A Brother's Price

Chapter 10

It had been a fine morning for Jerin, one with the dawn sun pouring rich golden light into the yellow silk parlor. A youngest Barnes brought a tray of hot melted chocolate, triangles of toasted bread anointed with fresh butter and little cups of fruit jams, and the promise of another bath. Jerin rose from his feathered bed with silk-soft sheets, sat in the sunshine, ate of a breakfast he hadn’t prepared, and felt royally pampered.

Did nobles live every day of their life like this? Did they wake like him, reveling in the comfort? Did it fade in time? Perhaps, he considered, if they lived their whole life this way, they couldn’t find the same level of pleasure in it. Surely you had to get up at dawn and cook for forty people to realize the luxury of having the food brought to you.

Barnes came to the door then, saying Princess Renn-sellaer wished an audience with Eldest Whistler.

Eldest returned a short time later for Corelle, saying that they were riding out with Ren. Summer followed them out into the hall for a short murmured conversation about their plans.

Jerin had raised a cup to his mouth, unconcerned, when thoughts came together in his mind. The royal summons. The cannon thieves leaving a trail of dead behind them. His sister suddenly keeping things from him.

A cloud passed in front of the sun, and he lowered the teacup as the shadow slid over him.

Summer came in quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Where are they going?” Jerin put the cup down harder than he intended.

‘’Just out for a ride. Princess Rennsellaer thought they would enjoy a ride,“ Summer said too lightly, too quickly. ”The tailors will be here shortly.“

Summer was a terrible liar. Jerin wished, for once, she was better at it. Since she had obviously been instructed not to tell him, it would have been more comforting if he had been able to believe her.

The tailors arrived. While they pinned and poked, Summer stood at the window, looking out over the city. Shortly before lunch, there was an odd double clap of thunder.

“Is it going to rain?” the eldest tailor asked, frowning in concern at the window, where clouds raced on the wind.

Summer turned toward her, an odd expression on her face. “Perhaps.”

“I hope not. Rain would ruin this fabric,” the tailor muttered around a mouth of silver pins.

Thunder or cannons? Jerin stepped off the fitting stool and toward the window, only to be stabbed by a thousand tiny sharp prickles as the tailor cried out in shrill dismay.

“No, no, no!” The tailor pushed him back, losing her mouth of pins. “Stay put! This fabric costs a fortune, so we must be right the first time.”

“A fortune?” He froze in place, his voice breaking in nervousness. He lifted an arm draped with the flimsy, shimmering cobalt blue fabric. It was like being wrapped in cool air and nothing else.

“A crown a yard.” She gathered up the dropped pins, tucking them between her lips again. “Now,” she murmured, “stand still.”

Summer paced for the rest of the fitting session, stopping often to look out over the city. When the tailors finished, she impatiently herded them out.

“What is it?” Finally free, Jerin hurried to the window. All of the city was laid out below them, running to the river, an endless jumble of buildings cut by streets seething with people. “Was it the cannons? What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Summer said, pulling on her coat.

“Where are you going? What did you see?”

“Nothing, Jerin, just nothing. I’m going out. I’ll be back shortly. You lock the door after me and let no one in, understand? No one.”

“What do I do if someone tries to break in?”

“Ring for help.” Summer opened the door.

“What if one of the Barneses is the one trying to break in?”

Summer stopped with a cry of anger and frustration. “Barnes isn’t going to break in! They’re the Queens’ most trusted servants. Just lock the door and ring if there’s trouble!”

Summer fled. Jerin threw the bolt with trembling hands and went back to stare down at the city. What had happened? What had Summer seen? He scanned the city, still unable to pick out what had set his sister racing out of the room. Frowning, he tried a more methodical search, slowly examining the city block by block, moving east to west. Time stopped as he pressed against the glass, searching without knowing what he looked for.

There was a slight noise from his sisters’ bedroom. At first he ignored it; then, with a spike of cold fear, he realized he was supposed to be alone. He turned and saw a shadow, cast from his sisters’ window, on the floor of the parlor-the outline of someone climbing through the window. He snatched up the fireplace poker, hefting it high, and edged sideways toward the bellpull.

