Connor woke in a cold sweat, the nightmare still flashing through his mind in horrifying images. Death. Blood. Darkness. The past he believed he had left behind long ago.
The past that slowly seemed to be repeating itself.
Beside him, Natasha dozed peacefully, her dark hair silken as the pillow it was splayed on, her hand resting securely on his chest. Warming him, grounding him. He leaned closer to her, shutting his eyes in a futile attempt to go back to sleep. Grace's cries added to his alertness, and he shifted nearer yet to his wife, knowing that soon enough the nanny would comfort their daughter, would pick her up and sing a soothing lullaby or two. For now, he needed quiet, time to sort through his thoughts so that he could return to a restful slumber.
The king of Seralia was coming to visit today. Connor despised the man; he and Natasha both did, for Robert Saunders' association to Harold as well as his territorial disputes with Arlea, and insistence on wrenching multiple parcels of land—including Winchester, which had now become the responsibility of Connor's uncle Victor White—away from Arlea on the basis of military conquest or economic reasons. The 'king' was nothing more than a power-hungry fool seeking out even more territory than he could control. But to refuse to entertain him would be too grave a mistake to make, as their meeting today could solidify Harold's imprisonment (he had attempted multiple times to gain exile to the Filipias or Xiangjin rather than be locked away in gaol) as well as settle the dispute over the duchy of Winchester and all of its surrounding properties once and for all. This meeting was crucial. But that did not mean either of them would enjoy it.
"Connor?" asked Natasha drowsily. "Go back to sleep."
"How could you tell I was awake?" He queried, looking down at her from his slightly higher vantage point where he had propped himself up with cushions.
"I could hear you thinking," she responded drily. "We've a good five hours before the king is due. If you don't intend to use it to rest—"
"Well, I hardly think I could return to sleep..." Connor slid his arm under her back, gripping her shoulder where the sleeve of her nightgown had fallen. She looked up at him expectantly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Perhaps we ought to stay in bed, however. Getting up now would wake the servants."
"Yes," she breathed, her gaze falling slowly to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "For the sake of the servants, I suppose we should stay in bed."
She trailed her hand over his chest. He took hold of it, and kissed her slowly, deeply. Her fingers twined in his hair, pulling him down on top of her. There was almost a brutal ferocity to their kiss, in the way her fingers slid from his hair to dig into his shoulders, in the way his hands gripped her hips, hard enough to leave marks. It wasn't that there was no tenderness, that they did not care for each other--but that they cared enough, loved enough, that it hurt.
They stayed in bed until nine, when the servants did come to wake them with sheepish expressions and embarrassed tones at the sight of their morning activity. Connor ignored them with a practiced flippancy; Tasha, usually confident, had a blush suffusing her cheeks--although that may have simply been a physical reaction rather than an emotional one. He watched her leave, wrapping a dressing gown around her body as she headed to the antechamber where she usually dressed. There was a stillness to the air, a coldness to the room, that he had not felt until now, when she was gone. With a sudden sense of urgency, he called for his valet and began readying himself for the day.
Heavy drapes obscured the sunlight when they met for breakfast. Neither of them made any move to open them; the gloomy air seemed well suited to today's events. Dominica joined them and looked unusually pale and dishevelled, dark circles beneath her eyes and hair slightly unkempt. When Natasha posed a question regarding her appearance, the elder sister merely scowled and murmured something about not getting enough sleep. She studiously seemed to be avoiding Connor's gaze--although he did not blame her, considering she had yet to apologize for the harsh words spoken to him, and he doubted she ever would. All the Blackmore sisters were stubborn as rocks, it seemed.
The three of them picked at their food in sullen silence. Dominica stirred her oatmeal seemingly without much appetite. Connor stabbed at a slice of bacon with his fork. Natasha prodded at a glazed pastry until it fell apart, then held his gaze with a pleading frown. He knew she was asking him not to be too rude to her sister despite Dominica's rudeness to him. Connor gave her a look in return: I will, but it will cost you. