The King's Mistress (Underconstruction/Editing)

Chapter Four: At First Glance (EDITED)

(Wesley)

My eyes scour the hoards of women that now parade themselves in front of me, hiding beneath the masquerade of a ball. They think I do not know why they have been brought before me. My lips pull into a sneer. They were all preening doves, eager to catch my eye. It was not hard to gather just who was responsible for this. My advisors were relentless in their quest for a male of noble blood to ascend my throne...as if my other children were not worthy.

Four girls. That is what I have brought into this world. I loved each of them with every fiber of my being. Alas, I did not get to see them as often as I would like. I could not bear the thought of stripping them from their mother's care, so, when the mother's inevitably left my side, so did the girls.

A steward at my side is quick to point out those women whom he thinks might interest me. He whispers their names, ranks, and social standing into my ear, like a snake. Fingers digging into the arms of my throne, I resist the urge to wrap my hand around his thin neck. One name, however, catches my immediate intention.

"Duchess Elena Miroet and her niece, Aya Courbet."

I seek out the owner of that familiar name. It takes me a moment but I eventually find her. The Miroet family were among the few that were in direct line for my throne should I fail to provide an heir. Though but a boy at the time, I remembered Lady Elena. She'd attempted, and failed, to wriggle her way into my father's bed. I often wondered why. She was, after all, quite the attractive woman.

Her late husband, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. He'd been a boorish, albeit wealthy, man of short stature. There had been rumors of his preference towards inappropriately younger girls. If memory served me correctly, he'd perished in some freak riding accident that no one could explain. Not that there had been much of an inquiry. Henry did not have many friends at court. No one mourns his passing. Not even his widow it would seem.

My eyes travel to the wilting girl at her side. Eyes the color of cooling glass, hair the color of dying embers, she is certainly a sight to behold. Her family name, Courbet, is not a name I thought I'd ever hear uttered in my court again. It'd been quite a scandal in my father's day: a high-ranking noblewoman eloping with a stable boy

I sit up straighter, leaning forward ever so slightly. She practically clings to Lady Elena's side, doing her best to remain unseen. She shifts to and fro, eyes surveying the room with growing apprehension. She appears to be looking in every direction except for mine. She makes no attempt to catch my gaze. In fact, it appears she is doing everything in her power to remain invisible. But it's far too late for that. Lady Elena is the first to catch my gaze. A faint yet amused smile lingering on those dark lips of hers, she gives her niece a light nudge.

The girl looks to her aunt who subtly motions in my direction. When her eyes travel in my direction, she's like a scared little doe. Eyes wide with alarm, she knows she has been seen. To her, I am the predator. I'm not sure what to do with that information. It is clear she has no desire to be here. Unlike my father before me, I have no interest in taking a woman to my bed that does not wish to be there.

A great sadness weighs beneath those pools of swirling blue. Her bottom lip quivers in utter terror, her face turning a few shades paler. We stare at one another for a moment, her eyes widening even further when I do not look away. She fumbles into a low courtesy, mimicking her aunt.

"Dante. The girl, Aya. Are you sure she has been Touched?"

The man nods his head firmly, "Aye. Our sources have confirmed it."

Of course. This entire thing has been a setup from the very beginning. I wave the steward off with a flick of my wrist. I settle back against my throne. I am unable to tear my gaze from the girl known as Aya. Even her name sounds foreign on my tongue. It certainly was not one I'd ever heard of before. Beneath the flickering candlelight, I can see that there is something off about the color of her skin. It is more of an olive complexion than one might expect from a native of Estoa.