The path to the bellpull, however, took him in front of the bedroom door. He saw, for the first time, that it was a boy climbing through the window. Jerin froze, confused.

The boy looked about sixteen, with dirty blond hair and square, plain features. While cut from fine cloth, his light woolen kilt of green was gathered high about his waist with a horse-blanket pin. One knee bled slightly, while the other sported a scab from previous outings. He started at seeing Jerin, his green eyes going wide in surprise. “Oh! There you are! You gave me a start! Quick, hide me!”

Jerin considered. If a strange woman appeared in his quarters, he knew what to do: flee, fight, or shout for help. But what about a strange man? The boy seemed to lack any malice, and Jerin hadn’t seen another man outside his family since the harvest fair. “Um, you can hide in-in my room.”

The boy needed no further directions. He beamed a happy “Thanks!” and darted off to Jerin’s bedroom. Jerin returned the poker to the fireplace and followed, still confused but now unalarmed.

“What are you running from?” Jerin asked.

“My sisters. Stupid rules. Complete and total boredom.” The boy threw himself onto Jerin’s bed. “ ‘Sit up straight. Smile. Don’t sit with your legs open. Don’t slouch. Don’t talk. Don’t think.’ I’m bored, and lonely, and’now I’m whining. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Jerin said. “I didn’t know there was another man in the palace.”

“We got in last night. The Queens invited us to stay. I think to give you someone to show you the ropes without getting your sisters’ hackles raised. But, of course, every time I asked when we were going to meet, it’s ‘later,’ and ‘in good time’ and ‘when there’s time.’ All I have is time! I’ve been sitting sewing wedding linens all morning, with tiny invisible stitches, and no one even offered for me yet.”

“And vou are?”

“Cullen Moorland.” A brilliant smile. “I’m the Queens’ nephew.”

Jerin considered what he knew of the royal family. “I didn’t think the Queens had a brother.”

Cullen laughed. “You don’t know who I am? I’m hurt! But I forgive you, since you don’t know better.

My mothers are-were sisters to the Queens’ consort, the princesses’ father. We’re old blood, very tah, tah and all that, but we didn’t have much clout until the royal wedding brought us up in the world. Got anything to eat?”

“We could ring for tea,” Jerin stated, and then marveled at how naturally it came to him, as if he always had tea delivered at the ring of a bellpull.

“Then they’ll know I’m here.”

“And you shouldn’t be?”

“Oh, it’s just that it’s more fun them not knowing. It makes being here feel like I’m doing what I shouldn’t be doing.” Cullen took a deep breath. “The air even smells better when I decide where to be.”

“You could stay in here when the tray comes.”

Cullen flashed another brilliant smile. “You’re a great gun! Ring away.”

Jerin went back to the parlor and pulled the bell cord. A tap on the door announced a Barnes sister.

Jerin unbarred the door and asked for a tea tray, adding that he felt very hungry, and that his sisters might return in time to join him, so could she make it a generous tray with at least four sets of cups? The Barnes youngest nodded, impassive as always. Was she totally unaware of Cullen, or was she humoring Jerin like a child?

When Jerin returned to his bedroom, he found Cullen kneeling beside the nightstand, jiggling the open drawer.

“This is the best suite in the palace.” Cullen lifted out the drawer and set it on the bed. “We usually have it when we stay here. It put my sisters’ noses out of joint to find you were put up here instead. I don’t know why-we’ve had to give it up before. A case of speaking before thinking, to be sure.”

Cullen reached into the empty drawer hole and fished out a bundle of papers. “My secret stash. Look at these.”

Still kneeling beside the bed, he untied the bundle and spread seven tintypes out onto the bedspread.

Jerin looked at the pictures, then looked quickly away, blushing. “Where did you get those?”

“Lylia gave them to me. Of course my sisters would have a fit if they knew she was corrupting me.”

Jerrin frowned. He thought at first Lylia was one of Cullen’s sisters, but now it didn’t sound like it. Who else would have access to a noble male? A servant? “Who’s Lylia?”

