I methodically butter a piece of four-seed bread, studiously staring down at my plate.
Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it...
The wood grain of the dining table is impossible to ignore, and so is Calum's grinning, all-too knowing face on the other side of it.
"It is a lovely table, is it not?" He asks as soon as I've taken a bite. "Very sturdy."
I choke on my toast.
The sidelong look Ness tosses Arran and the responding roll of the man's eyes, as well as the way Elder Diyani masks a smile with her teacup, say that Calum isn't quite as subtle as he thinks he is.
I gulp down a glass of water to wash away my humiliation.
"So- we're meeting with your grandmother today?" I ask, changing the subject while primly wiping my hands off on my cloth napkin with the sort of manners that would do Emily Post proud.
Calum spears a seasoned potato and nods, the mischief gone from his eyes and suddenly all business. "The ceremonial transfer of power. She'll be acting as Righ in my stead until our return."
I reach for my tea, and wish it was coffee. It doesn't seem to be a very popular drink here. I wonder if I could convince Calum to pursue trade negotiations with South America so we can have a stockpile of good, Colombian coffee.
I wonder if Columbia even exists.
"Is there anything I should know about the ceremony?" I ask, and Calum shrugs.
"The Grandmothers of The Council and Clan Murray will be present- you will need to wear something on the dressier side for appearance's sake. Photographs are generally involved."
"The same grandmothers I met in the ritual?" I ask, and Calum inclines his head.
"And more."
"Remember- The Council of Grandmothers you met is comprised of the grandmother of each laird. But each patriarchal clan has their own panel of Grandmothers- one from each matriarchal clan- who serve as advisors and have the authority to veto the laird." Elder Diyani says.
My wish for coffee suddenly turns to longing,
"She's a simpleton," Ness grouses. "Big powerful men send their grannies to advise Calum so the decisions he makes are based on what all the clans want. But each powerful man has seven old ladies of his own that he has to explain all his decisions to. If Big Guy wants to do something bad, the old ladies get to shoot him down, or even send him to jail."
Elder Diyani scowls. "The Grandmothers are the pillars of our civilization. Show some respect," she snaps.
"I have to put it in a way dum-dum can wrap her head around." Ness shrugs unapologetically and loudly chomps on her bacon.
"Know your place," Calum growls. His voice sends a shiver down my spine- and not in the way I have come to expect. It is unnerving; the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end with a prickle of danger.
Ness looks intimidated for a moment, but then tosses down her napkin and levels a glare so fierce on Calum that if looks could kill, he'd already be six feet under.
"You and I served in the war together. We've been at each other's sides since we were eighteen years old. She isn't Bhanrigh yet. She hasn't even decided whether or not she's going to put you through the agony of rejection!"
"She is mine," Calum roars, and I freeze, my face paling, my eyes wide at his outburst. He glances towards me, and his expression gentles. "As I am hers. Whether she agrees to claim me or not is irrelevant, as you should well know," he adds, with a pointed glance toward Arran.
The tall, dark man stares out the window to the busy docks, declining to engage.
A charged, uncomfortable silence settles over the table.
"My choice is irrelevant?" I ask, incredulously, finding my voice, after several beats.
Has his kindness and consideration all been a charade, after all?
Calum lets out a harsh breath that flares his nostrils wide, and shakes his head. "That is not..." He sighs again, "Of course your choice matters, Raelyn, but..." he cuts himself off.
"Stop trying to spare her," Arran deigns to say at long last, looking down his nose at me with disdain. "An echo of the bond lasts, even after the rejection. You'll never be free of each other. You'll always belong to each other, whether you like it or not."
I swing my gaze to Elder Diyani. "I thought you said it was like an amputation, not..."
"I told you there would be phantom pains. We can fight destiny all we like, but it is not so easily evaded," she replies, smoothly.
Silence descends once more. Calum's jaw is clenched, his gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window to the river.
I abruptly realize that by not correcting Ness, I have inadvertently hurt him. In the same moment, I realize that I actually like him. As a person. He is a good man- patient, and kind, and strong. A little mischievous, too. He's cocky, but everyone has their flaws.
Most importantly, I know he would never hurt me. If I allow it, he will spend the rest of his life keeping me safe from men like Master.
I could do a lot worse.
"Honestly, it doesn't make much of a difference, anyway," I admit, softly, my gaze lowered to the table. I force my eyes up to meet Calum's, and swallow hard, before forcing the words out of my dry throat. "I'm not going to reject you."
His face lights up like a little boy on Christmas morning. His giddiness is contagious; I can't help but to smile in response.
