Untouched Queen By Royal Command

Tomas the falconer had come for the owls and brought King Casimir of Byzenmaach’s sister Claudia with him. Apparently Sera and Claudia had gone to school together. Sera had prepared a lavish dinner for them that had gone on for hours. They’d caught up on each other’s lives. Swapped stories. Augustus had been invited.

He hadn’t attended.

Whispers turned into rumours, each one more fanciful than the rest.

The Lady Sera was a sorceress, a witch, an enchantress and his apparent downfall. Her eyes were, variously, the softest dove-grey and as kind as an angel’s or as bleak as the winter sky and hard as stone. She and her guards danced with swords beneath the dome, and splattered reflected sunlight across the walls with uncanny precision, so the cleaners said. She’d had the trapeze taken down only to replace it with another, and this time the trapeze fluttered with silks that fell to the floor, his secretary told him.

Silks she climbed up and down as if they were steps.

Yesterday, a convoy of heavily guarded trucks had arrived from the north and requested entry, sending palace security into a spin and Augustus into a rare temper. Don’t get too comfortable, he’d said. He would find a way to undo this, he’d said. They knew he was working on it. They had no need for deliveries full of priceless artworks only ever revealed when a courtesan of the High Reaches was in residence at the palace.

Even the palace walls were buzzing.

Augustus’s father, former King and still an advisor to the throne, had been no help. He’d been married with two young children by the time he’d reached thirty and no courtesan of the High Reaches had ever come to him. There was no precedent for getting rid of one that didn’t directly relate to the rules of the accord. A courtesan, once bestowed, could be removed once a wife and heir had been secured and not before. She could be sent elsewhere at the King’s bidding but would still retain full ownership…no, not ownership, access…full access to her quarters in the palace.

She had the right to refuse entrance to all but him. She had the right to entertain there but the guest list had to be approved by him. He’d asked for more details when it came to Sera Boreas’s background and education and an information file had landed on his desk this morning. She’d studied philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford. She’d taken music lessons in St Petersburg. Dance lessons with members of the National Ballet company of China. Learned martial arts from the monks of the High Reaches. Her origins were shrouded in mystery. Her mother had kept the company of high ranking politicians and dignitaries the world over. Her mother had been a companion, a facilitator, often providing neutral ground where those from opposing political persuasions could meet. Lianthe of the High Reaches might just be her grandmother but that had yet to be verified. The more he read, the less real she became to him.

For all her contacts and endless qualifications, he still didn’t know what she did except in the vaguest terms.

In the last year alone, and as the youngest representative of the Order of the Kite, she’d graced the dining tables of dozens of world leaders and people of influence. Her reach was truly astonishing.

And he was currently keeping her in the equivalent of his basement.

He needed to talk with her at the very least.

And damn but he needed another woman’s opinion.

And then his intercom flashed.

‘Your sister’s on the phone,’ his well-worn secretary said.

‘Put her through,’ he murmured. Problem solved.

‘Augustus, I know you’re pining for me, but did you seriously buy a cat?’

‘I—what?’ Not exactly where his head had been at. Augustus scowled, and not just because his sister’s recent marriage had left his palace without a social organiser and him with no clue as to how to find a replacement equally dedicated to the role. ‘Who told you that? Theo?’

‘He told me I needed to phone you because he’d heard rumours you were all lonely and had acquired a pet. He also mentioned something about a cat. Is it fluffy? Does it pounce? Has it conquered cucumbers yet?’

Theo, King of Liesendaach and neighbouring monarch, was Moriana’s new husband. Theo, King of sly manoeuvres, knew exactly what kind of cat Augustus had bought. ‘Moriana, let’s get something clear. I am not a lonely cat king. I bought a catamaran. An oceangoing, racing catamaran.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Figures. In that case, I have no idea why Theo was so insistent I phone you this morning. We’ve just returned from visiting Cas and Ana in the Byzenmaach mountains and, by the way, I will never tire of the views from that stronghold. More to the point, I got on well with Cas’s new bride and his newfound daughter. There’s hope for me yet. They did ask me why they hadn’t received an invite to your Winter Solstice ball. Strangely, I haven’t received my invitation yet either. I left very comprehensive instructions.’

Moriana was the Queen of Checklists. He had no doubt there would be a binder full of colour-coded instructions sitting on a table somewhere. ‘Why isn’t Marguerite on top of this?’ his sister scolded.

‘She didn’t work out.’

Silence from his sister, the kind of silence that meant she was valiantly trying to keep her opinions to herself. He gave it three, two, one…

‘Augustus, you can’t keep firing social secretaries after they’ve been in the role for two weeks!’

‘I can if they’re selling palace information to the press,’ he said grimly.

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. Oh. There’s a new assistant starting Monday. Meanwhile, what do you know about the Order of the Kite?’

‘You mean the courtesans?’