“Gosh, you are an innocent! My cousin, Her Royal Highness, Lylia.” Cullen rooted two cigars out of his bundle and handed one to Jerin. “She doesn’t see the point of keeping boys ignorant. Accident of birth does not make us less human or less intelligent. We’ve got a vow that whichever of us has sex first, we’ll tell the other everything. One time”-he dropped his voice to a whisper-“we practiced kissing.” He shrugged, propping one elbow on the bed and resting his chin in the palm. “But it was like kissing your sister. Well, your own sister. I’m sure kissing your sister wouldn’t be the same.”

Kissing Lylia’s sister certainly hadn’t been the same. Jerin picked up one of the tintypes and found himself burning with embarrassment. He had done the pictured act with Ren.

Cullen put a finger on the top of the picture and tipped it down so he could see. “I always wonder why you would want to put your mouth there.”

Luckily, there was a knock on the door. Cullen dived down behind the bed. Jerin dashed toward the door, slammed to a stop halfway, ran back, and swept the pictures from the bed to snow down on Cullen. He ran back and jerked the door open. The Barnes sister stood with the tea cart.

It wasn’t until Jerin barred the door after the Barnes had left that he realized that he had the cigar still in hand. He collapsed into the chair beside the cart, giggling. “You can come out.”

Cullen peeked over the edge of the bed. “What are you laughing about?”

Jerin waved the cigar. “I forgot about this.”

Cullen laughed and vanished behind the bed. “One last thing.” He popped up holding a bottle. “Wine!”

“Lylia?”

Cullen nodded, breaking the seal. “A truer cousin is not to be found.” He produced a cork puller and fumbled through the opening of the bottle. He made a show of splashing wine into the dainty teacups. “A toast! To Lylia!”

“Lylia.” Jerin picked up the cup and raised it high.

“And to our friendship, may our sisters allow it to prosper!”

The tea had come with sandwiches of roast turkey with spiced mustard, slices of chilled cucumber in a dill vinaigrette, and raspberry tarts.

They talked as they ate, sounding out each other. They compared sisters first. Cullen had far fewer in number, partly due to an outbreak of yellow fever. His father, a young brother-in-law, and five out of ten elder sisters died then. His middle sisters died in the same blast that killed the princesses. His youngest sisters ranged from late teens to early twenties, making Cullen the baby of the Moorland family.

“Actually, I was born after my father died,” Cullen admitted. “My mothers married him in the olden days, when men were only thirteen when they wed, something they thank the gods about every chance they get, since he died so young. Personally, I’m glad I didn’t have to act the blood stallion at thirteen.

What?”

Jerin had bitten his tongue on the news that his Mother Elder would also bear a child after his father had died. It would be unlucky to talk about that before the baby was born. Cullen still looked at him, so he volunteered a different family secret. “I have three younger brothers.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “You’re joshing! Four boys?”

Jerin nodded, slightly embarrassed by Cullen’s impressed reaction. He, himself, had done nothing toward the feat except be born.

“What’s it like.” Cullen asked, “having other men in the house?”

Jerin had never considered this. “It’s-nice. A lot of time, it’s no different than having girls around. Well, at least with my little brothers, except everyone’s more careful with them. I loved it when my father was alive. He had to shave his face with a razor every day, or he would grow whiskers. His voice was deep: when he was in another room, he rumbled like a distant storm. He was always patient, but he never talked to me like I was a child, like my elder sisters do. He would say, ‘You’re almost a full-grown man.

You need to act like it.’ He told me all sorts of stuff about being married, like how to make sure your wives aren’t jealous of each other.”

“How?” Cullen asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

“Well, you never tell any of them that they’re your favorite, even if they are. He said you should always try to act equally happy to be with any one of them, and to always stick to a service schedule, Eldest to youngest, without skipping anyone for any reason.”

“Ugh. That doesn’t sound like fun. What if that night’s wife is sick?”

“Wait a day and sleep alone,” Jerin said after a moment of recalling his father’s advice. “Father was a youngest child, and his elder sisters married a man who was obvious in which wives he liked the most. It caused all sorts of fighting between the sisters. One sister even left to join the Sisters of Hera.”

“Sounds like Keifer, only Keifer kept changing his mind.”

Jerin’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Ren’s dead husband. “What was he like?”

