbed on top of him. “Is this what you want?”

His breathing told her, yes. She bent and kissed him, on the lips first, then on the chin and down his throat, and collarbone, and carried her mouth an inch from the fabric of his shirt, down his chest, then lifted the shirt and kissed his lean stomach, descending the narrow trail of soft hair below the navel.

“Don’t do that.” He caught her chin when she pulled down his trousers.

“Why?”

“Please just come up,” he said.

She obeyed but pulled down the waistband of his trousers still and mounted atop him. He inhaled when she took him inside, rolling her hips leisurely, lightly. His hands caressed her thighs, climbing up them and finding her hips, guiding her back and forth, back and forth, measured and slow.

She watched him. This was what he liked. No safe words, no knives, no ropes, no breaking into a married woman’s bedroom while her husband was away… Sofia threw her head back, taking out the couple of pins to let her hair loose. She wanted to sway faster, slam down harder, but he held her, asking her to ease down.

The logs cracked in the fireplace and the weather trashed outside as they breathed in tandem with one another, she ascending to a slow climax as his breathing shortened, becoming sharper.

“Fuck,” he whispered, tossed her onto the bed, and rolled on top. Then his fingers were inside her, not himself. He stroked the places that made her hot and she ground against him, but it wasn’t the same.

“Aleksei, what are you doing?” Moaning still, she pulled his hand. “I want you inside.”

“Give me a moment, otherwise I’m going to come.”

She teetered on the edge as he said that, he did know how to drag her over it. She shivered as it turned hot and pulsed.

“No,” she commanded. “I want you.” Stubbornly, she stopped responding to him.

“Sofia… I don’t want to come in you.”

“Why? If I was going to have children, I would have had them by now.” She’d been married for a decade without much to show for it.

“It’s not that,” he whispered.

‘I’m dirty,’ he’d said. She didn’t want him to think that because it wasn’t true. She wrapped her thighs around him and rolled over, claiming the top again.

“Sofia,” he begged, his scarlet eyes widening, as she put him inside herself. “Fuck.” His fists closed around the skirt of her dress and crumpled it, as he whined and whimpered, then finally closed his eyes and let her have him.

She felt him come first, tensing underneath her, then she took herself the rest of the way. Afterward, she collapsed on top of him, done and well.

Banging on the window woke Sofia. Aleksei slept next to her, and it was daylight.

“Aleksei.” She shook him as the banging came again. Perhaps it was because he didn’t get much rest but when he fell asleep, he passed out. “Aleksei!”

Scarlet eyes shot open, finally, and he frowned at her, confused, till the banging came again. The rain had stopped but there was a dark shape outside the stained glass window. He shot off the bed, pulled up his trousers, picked up his sword from the floor, grabbed his vambraces, took Sofia’s hand, and strapped on his arm guard as they made their way through the palace. He couldn’t do alchemy without his armor, she knew that, and it was scary how long it took to secure it onto his arms because of the many straps.

She hid behind him as they reached the foyer.

“Stay here,” he whispered, and walked through the door, the darksteel sword folding onto itself and opening into a crossbow. Changing between weapons took a blink of an eye so as long as he had his alchemy on him. The crossbar lifted and the lock rotated when he touched it.

She held her breath when he peered outside, then heard, “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“They said I can’t go to the Royal Cup because the stupid archmage is attending!” Prince Nikolas marched in, saw her, and his scarlet eyes the exact shade of Aleksei’s ballooned. Then he flashed a bright smile and waved. “Hello, pretty lady.”

“Where the fuck is Eugene?” Aleksei asked.

“I don’t know where he is, but wherever he is, he is upset. I may have run away.”

“How did you get here?” Aleksei asked.

“I rode.” The prince gestured at the door. He wore a sentinel black cloak and riding boots, but he had no weapon on him.

“I’m so glad I taught you to ride,” Aleksei said sarcastically, hissing his words like a curse. He gestured to the prince to hand him his cloak. “Whose horse did you take?”

“Eugene’s.”

“You didn’t hobble him, I suppose?” Aleksei asked.

“Eugene?” the prince asked.

“No, the horse, Niko. Just give me the damn cloak. Go in with her. I’ll be back in a little while. Let me go find Eugene’s horse.”