‘So you do know something about them.’

‘I know they existed centuries ago. They were kept in our round room. Like pets.’ Moriana paused, and Augustus waited for her to put Theo’s comment about him having a pet together with his question and come up with a clue, but she didn’t. ‘There are some costumes in the collection here that were reputedly worn by them.’ Moriana was warming to her theme. ‘Gorgeous things. I wouldn’t call them gowns exactly—more like adventurous bedwear. The leather one came with a collection of whips.’

‘Whips.’ No guesses needed as to how some of those courtesans of old acquired their exalted levels of influence. Augustus put two fingers to his temple and closed his eyes, a habit he’d picked up from his secretary, or maybe the old man had picked it up from him. ‘So what else do you know about them? Anything from this day and age?’

‘These days they’re the stuff of legend. There’s a children’s book in the nursery about them, assuming it’s still there. Seven-year-old girl, clever and pretty, gets ripped from the arms of her unloving family and taken to a palace in the sky to learn how to dance and fight and be a spy. Then she meets a King from the Lower Reaches and spies for him and he falls in love with her and they live happily ever after. Ignore the bit where she poisons his barren wife. You should never believe everything you read.’

‘Does this book have a name?’

‘The King’s Assassin. It was one of my favourites. Why?’

No one had ever read it to him. ‘I currently have the Lady Sera Boreas, daughter of Yuna, Order of the Kite, staying in the round room. She arrived last week, as a gift from the people of the High Reaches.’

Silence from Moriana the Red, whose temper, once roused, was also the stuff of legend, and then, ‘Say that again?’

‘There is a courtesan here in the palace and at my service. Yesterday, six truckloads of priceless antiquities turned up. They belong to the Order of the Kite and can only be seen when a courtesan is in residence here. Now do I have your attention?’

‘Did you say priceless antiquities?’

‘Focus, Moriana. There is a pet concubine in the round room. No—did you just squeal? Don’t squeal. Invite her to stay with you. Keep her. Show her the whips. No! Don’t show her the whips. I take that back. But find out what she’s doing here. Can you do that?’

‘Does she have books?’ his sister asked. ‘I bet she has history books with her as well. Do you know what this means?’

It probably meant Moriana was about to try and organise an exhibition of antiquities native to courtesans. ‘It means I have a problem that I don’t know how to solve yet. What exactly am I supposed to do with this woman?’

‘Is she beautiful? They were reputedly all rare beauties.’

‘That bit’s true.’

‘Is she smart?’

‘I would say so, yes. Also cunning and completely unfathomable.’ Keeping her distance and rousing his curiosity, making her presence felt all the more keenly by the simple act of staying out of his way. ‘I need you to come here and see what she wants. Befriend her. Gain her confidence. Tell me what she wants.’

‘I can be there in a week.’

‘I meant today,’ he countered.

‘Can’t. I have a luncheon at twelve, a charity meeting at two, hospital tour at three and then I’m having a private dinner with my beloved husband who I’ve barely seen all week.’

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’ll send the helicopter for you.’

‘Or you could talk to her yourself and find out exactly what this woman can do for you. Can she act as a social secretary, for example? Can she organise the Winter Solstice ball? Courtesans of old were muses, strategists, women of great influence. Think Madame de Pompadour or Theodora from the Byzantine empire. She might be one of those. Give her something to do. Apart from you, obviously.’

‘She is not doing me,’ he ground out.

‘Has she offered?’

She’d arrived wearing a collar and manacles, amongst other things. She’d called herself a courtesan and then she’d ignored him. ‘Who the hell knows?’

‘Do you—okay, you know what? Never mind, because there are some things sisters simply shouldn’t know. Give her the Winter Solstice ball to oversee. I’m serious. Put her to work. See if she truly wants to be of use to you.’

‘I’d rather she left.’

‘But why? You need a social secretary who wants to do a good job and isn’t inclined to sell us out. Talk to her. See what she wants from her role and from you. Your goals might align.’

‘What if she doesn’t want to be here at all?’

‘Then you’ll work together to find a way out of this. But not before I’ve seen all the art and persuaded her to let us photograph and document it, where possible. I can’t wait to see it.’

Augustus sighed. Theo really was a bad influence on his sister, who’d once dutifully dedicated herself to serving the Arunian monarchy. These days she shone a light on the already glittering Liesendaach crown and Augustus sorely missed her attention. He did need someone to replace his sister. Someone with a personal stake in taking on the role and making it their own. A wife…he’d been thinking of it. Not doing anything about it, mind, but thinking that soon he would start looking in earnest. Meanwhile, he had a…courtesan…at his disposal. Whatever that meant. Maybe they could renegotiate her job description.