“Keifer? Oh, I hated him. He used to lie to me and make me cry. I was only nine or ten at the time. He told me that my you-know-what would fall off because I ate too many cookies. Then one day he smacked me, I forget why-actually, I’m not sure there was even a reason why-but we didn’t come back to the palace again until after he was killed.”

“Oh.” Jerin fiddled with a raspberry tart, saddened that Ren had had such a terrible marriage. At least she was out of it, able to marry someone better for her and Odelia and the others.

Cullen chattered on. “I suppose, though, he wasn’t any older than we are now. You know, I don’t feel old enough to get married and father children.”

“My father said you never feel old enough.”

“Oh, rats.”

The conversation drifted off onto other subjects. Neither one of them liked to sew, or had any interest in clothes. However, they shared a love of horses. Jerin made the mistake of complaining that his sister would let him ride only the older, gentler mares who rarely would do anything more than a easy canter.

“They let you ride! Good gods, Jerin, I would kill to be able to ride! My family won’t let me near horses.

I had some great-great-grandfart that got kicked in the head and died. Lylia will sneak me out to the stable, but even she won’t let me do more than pet them over the stable wall.”

There was a bang at the door, followed by Eldest calling, “Jerin? Jerin? Come open the door!”

Jerin jerked up in surprise, and then all the worry he felt earlier came flooding back, chased by guilt that he’d forgotten about his fears. He rushed the door, unbolted it, and flung it open without a thought about Cullen. His sisters stood waiting in the hall-Eldest and Corelle in strange ill-fitting clothes for some reason-safe and sound. With a cry of happiness, he hugged Eldest.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened,” Eldest laughed, lifting him up in a bear hug and walking him back through the doors.

“Then what happened to your clothes?”

He had never seen Eldest blush before.

“You’ve been pinched!” Summer grinned at Eldest, using the cant word for “discovered” or

“apprehended.” Jerin wondered what he’d caught Eldest doing, and why it had been necessary for her and Corelle to change their clothes. Summer’s smile faded as she spotted the table set with four cups and a host of dirty plates. “Jerin, who did you have tea with?”

Eldest came to attention, moving Jerin behind her as she put him down. “You’re not alone?”

“Ummm.” Jerin peered over Eldest’s shoulder to discover the parlor was empty. “Cullen?”

For a moment, he thought maybe Cullen had climbed back out the window. Then Cullen peeked around the doorway of Jerin’s bedroom. He had taken out the horse-blanket pin so his kilt fell to its proper length.

“This is Cullen Moorland,” Jerin said.

“My cousin Cullen, who shouldn’t be in guest quarters by himself,” a female voice behind Eldest clarified. The voice belonged to a girl in her mid-teens, with hair the color of a new copper coin and a rash of sun-darkened freckles. “And I’m Princess Lylia.” Lylia, the supplier of wine, cigars, and naughty pictures. She held out her hand to Eldest and they shook like equals. “I’m Cullen’s escort, when I can catch up with him. I was hoping to find him here.”

“I’m a boy, not a baby.” Cullen pouted.

Eldest ignored the comment. She introduced herself, Corelle and Summer, and Jerin.

Lylia gave Jerin a long measuring look and smiled at what she saw. “A pleasure.”

Cullen tsked as Jerin blushed. “No, no, you tilt up your chin, raise one eyebrow calmly, and state, i know.‘”

“Oh, but I like the blush,” Lylia said.

“If he keeps blushing like that, you’ll have to use a pry bar to get the women off him,” Cullen said.

“Arrogance. It’s the only way to have a moment’s peace.”

“As if you had practice,” Lylia said, tugging on Cul-len’s braid.

Cullen tweaked her cheek. “I’ll have you know that there are families out there that are willing to overlook a small streak of headstrongness.”

“Small? Ha!” Lylia rolled her eyes. “I was going to suggest a walk in the gardens.” She tilted her head in the direction of the door. “Just the six of us.”

“A pleasure,” Eldest murmured.

Lylia did not take Cullen’s arm, as Jerin expected her to do, but let her cousin lead the way. Summer and Eldest fell into step with Cullen, flanking him. On a hand signal from Eldest, Corelle took Jerin’s arm with a sigh of the long-suffering, and Lylia walked beside them.