The prince happily handed Aleksei his cloak. He wore a white ruffled shirt and black trousers underneath.

“Sofia, don’t touch him, and don’t let him touch anything. ” Aleksei threw on the cloak and stormed out, still cursing. The gate closed and locked behind him.

“Did you guys get married?” The prince gasped. “No one invites me to anything!”

“No, it’s just the dress.” Sofia waved him over. “Come on, let’s go this way.”

Prince Nikolas was a curious boy. He had scarlet eyes and black curls, making him look a lot like Aleksei. He was small for his age, which was fifteen, but not too terribly. However, the way he acted was not fifteen. At fifteen men went to war, and the prince was still a child. The youngest a tsar or a queen would be fit to rule was seventeen, a decree set by the Boyar Duma and upheld for five centuries, but Sofia couldn’t image this prince being ready to rule Fedosia in just a couple of years. Perhaps the queen meant to live forever and reign forever. She was certainly under no obligation to pass the throne as long as she lived, so long as she was sane.

Sofia didn’t find it appropriate to take the child into the bedroom and sat him in the dining hall with a long table at the center of it. She hurried to the kitchen to fetch the coal burning samovar she’d seen, brought it to the dining hall, and looked for a safe place to set it down. The floor was wood, and the table was wood. She didn’t want them catching fire.

Most of the time when people failed at alchemy, it was because they couldn’t initiate the transmutation. But if the process was started but not finished, the incomplete alchemy released energy. Though very destructive if uncontrolled, such energy was also utilized to ignite coal—like the samovar—or weapons. It was a rather rare and fancy gadget Sofia wanted to try but she failed at even the wrong alchemy. She’d put it inside the fireplace to be safe, but she couldn’t light the coal.

“Prince Nikolas.” She turned. “Can you please start the fire on this thing?” She pointed to the samovar. He looked confused, so she lifted the samovar and showed the alchemy circle at the bottom.

“Oh, I can’t do any magic,” he said.

“Can’t or not supposed to?” Sofia asked.

“Can’t.”

“You and me both.” Disappointed, she set the thing back down.

There would be no tea for the future tsar of Fedosia… Till Aleksei came in. He had reins in his hand and set them down on the marble mantle. Sofia asked him to help with the samovar, and he picked it up from the fireplace.

“Why did you put it there?” He set it on the table, and Sofia watched with some fascination as the coal ignited. He opened the samovar, then said, “The water is too low.”

Aleksei went to fetch water and she was left with the prince again. He sat behind the table, strumming it with his gloved hand. He smiled when their gazes met.

“Did you get wed in secret?” He folded his arms over the table and put his chin on them. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, um… it’s just a dress.”

“If you say so.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know he can’t have children?”

“I know he’s a sentinel.” Left with nothing to do, she fidgeted around the table a bit. It was too late to curtsy to the prince, so she boldly sat down across the table from him.

“Right,” he said. “He was very upset about the sterilization.”

“Sterilization?” Sofia puffed her cheeks and glanced at the door. Did Aleksei go to the well?

“It’s not castration. It’s something else. It’s done so the sentinels don’t sire children.”

She hadn’t known but it didn’t make a lick of difference. Instead, she worried the samovar was burning up. She should have checked the water before she brought it.

“How is your birthday festivity going?” she asked. ‘Your Highness’ was how she should address him, but he was so casual and the whole thing was odd.

“Terrible!” He sat up and threw up his arms. “I couldn’t attend the ball, and this morning Grigori told me I can’t go to the Royal Cup! I hate the archmage. It’s my birthday. Why can’t he not come? I’ve been looking forward to seeing Aleksei ride. Have you seen Snowstorm? He’s beautiful. He’s the last of our father’s horses.”

“Ah, what?” Sofia heard that wrong, surely.

“Our father’s horses,” the prince repeated. “Father used to breed them when he was alive. When he died, Mother confiscated them all. But Snowstorm, father actually gave to Aleksei when he was alive. I told her not to take him, but she did anyway. But Snowstorm kept running away, coming back home. So she finally gave up on keeping him.”

“You mean Duke Burkhard,” said Sofia. “Your uncle.”

“What?” He blinked.