‘All right.’ There was nothing else for it. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

* * *

It took until mid-afternoon before Augustus made his way to the round room in search of the elusive Sera of the High Reaches. Ignoring her presence and hoping she’d miraculously go away wasn’t working for him. Answers on how best to get rid of her were not forthcoming. Moriana thought she might be of use to him and he trusted his sister’s judgement in most things. Sera’s CV would make any power broker salivate. To have those kind of contacts at his disposal…

And yet he wasn’t the type to share power and he didn’t trust her motivations one little bit.

So here he was, foul of temper and distinctly lacking in patience as he stood at the closed doors to the round room and eyed the profusion of damask roses and soft greenery with distaste, even as the scent of them conjured memories of cloistered gardens and all things feminine. His mother had enjoyed overseeing the floral arrangements throughout the palace, but she’d not have allowed this flat-out challenge to grim austerity. This tease to stop and sniff and feast the eyes on such unrepentantly fleeting beauty.

With one last scathing glare, Augustus stood firm against the temptation to lean forward and let the scent of the roses envelop him. Instead, he pulled the dangling cord that would announce his arrival at the doors. He heard the faint chime of bells and then nothing. Ten seconds later, he reached for the cord again, and then the door opened and the roses were forgotten.

Never mind the creamy skin and the perfection of her lips, the delicate curve of her cheekbones, the raven-black hair that fell in a thick plait to her waist or those eyes that glistened dove-grey. Today his courtesan wore low-slung loose trousers and a cropped fitted top that clung to her curves like a greedy lover’s hand. She was lean and lithe in all the right places, and generously voluptuous in others.

It was a body designed to bring a man to his knees and keep him there for eternity.

She stepped back and dropped her gaze demurely, even as she opened the door wider and sank to the floor in a curtsey, and he might have felt a heel for causing such an action except that she moved like a dancer, fluid and graceful, and he wanted to watch her do it all over again.

‘Don’t do that.’ It was a curt reminder, mostly to himself, that she shouldn’t be on her knees in front of him. It gave him too many ideas, all of them sexual.

‘My mistake.’ She rose as gracefully as she’d gone down in the first place. ‘Welcome, Your Majesty. Please forgive my appearance. I wasn’t expecting company.’

‘What were you doing?’ Her skin glowed with a faint sheen of exertion.

‘Forms,’ she said. ‘Martial arts patterns.’

‘Don’t stop on my account.’

‘I can do them any time,’ she murmured. ‘I’d rather have company.’

He looked around, taking in the now spotless round room, its stone walls and floors covered in tapestries and carpets, oil paintings and silver-edged mirrors. A huge round sofa had been placed in the centre of the room, beneath the domed glass ceiling. The seats faced inwards and there were openings at all four points of the compass. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘The tradespeople and artisans have gone and the Lady Lianthe with them. My guards are currently in a meeting with your guards about how best to utilise their services, given that standing outside a door that no one ever knocks on is a waste of their time and expertise. The maids have been and gone. There is only me.’

Holding her own in a round room built for hundreds to gather in and bedrooms enough for fifty. ‘It’s you I’ve come to see.’

She turned her back on him and led him towards the sofa at the centre of the room. It was leather and studded and looked comfortably soft with age. Pillows and throws had been placed on it at intervals, and the circular floor tapestry framed by the sofa had a stained-glass quality about it, with different scenes to look at depending on where a person sat. ‘What is that?’

‘On the floor?’

He nodded.

‘It’s a communication device. Each scene depicts an action: a need or desire, if you will. In older times a visitor to this place—or even another courtesan—would approach this area and in choosing where to sit would telegraph their needs. Those needs would be seen to.’

‘Just like that?’

‘So they say.’

‘And is that the way it’s going to work for me?’

‘Why don’t you sit somewhere and see?’

‘Maybe I will.’ Maybe he wouldn’t. Better all round if he didn’t engage, no matter how fascinating the history she brought with her. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of you.’

‘I know that, Your Majesty.’ She glanced towards the tapestry. ‘Take your time looking at it. Even if you don’t plan to use it as directed it’s an amazing piece of artistry. I’ll make tea.’

He watched as she walked away from him, tracking every curve as if it would somehow allow him to see inside her skin. Only once she had withdrawn from sight did he turn his attention back to the mood-gauging tapestry on the floor in front of him. He’d never seen such a thing.

Some of the panels were easy enough to figure out. There was an orgy scene, with bodies entwined in the throes of ecstasy. A gentler scene in which a man reclined while a woman read to him. Another scene depicted people eating from a table covered in delicacies. A bathing scene. A sword-fighting scene. Another showing a reclining man being entertained by dancers holding fans. A dozen men and women stood around a table, deep in sombre discussion. A sleeping couple filled another panel. With every step another mood or need satisfied. A man lashed to a wooden X, his back a mass of welts as he writhed beneath the whip. A beautiful woman holding that whip, her expression one of complete control and focus. Punishment delivered, but not in anger, and the man on the cross looked…grateful.

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