“There are actually several gardens inside the palace walls,” Lylia explained as they strolled down a flight of stairs and several hallways to the porch where the Queen Mother Elder had first met with them. “The family is mad about puttering about in the muck, bending nature to their will. I don’t have the madness, so I don’t quite understand it, but Trini and, strangely enough, Odelia are both crazy about it.”

The gardens were a riot of color, in full bloom with early-summer flowers. Paths of pea gravel meandered through drifts of peonies to archways leading to other gardens.

“The back wall is sixteen feet tall and is patrolled night and day. The gardens are as safe as the house.”

Lylia pointed out the wall a few hundred feet away. “We can walk around without fear in here.”

“My favorite area is down here.” Cullen led the way to a well-shaded grotto, where water spilled over a water-fall into a deep, rock-lined pool. “The cliff was built here for my uncle. If you look carefully, you can see the individual slabs of stone they fitted together to make it.”

Jerin studied the wall several minutes before finding the finger-wide joints of the very natural-looking cliff face.

“The water is pumped by that windmill.” Lylia pointed to a picturesque structure, its sailcloth arms creaking in the stiff wind.

“Oh.” Pieces of Jerin’s education came together in his mind. “We’re at the top of a sandstone cliff. The ground is probably too porous to keep water up here.”

His reasoning seemed to please the princess for some reason. Lylia grinned widely at him. “Exactly!”

Beyond the grotto, there were lily pools and a hedge maze. They strolled on, he and Lylia falling behind the others, frightening hidden frogs into the water with a soft plop, plop.

“Does the windmill pump all the water for everything, or just the gardens?”

“There are several water supplies. Specially lined cisterns collect the rainwater; plus there are several wells. If you look up there, on the roof, there are tanks that the windmill fills. In the family wing, there are indoor privies with running water. Mothers had them installed when I was little.”

“My aunts needed to build a new wing to their home, so they designed their house to have a indoor privy,” Jerin said. “It’s very clever.”

“It’s just a tank of water high over a piss pot with a hole in it,” Lylia said, grinning as if she enjoyed the innocent rudeness of the conversation.

“It’s that the tank fills itself to exactly full and stops that I think is amazing. A human would know that the tank is empty and could fill it and then stop when it was full. It’s like they made it intelligent, yet inside the tank are only little pieces of metal and cork.”

She covered her mouth on a laugh. “Oh, please, you’ll make me nervous to sit with my pants around my ankles with these ‘intelligent’ tanks of water above my head.”

He laughed. Lylia surprised him by taking his hands in hers and looking up at him.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

“What?” Jerin blinked in amazement.

“Kiss me.”

Jerin glanced around to see if anyone was about to observe them. Where had his sisters and Cullen gone? “Would it be proper?”

Lylia seemed to consider for a moment, or maybe it was just an act of considering. “Proper enough. It’s not like I’m asking to mount you.”

“No.” he admitted uneasily, “but one seems to follow the other.”

She giggled, and then leaned forward-pressing her body full against his, wetting her lips before whispering again. “Kiss me.”

He supposed this was why the sisters were princesses. They commanded and everyone else was helpless not to obey. Certainly he also was helpless not to enjoy. Her lips were warm, moist velvet, her taste of apples, and her scent of cinnamon. She put her arms about his neck, ran her fingers down his braid, and tugged at the end. A moment later his braid uncoiled and his hair cascaded forward, a waterfall of silky black. She ran fingers through his hair.

“Lylia,” Ren said from behind her sister.

The younger princess broke the kiss. “I’m behaving.” She skipped backward, grinning, until she collided with Ren. She rolled her head back on Ren’s shoulder to look up at her older, taller sister. “He’s dreamy.”

“You’re supposed to be escorting your cousin.” Ren lifted her arm to point back up the path. “Go!”

“I’m gone.” She spun to duck under Ren’s arm and cantered off.

“Um.” Jerin ran his thumb across his forehead, gath-ering up his hair and pulling it out of his face. “I’m not sure how to say no to you princesses.”

“I suppose not,” Ren said quietly. “Our society can’t allow men to learn how to say no; it’s too important they say yes to so many women. Maybe if there were one man for every five women, or every three women, we could afford for men to say no.”

