Untouched Queen By Royal Command. Kelly Hunter
The baker’s boy remembered me. He’s the baker now, as I expect you know, and he mentioned you. We talked. I mean you no harm. I want to help.’
‘You can’t. I’m beyond help now.’
‘Then let me help your daughter.’
‘How? By training her to serve and love others and never ask for anything in return? I will never choose that life for my daughter.’
‘You liked it well enough once.’
‘I was a fool.’
‘And are you still a fool? What do you think will happen to the child once you poison your body with drink and starve yourself to death? Who will care for her, put a roof over her head and food in her mouth, educate her and give her a sense of self-worth?’
Mama looked close to crying. ‘Not you.’
‘I don’t see many choices left to you.’ The woman glanced around the room. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve already sold everything of value. Any jewellery left?’
‘No.’ Sera could hardly hear her mother’s answer.
‘Does the house belong to you?’
‘No.’
‘How long have you been ill?’
‘A year. Maybe more. I’m not—it’s not—catching. It’s cancer.’
The older woman bowed her head. ‘And how much longer do you think you can last, selling your favours to the lowest bidder? How long before he looks towards the girl and wants her instead of you? Yuna, please. I can give you a home again. Treatment if there’s treatment to be had. Comfort and clothing befitting your status and hers. Complete discretion when it comes to whose child she is—don’t think I don’t know.’
‘He won’t want her.’
‘You’re right, he won’t. But I do. The Order of the Kite will always look after its own. From the fiercest hawk to the fallen sparrow. How can you not know this?’
A tear slipped beneath her mother’s closed lashes. ‘I thought I’d be better off away from it all. For a while it was good. It can be good again.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ The older woman crossed to her mother and took hold of her hands. ‘Let me help you.’
‘Promise me she won’t be trained as a courtesan,’ her mother begged. ‘Lianthe, please.’
‘I promise to give her the same choice I gave you.’
‘You’ll dazzle her.’
‘You’ll counter that.’ The older woman drew Sera’s mother towards the couch, not letting go of her hands, even after they were both seated. Sera edged closer, scared of letting the hem of the woman’s gown get in the puddle of wine on the floor, and loving the sweet, clean smell that surrounded her. The woman smiled. ‘Leave it, child. Come, let me look at you.’
Sera withstood the other woman’s gaze for as long as she could. Stand tall, chin up, don’t fidget. Her mother’s words ringing in her mind. No need to look like a street urchin.
Fidget, fidget, beneath the woman’s quiet gaze.
‘My name’s Lianthe,’ the woman said finally. ‘And I want you and your mother to come to my home in the mountains so that I can take care of you both until your mother is well again. Would you like that?’
‘Would there be visitors for Mama?’
‘What kind of visitors?’
‘The man.’
Her mother and the lady shared a long glance.
‘He would not visit. I would be taking you too far away for that.’
‘Would there be wine for her?’ Because wine was important. ‘Wine’s like medicine.’
‘Then there will be wine until we find better medicine. Tell me, child, are you hungry?’
So, so hungry but she’d learned long ago that sometimes it was better to say nothing than to give the wrong answer. Her stomach grumbled the answer for her anyway.
‘When did you last eat?’ the lady asked next.
Same question. Trick question. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Sera asked anxiously. There was tea in the cupboard and Mama always offered visitors a drink. Tea was a warm drink. She knew how to make it and what cups to use. There was a tray. ‘I could bring you some tea.’
The lady looked towards her mother as if she’d done something wrong. Something far worse than forgetting to lock the door or not turn off the bedroom lamp at night. ‘Yuna, what are you doing? You’re already training her in the ways of self-sacrifice and denial. It’s too soon for that. You know it is.’
Another tear slipped silently down her mother’s face. Lianthe’s gaze hardened.
‘And now she looks to you for guidance and approval. Yuna, you must see what you’re doing here. This isn’t freedom. This isn’t childhood as it’s meant to be lived. This is abuse and, of all the things we taught you, no member of the Order ever taught you that.’
‘He’s not to know,’ her mother said raggedly. ‘He’s not to take her.’
‘He will never know. This I promise.’
‘She’s not to be sent anywhere near him.’
‘You have my word.’
‘She gets to choose. If she doesn’t want to be a companion, you set her up to succeed elsewhere.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Sera?’ Her mother asked her name as a question but Sera stayed quiet and paid attention because she didn’t yet know what the question was. ‘Should we go to the mountains with the Lady Lianthe? Would you like that?’
Away from here and the baker who was a Good Man and the kids who called her names and the men who looked at her with eyes that burned hot and hungry. Away from the fear that her mother would one day go to sleep on a belly full of wine and never wake up. ‘Would there be food? And someone to take care of us?’
Her mother buried her face in her hands.
‘Yes, there will be food and people who will care for you both,’ the Lady Lianthe said. ‘Sera. Is that your name?’
Sera nodded.
‘Pretty name.’ The woman’s smile wrapped around her like a blanket. ‘Pretty girl.’
SHE WAS A gift from her people to the King of Arun. An unwanted gift if the King’s expression spoke true, but one he couldn’t refuse. Not without breaking the laws of his country and severing seven centuries of tradition between his people and hers. Sera observed him through a veil of lashes and the protection afforded by her hooded travelling cloak. He could not refuse her.
Although he seemed to be considering it.
She was a courtesan, born, bred and shaped for the King’s entertainment. Pledged into service at the age of seven in return for the finest food, shelter and an education second to none. Chosen for the beauty she possessed and the quickness of her mind. Taught to serve, to soothe, and how to dance, fight and dress. One for every King of Arun and only one. A possession to be treasured.
She stood before him, ready to serve. She wasn’t unwilling. She’d already received far more from the bargain than she’d ever given and if it was time to pay up, so be it.
He