The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

stepped closer to him, inhaled thoughtfully from her lacquered holder and let the smoke pour from her mouth as she spoke, as if upon exercising her hidden power she had become that much more demonic.
    “Your Highness, you will believe you have had your way with me in this room. Though it would very much give you pleasure, you will be unable to convey this information to anyone else under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
    The Prince nodded.
    “Our
engagement
will have occupied your time for the next thirty minutes, so it will be impossible that I have in this time seen either Lydia Vandaariff or her father. During our encounter I have also confessed to you that the Comte d’Orkancz prefers the erotic companionship of boys. You will be unable to convey this information to anyone else either, though because of it you will not begrudge any request the Comte might have for unaccompanied visits to your bride. Do you understand?”
    The Prince nodded.
    “Finally, despite our encounter this evening, you will believe that upon this night you have taken the virginity of Miss Vandaariff, before you are married, so rapacious is your sexual appetite, and so little can she resist you. In the event she conceives, it is therefore entirely as a result of your own impulsive efforts. Do you understand?”
    The Prince nodded. The Contessa turned, for at the door behind her came a gentle knock. She opened it a crack, and then, seeing who it was, wide enough for that person to enter.
    Miss Temple put her hand over her mouth. It was Roger Bascombe.

    “Yes?” asked the Contessa, speaking quietly.
    “You wanted to know—I am off to collect the books from this night’s
harvest,
and meet the Deputy Minister—”
    “And deliver the books to the Comte?”
    “Of course.”
    “You know which one I need.”
    “Lord Vandaariff’s, yes.”
    “Make sure it is in place. And watch Mr. Xonck.”
    “For what?”
    “I’m sure I do not know, Mr. Bascombe—thus the need to watch him closely.”
    Roger nodded. His eyes glanced past the Contessa to the man on the chaise, who followed their words with an ignorant curiosity, like a cat captivated by a beam of light thrown from a prism. The Contessa followed Roger’s gaze and smirked.
    “Tell the Comte this much is done. The Prince and I are in the midst of a torrid assignation, do you see?”
    She permitted herself a throaty chuckle at the ridiculousness of that prospect and then sighed with contemplative pleasure, as if she were in the midst of a thought.
    “It is a terrible thing when one is unable to resist one’s impulses…” She smiled to Bascombe and then called to the Prince. “My dear Karl-Horst, you are having your way with my body even now—your mind is writhing with sensation—you have never felt such ecstasy and you never will again. Instead you will always measure your future pleasure against this moment…and find it lacking.”
    She laughed again. The Prince’s face was pink, his hips twitching awkwardly on the chaise, his nails scratching feebly at the upholstery. The Contessa glanced at Roger with a wry smile that to Miss Temple was confirmation that her ex-fiancé was just as much subject to this woman’s power as the Prince. The Contessa turned back to the man on the chaise.
    “You…may…
finish,
” she said, teasing him as if he were a dog awaiting a treat.
    At her words the Prince went still, breathing air in gulps, whimpering, both hands clutching the chaise. After what seemed to Miss Temple a very brief time, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagged from his effort, and the unpleasant smile returned to his face. He absently plucked at his darkening trousers and licked his lips. Miss Temple scoffed with abhorrence at the entire spectacle.

    Her eyes snapped to the Contessa and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. The Contessa glared directly into the mirror. The speaking tube—the knob had been turned. Miss Temple’s scoff had been heard.
    The Contessa barked harshly at Roger. “Someone is there! Get Blenheim! Around the other side—
immediately
!”
    Miss Temple and Elöise stumbled back to their curtain as Roger dashed from sight and the Contessa strode toward them, her expression dark with rage. As she passed, the Prince attempted to stand and take her into his arms.
    “My darling—”
    Without a pause she struck him across the face, knocking him straight to his knees. She reached the mirror and screamed as if she could see their startled