“What if there were five men for every woman?”

Ren studied a cloud as she considered. “Interesting question. Five sisters can share one man because each of them is individually rewarded with a child. Five men could share one woman, and be individually rewarded, but only if the woman was careful in allotting her pregnancies. It seems to run against human nature, though. Waiting five nights for one’s turn is not the same as waiting almost five years. Allowing your husband to impregnate your sister is not on the same level of commitment and risk as letting your wife carry and give birth to a child for your brother. Plus, any midwife can tell you, space the babies too close together, and each subsequent child is unhealthier than the previous one. Which brother gets to go first? Which brother has to be last?”

“It would seem that the power would remain with the woman,” Jerin said.

“It does indeed. The very nature of intercourse-an act to produce a pregnancy-and the risks to the woman’s health as such, I think will always make‘ the choice of yes or no the woman’s.”

“So the man can never say no.”

“Actually,” she said as she gathered up his hair into a ponytail, “you can always say no. I suppose I sound the hypocrite, but you have the right to choose who does what to your body.”

“Even though I belong to my sisters, as much as a chair or a table belongs to them, and they can sell me to whoever they want, despite my wishes?”

“I have never believed that to be right and good.”

She began to rework his hair into a braid. “Nowhere in the holy book does it say that a sister has the right to treat her brother as something less than human. Sometime, somehow, simple human greed worked its way into the law. The greed says, I will not give up something I have without getting something in return, even for someone I should love dearly.”

“But if you are giving up the only male you have, you’re giving up the ability to have children, even if only by means of incest. No babies to love, no daughters to tend you when you are old, no descendants to honor your memory.”

She picked up his ribbon from where her sister had dropped it and tied the end of his braid. “If it didn’t cost you to gain a husband, you wouldn’t have to sell your brother. The ability to sell a brother leads to circumstances such as your uncle’s, who was sold to finance a trading house.”

“My mothers allowed him to choose his wives. He loves them dearly.”

“Your mothers are particularly noble, then, compared to stories I have heard at court. The most pitiful ones are widows suing their husband’s sisters because he committed suicide after the money was exchanged.”

He nodded slowly. “It is hard knowing I won’t be going back home, that I’ll only see my youngest sisters and little brothers again if my wives allow it.”

“That, unfortunately, is the nature of marriage and not an evil that can be banished by law. The husband has to go live with his wives.”

“I suppose it’s because a man’s little sisters will grow up and become women with a husband to fill their thoughts, run their house, and raise their children. In his wives’ home, a man’s wives and children will always need him.”

“You are wise beyond your years.” Her eyes sung his praises.

He suddenly realized that he was wasting this moment alone with her, maybe the last he would have.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise of him to kiss her, but he had been wanting to since she left the farm. He stepped closer to her, leaning awkwardly forward, torn between wanting to close his eyes and knowing that he’d probably miss her mouth if he did shut them.

For a moment he thought he was horribly wrong in trying to kiss her, because the slight smile on her face faded. But then she was pulling him close, her lips pressed to his in unmistakable desire.

I love you! I love you! But he was afraid to speak the words aloud, because if she didn’t crush him down with some cruel remark, he knew that his feelings would grow. Even now he found great comfort in her returning his kisses as if she was as starved for his touch as he was for hers. When the edge of their mutual hunger was dulled to bearable, they stood, foreheads gently touching, his arms about her neck, her hands on his hips, holding him to her. She would exhale, and he would inhale her warm breath, feeling at one with her.

He finally whispered much safer words that those that shouted in his heart. “I’ve missed you. I’ve dreamed of you.”

“And I, you,” Ren breathed.

Lest his empty mouth fill up with the dangerous words, he trailed kisses down the tan, graceful curve of her neck, desire filling him, blotting out common sense. The memory of her breasts, replayed almost every night since that night in the kitchen, lured him downward. Her fingers moved in front of his advance, opening the line of attack. He moved his lips across skin silken as flower petals. Ren arched her back, making a small sound of pleasure. His right hand found the buttons of her trousers, worried them open, and slid down her fiat stomach.

