Chapter 1 | The Last Royal Mistress

Middlemont

Hallikson the butler was a calm man, as most good butlers are. He was not prone to hurry, nor was he prone to hysterics. But the sound of his quick steps rang down the hallways of Middlemont with a decidedly panicked tone. Hallikson reached the back sitting room, knocked twice, and opened the wide doors without further preamble. “Sir, ma’am,” said the butler nervously, “the king is on the road to the gate. We have spotted his carriage and escort at the foot of the hill. He’s about twenty minutes away, I believe.”

“What!” cried Elbig Shelstone, nearly overturning his little gilt chair. “Unannounced?!” He ran toward the door. “Hallikson!” he said to the butler, who was already moving toward the back stairs. “Set three bottles of the best sparkling wine to chill in the king’s rooms, and open two of the best port for the front sitting room! Show him in and make him comfortable! You!” he yelled at the startled, anxious footman in the hall, “Tell Mistress Hallikson what’s afoot and have her prepare his majesty’s room, then right to the kitchens with you and tell the chef he’s coming! And you!” He turned and ran back to his wife, hauling her off the sofa. “We haven’t much time! You look horrid!”

Twenna Shelstone gave a little squeak as her husband dragged her through the halls and up the stairs through her receiving room and bedroom to her wardrobe. “Elbig! Have a care!” she cried. “You’re going to break my arm! My goodness,” she said, rubbing her wrist when he finally released her, “you are quite overwrought, husband!”

“And you are not overwrought enough, madam,” he snapped as he rifled through her gowns. “Don’t stand there, you great goose, get undressed. Where is your maid! Lea!” he roared out the door. But the maid had already heard the ruckus and was there in an instant. She helped Twenna out of her morning dress and underthings, then back into clean white silk stockings with pink ribbon garters, a lace-trimmed chemise, and the shell-pink corset that set off Twenna’s skin so beautifully.

Elbig considered and discarded dress after dress, muttering to himself, before picking one in the same shell pink, “As pink as the inside of your thigh, my dear!” Lea hurried her into the dress and sat her down at her vanity to do her hair. “Patchett’s Custom Number 10?” he said, picking up a perfume sprayer.

“No,” said Twenna, trying to shake her head as Lea worked on arranging her curls, “he says it reminds him of all his other mistresses.”

“Out it goes,” said Elbig, unceremoniously dumping the crystal sprayer into the waste basket. He picked up another little bottle and dabbed at her with its wand, dodging Lea’s brush. “We’ll have to make do with a simple rose absolute until we can get something made. Most men like roses, I’m sure the king’s among ‘em. Now, stand up and let me look at you.” His wife stood obediently and turned slowly. “Nice, nice--where is that gold chain he gave you, the one with the heart pendant? Yes, that’ll do for short notice. You look charming but not overly prepared. Hold still, I’ll fasten it. All right, dear, chin up and stop trembling!”

“I’m very sorry,” said Twenna, twisting her hands, “but I do hate being rushed like this! Whatever can he mean, just showing up like this, so--so--adventitiously!”

“What I hope it means is that he can’t keep his hands off you,” said Elbig, shooing her off toward the front sitting room. “He hasn’t been by in a week, and I’m worried you’re losing his interest. Now, remember: We are wanting him to award me a lordship. You need to start working toward that--that, and renewing his interest!” The ladies maid listened to their voices fade down the stairs, then surreptitiously filched the bottle of Patchett’s Custom Number 10 from the trash--a year’s wages in the crystal sprayer alone! She hid it in her apron, and hurried back to her room, just as Mr Shelstone and his wife entered the front sitting room.

“Your majesty!” exclaimed Elbig, bowing deeply as Twenna curtsied. “What an unexpected delight to see you! I do hope our Hallikson made you feel at home.”

“He’s my Hallikson, not yours,” said Harsin abruptly. “And I could make an argument for this being my house as well. But I’m not in the mood to argue. Good morning, my dear,” said Harsin to Twenna, lifting her out of her curtsy.