“Duke Burkhard, Aleksei’s father, is your uncle,” Sofia elaborated.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What are you? A church spy?”

“Why can’t you go to the race if the archmage is coming?” she asked, though she could already take a gander at why. The child claimed wild things. Wouldn’t the archmage, or any lord of Boyar Duma , love to hear the prince invalidate his claim to the throne, whether true or not? Not that he was a bastard—he’d always been that, no one bought the virgin birth story the queen was selling— but incest was a crime and the product of such wasn’t recognized by the church as having been born. The children were put to death was what, along with the parents.

“Grigori says I can’t go.” He blew a raspberry.

“The mage?” Sofia asked.

“Yes, the mage.”

Aleksei came in with the water, thankfully. It’d grown uncomfortable, perhaps only for Sofia because the prince continued right on with his complaining about the archmage, calling all Guards ‘stupid’. Aleksei removed his gear to ruffle the boy’s hair.

“It’s all right, there will be other races.”

“But you won’t be in them!” The prince frowned. “Why can’t I ever do anything?”

“Just two more years, yeah?” Aleksei tucked the prince’s wild locks behind his ears. “And you’ll be able to do whatever you want, all right?”

“I can’t wait for Mother to die.”

“Niko, don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because once you start saying things, you don’t stop, and you don’t want her to hear that, all right?” said Aleksei.

“I know.” The prince furrowed his brows. Sofia thought he might cry, then he did. “I didn’t even get to dance on my birthday!”

Aleksei removed his sword, weapons belt, all his gear, took off the cloak, set it on the table along with his other things, and patted down his trousers, then he embraced the prince. “It’s fine, Niko. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t get to dance!” the child complained, sniveling.

Sofia realized she’d been gawking at the prince and got up and straightened her dress. The water had boiled. She busied herself finding cups and making tea.

“I didn’t even get to attend my ball. I learned to dance for it and everything.” The prince sighed.

She should go home. Soon, it would be afternoon. The count would certainly have something to say by now. But in the end, there wasn’t much difference between a bit of his temper and a lot of his temper. It would end badly for her either way.

So, instead of asking to be taken home, she said, “Prince Nikolas, would you want to dance with me?”

Oh, also the tea was ready. Just in time too because someone else banged on the door.

Aleksei went to answer while the prince sniffed his tea like a cat, and a breath later, there was another sentinel in the room. A blond sentinel with a scar over the left side of his face—one eye was blue and the other white. He carried a baton instead of a sword, and his vambraces were tied with hemp threads, no leather or buckles. The face armor worn on his blond crown like a cap looked like a steel mask with smooth round edges.

As soon as he saw Sofia, he threw up his arms. He turned to Aleksei who’d come in behind him, and said, “Great, a fucken Guard! You’re dead, I’m dead, everyone’s dead. Off with my head, off with your head, and off with her head. We’re dead. We’re just fucken dead. Kill me now so I don’t have to suffer the ten-foot pole up my ass getting pushed slowly over days. Her Majesty calls it impaling, I call it ‘the worst way to die’, worse than being boiled alive, or crucified, or burned at the stake. Worse than being flayed because I’d rather lose my skin than have a pole in my ass. I’m fucked. You’ve fucked me, you son of a mad whore.” He sighed, deflated, and plopped on a wooden chair.

“That’s Eugene. He’s my sentinel.” The prince smiled. “He’s my friend.”

“You have no friends, you fatherless little prick.”

“I have a father,” the prince said. “My—” Eugene launched across the table and covered the prince’s mouth.

“Your father is Saint Neva of White Guard, Your Highness.” Eugene made the prince’s head nod, hissed in his face, then let go.

Eugene was older, about Sofia’s age at thirty-five, and though his one good eye was keen, she found him quite mad. Perhaps he’d redlined already.

“So, what are we doing with our last hours?” Eugene fell onto a chair. “Tell me there is wine, Aleksei.”

“A pretty lady asked me to dance. That’s what I’m doing, Eugene,” said the prince.

“Ah, the last dance, fitting it’d be with a Guard.” Eugene got up and began prancing around, supposedly looking for wine.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sofia asked Aleksei.

“Nothing. It’s just the way he is,” was his answer.

‘The way he is’ was crude, but Sofia didn’t dislike him.