His universe became her; she filled all his senses and thoughts. The murmur of falling water, the birdsong, and the drone of bees faded till he heard only her breath, her soft sighs. She guided his mouth to hers, demanding his lips, and they breathed as one. And when she finally clung to him, shuddering, it was as if they were a single being, filling all of reality. They stood entwined-mouth to mouth, heart to heart, hip to hip.

“I envy my ancestors,” Ren murmured against his lips. “I think I would give anything to be able to just take what I wanted.”

“Does that include me?”

Ren laughed softly. “At the moment, you’re the only thing I want-your sisters, my sisters, my mothers, the whole queendom be damned.”

Jerin jerked away from her with a hiss and a curse. “My sisters! Oh, gods, if they caught us, they’d kill me!”

“They would kill me.” Ren hurriedly refastened her trousers. “And Cullen’s sisters would kill Lylia if they knew what she did.”

“Lylia?” Jerin glanced around for the others. “What did she do?”

Ren laughed, buttoning her shirt. “She used Cullen to distract your sisters, to get you alone, the little minx.”

Jerin winced, remembering Lylia’s sweet stolen kisses. How many men had the young princess lured out and kissed before him? “They do this often?”

Ren grinned, cupping his chin with a warm hand and running a callused thumb along his cheek. “No. which is quite encouraging in all regards.” She glanced down the path as sounds of the others reached them. “Here they come.”

Cullen wore a crown of flowers, and looked extremely tousled, and pleased. Eldest had a slightly smug expression, which made Jerin wonder what exactly had taken place before-and perhaps even after-Lylia had caught up with them. The young princess grinned at her older sister, as if well satisfied with the whole affair.

“The dressing gong will sound soon,” Ren said, making a show of pulling out her pocket watch and checking the time. “We should retire to get decent.”

Clearly, it was ambush.

Lylia and Odelia lazed in Ren’s study, idly bouncing a ball between them, as if they had nothing better to do. Odelia, on the divan, gave a nonchalant. “Hoy.” Lylia, sideways in the leather armchair with her booted feet on the antique cherry end table, feigned a look of surprise. Plainly, they had been waiting for her. joining sides to do gory battle, but over what?

“Well?” Ren pushed Lylia’s feet off of the end table.

“Well, what?” Lylia put on her doe-eyed innocent look, perfected and much abused over the years. It worked well with people outside the family, but Ren had witnessed too many of Lylia’s maneuverings to believe it.

“What are you two here for?” Ren asked.

Odelia smirked at Lylia. “Told you she would know.”

Lylia stuck out her tongue at Odelia, then addressed Ren levelly. “What are you doing about Trini and Halley?”

“Trini?” Ren could understand their worrying about Halley’s prolonged absence, but they’d worked alongside Trini that very morning. “What’s wrong with Trini?”

“She’s taken a tray in her rooms every meal since Jerin arrived,” Lylia groused. “She’s refusing to meet him. She’s still saying it’s too soon to get married.”

Ren jerked in surprise at the word “married.” She hadn’t talked to her sisters about a possible marriage in hopes of staving off any negative reactions before they had a chance to meet Jerin personally.

Apparently Lylia, Odelia, and, unfortunately, Trini all knew why the Whistlers had been invited to the palace.

“Completely pigheaded.” Odelia added, hopefully meaning Trini. Odelia lay back on the divan, tossing the ball upward until it nearly touched the ceiling and catching it when it dropped.

“This is a perfect opportunity, and she’s letting it slip away.” Lylia launched herself out of her seat to rove through Ren’s study with restless energy. “Every nobleman available for us to marry has been raised like a vacuous songbird. Other than ignoring traditions and marrying Cullen, quite frankly, I don’t see another alternative on the market.”

“ ‘Vacuous.’ Is that really a word?” Odelia asked as the ball rose again in another orbit.

Ren settled herself on the edge of her desk, trying to smother a smile. Obviously both of them were for marrying Jerin-but then, she had figured they would be. “We can’t marry Cullen.”

“There’s precedent for royal cousins marrying,” Lylia stated firmly.

Ren shook her head. “The parents weren’t full siblings in those cases. The bloodlines are too close with us and Cullen. I checked it one time-his mother was full sister to Father.”