“All loyal Tremontine houses belong to you, your majesty,” said Elbig, with what he hoped was a courtly gesture. Harsin stared at him. “Ehm, what brings you to Middlemont, sir?”

“Your wife,” said Harsin, finishing the glass of port dangling in his hand and putting it down. “And I definitely lay claim on her. Go away, Shelstone--no, better. We shall go away. Twenna?” He held out his hand to her, and she obediently took it and let him lead her up the stairs to the rooms reserved for him, leaving Elbig to fret in the sitting room with the port.

Mistress Hallikson heard them coming and shooed the maids out just in time; she curtsied low as the king and his mistress approached, and the maids turned their faces to the wall. “Mistress Hallikson, how are you and your mister, eh?” said Harsin, shaking her hand.

“Very well, your majesty, thank you,” she answered, smiling.

“And you’re being treated well?”

“Oh, your lady is very kind and sweet, sir,” said Mistress Hallikson.

“Yes, she is,” said Harsin, kissing Twenna’s hand. “Very kind, and very sweet.” They passed into his rooms, and he shut the doors firmly behind them before sitting down on a tufted leather chair, his long legs stretched out before him. “How kind will you be to me today, my dear?”

“I’m sorry, sir?” stammered Twenna. “I always strive to please you in all things, to please you as--as--assiduously as I can!”

Harsin smiled. “Which is what makes you so sweet. Pour yourself a glass, it’s nearly lunch and you’re trembling. Pour me one as well.”

“Am I?” she said, observing her hands. “I suppose I am, a bit.” She crossed to the ice bucket with its bottles, found the one that had already been uncorked, and filled two tall glasses with the bubbling wine, spilling a little down the inside of her bell sleeve.

She brought him his glass, and he pulled her onto his knee. He trapped her legs between his, her pink skirts rucking up into a froth around her waist that covered both laps. He kissed her, long and thoroughly. “Why do you shake, Twenna? Tell me,” he said.

“You arrived so unexpectedly,” she said guilelessly. “We were all in a dither to get ready for you, and it made me nervous.”

“You should always be ready for me. It’s your job.” His free hand began creeping up her leg.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Are you angry?”

“Oh, very angry,” he said nonchalantly, pinching her inner thigh until she jumped. He put his glass down on the little table beside him, took her glass, and put it down next to his. “Here you’ve spilled wine down your arm, clumsy girl.” He took her arm and licked at the scant trail of wine. “You’re shaking harder, Twenna, why is that?”

“I don’t know--” The touch of his hand under her skirts was light and teasing, brushing against her skin almost as an afterthought. “You’re tickling me?”

“Am I? I should think that would make you laugh. Are you hiding something from me?”

Twenna’s eyes flew open. “I should never think to hide anything from you, Harsin!”

“Because I always find out, don’t I?” The circling hand under her skirts ghosted over the very top of the hair curling between her legs, then pushed her legs apart. “I always find out.” He nipped at her neck, and she groaned, tilting her head back. “So am I to believe you haven’t had any better luck finding out who this mysterious sponsor of Elbig’s is?”

“No,” she gasped as his hand slipped between her legs. “I think he truly has deserted us. No one has come here but you since we--since we--” Words left her.

“You’re shaking harder, Twenna,” he murmured.

“You keep--keep touching me! I can’t talk if you--if you--” His fingers slipped inside her folds, and she gave a long, wriggling moan.

“You’re very wet, darling,” whispered Harsin in her ear. “I rather think you like this method of interrogation.” Twenna put her arms around his neck; he slipped his fingers in further, and began sliding them in and out.

“Elbig has said nothing to you when you’re alone?”

“No, we’re never alone!” she whimpered. “I’m sorry, no! Nothing! Oh, Harsin, please!”

“Please, what?” he growled. “Please stop? Please don’t stop? Please fuck you senseless? What?”

