“Given up?”
“I’m the dowager princess,” she said softly, conspiratorially, leaning into me. “There are none at court who are my equal, and so I have to be on constant guard. As the queen does not reside at court, I’m sent to all events where the king should be, but prefers not to attend.”
“You’re like the vice president,” I teased her, liking the way she was talking to me, actually relaxed and appreciative that I was there. It was funny that some parts of the conversation about Nerilla on the plane had been correct—like the duties Tiago had explained—and others, like how Hadrian had described her, were not. “You fill in to cut the ribbon when he’s supposed to open a grocery store or something.”
She chuckled. “Not quite that horrible, but close.”
“Do you have your own courtesans?”
“I have courtiers,” she told me, squeezing my arm. “But I have taken none to my bedchamber since Cassius passed from the world.”
“Shit,” I gasped, turning her to face me, my hands on her arms, staring.
“What did I say?” she asked playfully, eyes narrowed.
“No. It’s what I said. Fuck.”
Her bark of laughter made others turn, and I looked up, ready to see censure on every face in the near vicinity. Instead, when they realized she was the one laughing, they were charmed. It was apparently a good thing that I had the princess laughing.
“Jesus, I’m an idiot,” I apologized quickly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” she baited me, grinning impishly.
“I was really inappropriate. I shouldn’t have asked you if you had any courtesans. That’s so not any of my business.”
“It’s common knowledge,” she soothed me, reaching up to take my face in her hands, which was fair since I was still holding on to her arms. “This is court; everyone knows everyone else’s affairs, except for Varic’s and the queen’s.”
“Because they’re not normally here.”
“Exactly,” she said, dropping her hands from my face at the same time I let her go. “But I suspect that, even though the queen will leave, you and Varic will be more frequent visitors.”
I studied her face. “Ask you a question?”
“Of course,” she said happily, turning to retake my arm, staying close to me.
“Are you stuck here all the time?”
“It’s lovely here,” she said automatically. “The palace is—oh crap.”
My turn to smile.
“I forgot I could just tell you because, again, we’re family,” she said, choked up suddenly, looking down, hand over her mouth.
I leaned sideways and kissed her temple, and she took a shaky breath. “It’s okay.”
“Apart from a few exceptions, I can’t leave here without the king’s permission, and never without a cadre of guards,” she confessed in a husky whisper. “I can visit the queen, I can visit my parents and others of my family, I oversee my company, of course, but I’m not permitted to travel. I can’t see the world. My lack of independence has nothing to do with my being a woman, though, and everything to do with who I am to the king. When you belong to a king, by claiming or, as is the case for you, by your own choice, it is one that can open many doors but close many others as well. Your decision to belong to Varic won’t come without its own set of complications, Jason.”
I swallowed down the panic climbing up my throat, because this was a conversation I couldn’t handle right now, not when I’d just found her, so I blurted instead, “Can you go home with me?”
Her head snapped up, and her gaze was locked with mine. “I could. Yes. As I said, you’re family.”
“So anywhere I go, you can go?”
She nodded.
I grinned wide. “Well then, do you wanna see New Orleans?”
Quick nodding as she bit her lip.
It hit me then that, whatever was proper or not, it didn’t matter. Etiquette be damned. No one expected the commoner from America to know what was right anyway.
Turning into her, I wrapped her in my arms, and after the gasp of surprise, she melted against me, savoring the embrace.
“I was worried I wasn’t going to have a friend,” I murmured.
“That’s absurd,” she croaked out, hugging me back. “I’m here.”
And finally, I could breathe.
Six
She was funny. Her Royal Highness, Dowager Princess Nerilla Maedoc, stood next to me and whispered secrets under her breath, reminding me of some of the sweet Southern women I’d met in New Orleans who said outrageous things with warm smiles and charming accents. My best friend Ode’s mother did it all the time.
“Oh, Jason,” she would say, “that Bernadine, bless her heart, she makes the best jam in the parish… and is such a whore.”
I would laugh as the honeyed words fell from her tongue with the bitter barb at the end. It was the same with Nerilla. She coughed between opinions, steered me around the room, quickly by certain clusters, giving quick apologies as we kept walking, stopping to introduce me to others, always holding on to my arm, not letting me accept anything, no small gift boxes, no drawstring pouches, and no invitations for visits. She was charming as she lifted her hand as they tried to pass me something.
“Oh no, he couldn’t,” she said so sweetly there was no way for anyone to be offended.
Even when I was asked to dance, she turned down those invitations as well.
I didn’t even understand what that last one was about until doors were opened that I hadn’t noticed before. I expected a string quartet, but, Nerilla told me, that was not the way the king did things. He only went big, so there was a band of twenty with saxophones, trumpets, trombones, a piano, bass, drums, and even a couple guys on guitar.
“That’s impressive,” I told Nerilla.
“That’s our king,” she said, smiling at me.
It was nice that everyone was enjoying themselves, and when I asked Nerilla to dance, she said of course she would, after.
“After what?”
“Varic is first,” she told me. “After you’re led to the dance floor with him first, after that I’ll be your constant companion.”
“Thank you for making sure I don’t get into trouble,” I said, taking her hand in mine, ready to find Varic. “Tiago is usually the one with that job.”
She nodded. “I look forward to getting to know him now.”
“Why couldn’t you before?”
“It’s not proper without the prince’s consort. I can’t be alone with the prince’s rajan, or the prince, but with you there—all is possible.”
“That seems crazy to me.”
She shrugged. “There are rules of propriety at court.”
“It’s dumb.”
“But without such, there can be only anarchy.”
I led her through the crowd, and when I stopped to say excuse me, when people turned, they acted like I’d scared the hell out of them.
“Sorry,” I said quickly as they almost leaped out of my way.
She cackled.
“That’s mean,” I assured her, tugging her after me, making her clutch the voluminous skirt of her dress so she didn’t trip over the flowing ivory silk gown that swirled around us, overlaid with antique lace and studded with pearls.