Kushiel's Mercy

spell. Kiss her until I bruised her lips, take her there amid the scattered chess pieces.
    Under the watching eyes of her Amazigh guard.
    I drew my hand back as though her touch had burned me. “Tomorrow would be lovely.”
    The pulse beat visibly in the hollow of her throat, but there was no other sign she was unnerved. Her voice was cool and calm. “The same time, then?”
    I rose and bowed. “I would be honored.”
    I made myself meet the gaze of the Amazigh as I left. Clear and transparent, I told myself, clear and transparent. I gave him a nod, a careless smile. He didn’t return the smile, but he accorded me a brief nod. There was no suspicion I could see in his eyes or the narrow strip of his face visible. Whatever had passed between the Princess Sidonie and me, it had gone unnoticed.
    One touch.
    A single glance . . .
    Blessed Elua was not a gentle god.

Thirty-Two

    Well played, your highness.” I tipped over my king, acknowledging defeat.
    Princess Sidonie inclined her head graciously. “My thanks. It was a hard-earned victory.
    Who taught you to play so well?”
    It was the fourth game we’d played over the course of as many days, and the first that she’d won. Since that first time, under the watching eyes of her guard, we had been careful not to inadvertently touch; and she’d been as careful as I had.
    She had felt it, I was sure.
    “My . . . mother,” I said.
    Her eyes danced. “Are you sure? You sound uncertain.”
    It had been her ladyship who’d taught me, of course; or at least taught me to play well .
    Chess was a useful game to learn, although it had its limits. In a true game of intrigue, every piece on the board would be a live player, filled with weaknesses and flaws. Still, it had its merits.
    “Yes, of course,” I said. “She’s a great knack for the game.”
    “Does your mother also serve in Cythera?” the princess inquired.
    “She’s Ptolemy Solon’s mistress,” I said, conflating one lie with another. Her brows rose.
    I smiled ruefully. “In truth, I suspect her wit and beauty held as much appeal for my lord Solon as my father’s cuisine. They have always been discreet, but my father, may Elua bless and keep him, died two years ago. Since then, the liaison has been openly acknowledged.”
    “Ah.” She nodded. “Which is why his eminence holds you in such high esteem.”
    “Not the entire reason, I hope,” I said.
    Her smile was genuine. “I’m sure it’s not.”
    My heart gave one of those involuntary leaps. I almost wished she wouldn’t smile at me like that. It actually hurt. I busied myself setting up the chess board for another game, watching her out of the corner of my eye. “Your victory was swift, my lady. Do you wish to play again?”
    “No.” The princess rested her chin on one hand. Sunlight glinted on her signet ring. “I’m growing weary of chess, Leander Maignard.”
    “Just Leander,” I said.
    She gave me an amused look. “I’m considering it.”
    One audience a day, four games of chess. Five days, five gowns. Today she wore a pale lavender, which I didn’t think was her best hue. A choker of pearls and amethyst, earrings to match. Over the course of five days, there had been only one constant. I knew; I’d been keeping track. If she was growing bored with chess, it was time for me to make a move of a different sort. I took a deep breath and did it.
    “That’s an interesting ring, my lady,” I said. “Is that the seal of the House of Sarkal?”
    “This?” She twisted it on her finger. “Yes. Rather crude work, isn’t it?”
    “May I see it?” I asked.
    Her expression turned quizzical. “If you like.”
    It slid easily from her finger. I held out my hand. Our fingers didn’t quite touch as she dropped it into my palm. I examined the stone, a ruby cabochon engraved with the Sarkal hawk insignia. I peered under my lashes at her. Her expression was unchanged, still puzzled. “A family heirloom, I imagine. It’s very old. Do you wear it in honor of your husband?”
    “At Astegal’s request, yes.” Her mouth quirked. “Only in public, to tell the truth. I appreciate its value and history, but it’s a bit heavy.”
    “Ah.” A stab of disappointment went through me. I handed the ring back to her. “Your secret is safe with me.”
    “Oh, he knows.” The princess laughed. “He doesn’t mind as long as I wear it publicly.”
    It definitely wasn’t the ring, then. The bastard just liked the world to see he’d set