“Please, stop asking me things! I can’t think when you’re--when I’m so--please, stop asking me things!” He circled his thumb around her clit, never stopping his fingers; Twenna spread her legs as widely as she could, and sobbed as she came. She lay limp against his shoulder, breathing hard; Harsin tilted her head toward him with his still-wet fingers and kissed her, opening her unresisting mouth. “Honestly, our sponsor has left us, and I know nothing about any new ones,” she whispered when the kiss ended.

“I already know,” Harsin whispered back. “The Halliksons are spying on you, darling.” She jumped up from his lap with an outraged squeak, and he began to laugh. “You didn’t seriously think I sent members of my personal staff here to be charitable, did you?”

She stomped her foot. “Why did you put me through all of this if you already knew we had no sponsor?”

Harsin stood up. “Because,” he said with a lazy grin, “you like it. Do you deny you like it?” Twenna stepped back toward the door, her chin jutting, but didn’t answer him. “Ooh, are you going to run away now?” said Harsin. “You like that, too--even better when I catch you!” Twenna stared him down for just a moment too long, then turned and ran toward the door. But Harsin was on her; he spun her around, pinning her against the door with a thump. He pressed himself against her; she could feel his erection even through her skirts, and she moaned helplessly. “Sweet Twenna,” he said, looking down into her blushing face through his hooded eyes. “I know that you love playing these games with me--you even love pretending that you don’t. Remember, you can’t lie to me.”

“I’m a terrible liar,” she whimpered. “You know I am.”

“Then here’s the question, my terrible little liar,” he murmured. “Do you want me to fuck you here against the door so the whole house hears us, or do you want me take you to bed and fuck you there?” He let up the pressure against her, just enough; she slipped past him, and ran for the bedroom; Harsin followed, the lazy smile spreading across his face.

That afternoon, Ansella was riding back to the Keep after a long ramble atop Flor, her little white mare. She’d begun riding more now that her son had come to the Keep, and she found he was right; it was good for her soul, and had renewed her long-dormant appetite. Her face had lost its pinched look, and there were roses in her cheeks again.

It was time now for tea, and she was hungry. She’d been out all afternoon, wandering through the King’s Woods and out into the nearby vineyards and fields that lay between the Keep and Middlemont, an old estate long in the royal family and often used as a guest house, though an hour’s ride away if you took the Middlemont road. The queen knew very well who lived there now--though they seemed to believe they owned the place, she thought sourly. But the country was so beautiful, and the day so fine, she couldn’t resist riding nearly to Middlemont and back, avoiding the main road and the house, and instead taking the longer back trails that picked through the fields and woods.

Cresting a rise as she neared home, she looked out from a copse down onto the Middlemont road. An unmistakeable entourage was making its way toward the Keep; if the honor guard flanking all sides of the carriage weren’t enough, the carriage itself was quite familiar. He promised me, she thought, he promised me he would not humiliate me! Ansella’s eyes narrowed and her heart contracted with rage, even though no one was near to see Harsin returning from Middlemont but his guards. She dug her heels into the surprised Flor’s sides, and raced down the hill toward the road. She saw the guards snap to alertness, then relax when they realized it was her.

Ansella came close enough to the carriage that Harsin could see her, then dashed ahead onto the Middlemont road, faster than the procession itself could go. She tore all the way down the road the remaining distance to the Keep; she rode past the castle into the stables and flung herself out of the saddle, throwing the reins to a startled groom and stalking away.

“Well, that’s odd,” said Temmin, looking down from the windows of Brinnid’s private sitting room.

“What is?” said Sedra from behind him.

“Mama just came tearing up to the Keep on Flor and headed for the stables as if the Bloody One were after her--oh dear, wrong choice of words,” winced Temmin. He turned away from the windows to face his sister, sitting next to Brinnid at the tea table; the Teacher leaned against the mantel to one side. “So,” said Temmin, “how do we get that head back?”