Odelia caught the ball and sat up in one smooth motion. “You two are serious! Cullen? Holy Mothers, you’re both as bad as Trini.”

“What’s wrong with Cullen?” Lylia asked, jerking up her chin.

“Besides being more like our brother than our cousin?” Odelia scoffed. Then, apparently realizing that she about to fall into full warfare with Lylia, she threw up her hands. “Forget I said anything. We’re here to talk about Jerin and Trini and Halley.”

Lylia swallowed her attack, and nodded. “Trini can’t be allowed to get away with this. It would be one thing if she met Jerin and found fault with him, but she’s being completely irrational. We need to get married. She has to be reasonable.”

Odelia snorted. “Trini is never going to be reasonable when the subject is men.”

“What Keifer did to her couldn’t have been that bad!” Lylia snapped, then glanced to them, uncertain.

“Could it?”

This is going to hurt a little, right, Keifer? Oh, no, Ren, it’s going to hurt a lot! Ren flinched at the memory. At the time she believed the pain had been unavoidable. Since then, she had grown sure that Keifer had enjoyed inflicting much more pain than necessary.

“Oh, don’t do that!” Lylia snapped at their carefully blanked faces. “Since I was ten. every time I ask about this, everyone gets quiet and then they change the subject. I’m an adult now! I’m a royal princess of the realm. I have a right and a duty to know what happened.”

Ren sighed. Lylia was right. “You might not remember, but Keifer was very beautiful. Eldest and the others fell in love with his beauty, and didn’t care that he wasn’t very intelligent.”

“I’ve seen dogs smarter than him,” Odelia muttered, then added wistfully, “But he was beautiful.”

“Trini was only thirteen,” Ren continued. “She wasn’t interested in men yet, and I think she saw him more clearly than the rest of us. She saw that he was stupid, spoiled, and ill-tempered. She called him a breeding bull. She tried to block the marriage, but she wasn’t an adult yet, and she was vastly outnumbered.”

“Back then, she was much like you, Lylia.” Sorrow tinged Odelia’s voice. “She had a sharp tongue and she was fearless in using it. She could get him so mad.”

In the beginning, it would take several minutes of cutting remarks before Keifer would react. Toward the end, a single facial expression from Trini could make Keifer explode. Trini played it as a game, even taking bets that she could get Keifer to throw things at the dinner table or scream in public.

“So, what happened?” Lylia asked. “What did Keifer doT‘

Ren swallowed old anger and disgust. “He hit her in the head with a paperweight and, while she was stunned, dragged her to his bed and tied her there. He beat her, and-and serviced her. and everything else he could think of to hurt her.”

Odelia cataloged the injuries. “He broke her nose and blackened her eyes. He broke two of her fingers, and burned her on one hip, like a cattle brand, for calling him a cow. He was threatening to cut her face when Eldest showed up.”

Lylia look horrified. “And we didn’t send him back to his sisters?”

“Eldest got Trini cleaned up and half convinced it was all her fault before our mothers saw her.” Ren swallowed the rage again that her Eldest acted not in the best interest of their sister, but for her own desire to keep Keifer as a husband. “Keifer turned all sweet on Eldest, said he was sorry and that he really didn’t mean to do it, that Trini drove him to it. Eldest was blindly in love with him.”

“Obviously,” Lylia murmured.

“So what do we do about Trini?” Odelia flopped back onto the divan. “She’s going to think we’re just like Eldest, in love with a pretty face.”

“And you’re not?” Ren asked as Odelia tossed her ball skyward again.

Odelia threw her a surprised look and nearly missed her ball. “No! Well, Jerin’s beautiful, but he’s also very gentle and sweet and caring. After I was attacked, Jerin was like a father comforting his little one.

Me! I wasn’t a princess of the realm to him. 1 was just a stranger he found half dead in a stream.”

Lylia sighed. “If Trini would only talk to him. He’s so intelligent for a man.”

Ren caught herself before she, too, sang Jerin’s praises. “We’re in complete agreement that Jerin isn’t like Keifer and would make an excellent husband. How do we convince Trini?”

“We don’t,” Odelia said, flinging her ball skyward. “Jerin does. She won’t believe anything we say anyhow.”