Ness, on the other hand, looks like she swallowed a lemon. Arran looks equally displeased; he scowls into his cup with eyes like thunder. I do my best to ignore them both.
"You're sure?" Calum asks.
The moment feels too heavy, the commitment too intense. It's like I'm agreeing to an arranged marriage with someone I barely know. I try to lighten the mood, if only a little bit.
"So long as you don't do something truly egregious, like, I don't know, force me to eat cheesecake..."
"Spirits forbid," Calum deadpans, trying and failing to keep a straight face.
I snort.
Calum's hazel eyes are warm, his expression soft. The eye contact between us lingers longer than what is necessarily socially appropriate in such a public setting, and the temporarily muted bond sings its way to life between us. The air thickens, and the pepper and pine is suddenly so potent I can taste it on my tongue.
"Wonderful. As soon as she shifts, you'll be humping like rabbits. Congratulations on the near-end of your dry spell," Ness mutters, cutting through the fog, and my face flames.
Calum rolls his eyes, seemingly unbothered by her vulgarity, and wipes his big hands off on his napkin.
I am mesmerized by the movement of his fingers- long and beautifully shaped and thick. I find myself wondering what sorts of things those fingers can do...
Ness groans again, loudly, and I jerk my gaze away from those stupid, distracting hands. I glance up at Calum, and he winks at me.
I don't think it's possible for my cheeks to get any redder.
Stupid mate bond.
"We have to be at The Lodge at noon," Calum says, before rising from the table. Everyone else simultaneously follows suit, so I scramble to my feet as well. "I will meet you at the gangway at 11:30," he tells me. I nod, and he strides away from the table, a pep in his step that I have never seen before.
I realize that this might actually be the first time I've ever seen him truly happy.
"Are you finished, My Lady?" Maise asks me softly, stepping forward. I glance around the table, and realize that while I was staring after Calum like a moonstruck calf, everyone else has sat back down and returned to their breakfast.
I could eat more, but I have been embarrassed enough this morning. I nod, and step away from the table as though I stayed standing on purpose.
Maise trails me upstairs, and opens the wardrobe half-filled with the rush-ordered clothes that have been delivered so far. She selects several options for me to choose from, and lays them out on the bed.
"The green one," I say, remembering that it is Calum's favorite color.
I slip on the simple, yet form-fitting, long sleeved, knee length silk dress, and allow Maise to put on my earrings for me. They are larger than I would have ever felt comfortable wearing in my ripple, however they seem to be what is in fashion here, so... when in Rome. I think the earrings are statement enough, but Maise talks me into wearing a choker made of pearls, and a gold ring in the shape of a feather which nearly reaches my knuckle.
My lady's maid also proves to be a proficient beautician. She finishes my makeup better than any artist at a Sephora counter, and has my hair woven into an intricate braid with its ends curled and cascading over one shoulder in record time.
I do not recognize the woman in the mirror, when Maise is finished.
She does not look like Slave.
She looks like Bhanrigh.
For the first time in a long time, I smile at my reflection. Maise looks pleased as punch.
When I leave the Ahyoka, I stop short at the edge of the deck.
"What the..." I mutter under my breath.
At the end of the gangway, there is a horse drawn carriage made of gleaming cherry-wood, carved with gilded fleur de lid set over criss-crossed feathers. Several photographers line the dock, and when they see me, they begin waving and clicking the shutters on their cameras. Beyond them is a crowd of people, who begin cheering in earnest.
I stumble a step backwards.
The electric current that zings all the way down to my toes lets me know that Calum has arrived before I feel his hand at my elbow. He leans in close, too close, and his lips brush against the shell of my ear. My knees weaken, and I feel a rush of warmth from my center. It's a miracle I don't dissolve into a puddle where I stand.
"Smile and wave," he whispers, and I gulp.
"You didn't tell me about this," I hiss, through teeth clenched into a painfully forced smile, and see the briefest hint of a line between Calum's brows as he waves to what I'm assuming are paparazzi.
"I said there would be photographs," he replies.
"That was not sufficient warning for this circus," I grumble, and Calum chuckles.
"If you think this is a circus, just wait until your coronation."
"I thought you said you weren't a king."
"I am not. But there are certain overlaps." He offers me his arm, and I tentatively tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow. The contact makes me shudder. His jaw ticks, and I know he is equally affected.
A frigid wind sails from the river and ruffles the edge of my skirt, swirling around my bare legs. Even my wool coat isn't enough to keep out the chill. I shiver, and press closer to Calum's warmth.
Calum can't quite hide the noise he makes at the back of his throat, and my entire body throbs in response. I try and fail to mask my whimper. Calum waves again to his people, and I follow suit, doing my best to hide my arousal from the cameras.
We descend the gangway, and a footman opens the polished wood door of the carriage. Royal blue velvet lines the interior, and pads the top border of the door. Calum helps me in, his hands lingering over my hips, and his fingertips ghosting against my rear and down the outside of my thigh as I climb inside. I gasp at the contact, my fingernails digging into the leather upholstery as I find my seat. I press my legs together, the pulsing ache between them unrelenting.
Calum climbs in beside me, and rests a hand on my knee. His thumb draws lazy circles against it through the silk of my dress; every dip and swoop makes the ache grow more intense.
He leans close to me again, his lips grazing against my ear in the most delicious form of torture.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers.
My face goes as red as it has the capacity to go, and I cross one leg over the other. At this point, I won't be surprised if there is a wet mark on the leather upholstery when I stand. The thought is mortifying.
"I think I do," I whisper back, turning away from him and continuing to wave while the carriage jerks into motion.
It was not built for comfort, that is for sure. It bumps over the cobblestones and exacerbates my discomfort as I am bounced against the seat. Calum does not help matters. His hand remains on my knee- where it absolutely should not be- and with the rough ride, his fingers slip higher up my thigh.
In spite of myself, I lean closer to him, my legs uncrossing and my thighs slipping apart a fraction as his hand starts to wander dangerously higher. I grip the cushion I'm seated on with such force I'm surprised it doesn't rend beneath my hands.
"Calum," I pant, and cast a panicked gaze out the carriage. "Calum, people are watching!" The cheering people in question line the streets of Ku'a Gardh; the entire city seems to have rolled to a halt to catch a glimpse of their Righ.
"So? We are not doing anything," he murmurs, his voice gravel and velvet as we go over a bump and his hand scoots an inch higher.
Liar.
I whimper, and my thighs part a little bit further. He takes the opportunity the movement offers and slips his fingers down to encircle my thigh beneath my dress. His hand is low, still. No more than two inches above the knee. I shift, my legs slipping even further apart, his hand sliding a fraction higher. I roll my hips, desperate for friction, for contact, and Calum curses in my ear.
"Spirits, I cannot wait until you shift," he growls.
Another bump, another inch closer to where I want him. There is a surge of heat and wetness between my thighs, and Calum groans- the noise almost sounding pained.
I don't care who's watching us anymore.
I ache.
"I can't wait to be inside you." His hand moves higher, his fingertips stretching upwards, lightly brushing against the soaked panties at the apex of my thighs. My hips buck, the whisper of a touch electric. I pant, and my head falls back against Calum's shoulder as my legs splay open. I roll my hips again, seeking the friction of his hand, and I whimper when I am denied more than the lightest of touches.
"Calum," I pant. "Calum, please..."
The carriage jolts to a stop, and with what seems to be great effort, Calum pulls away from me, gently smoothing my dress back into place with such ease that to the outside observer, it wouldn't look like anything untoward had been happening in the carriage. Although he fakes it well for the cameras, the way his fingers tremble as he adjusts himself so that his arousal is tucked up into the waistband of his pants and obscured by his thick jacket tell me exactly how affected he is.
I can't catch my breath.
I squeeze my thighs shut and bite my lip so hard I taste copper as I try to get my breathing under control.
"That was stupid," I whisper, and Calum nods, his eyes dark, hooded, his cheeks flushed.
"Very," he agrees.
"We shouldn't do that again."
"We shouldn't."
His breaths come as short as mine.
The carriage door creaks open. For a few long moments, Calum and I don't break eye contact. My blood is magma in my veins.
"You're usually more careful than that."
Calum's smile is a slow, sensual curve. I gulp.
"Before, the bond was an imposition for you. I wanted to spare you unwanted feelings. Now... Now I know things are mutual."
"You're going to start pushing the boundaries of what we can tolerate, aren't you?"
"Would you rather I not?"
I swallow, hard.
"I don't know," I admit.
The footman clears his throat, reminding us of our audience.
Calum climbs down from the carriage, and then lifts me by my waist. My body is still a live wire, so the simple contact is electric. I rest my fingers against Calum's shoulders, and dig them into his flesh when he lets his hands linger after gently depositing me on the ground. I hear shutters clicking, capturing the moment.
"Are you ready?" Calum asks.
"Absolutely not."
Calum chuckles, and leads me away from the prying eyes of his people, to the judgement of The Grandmothers.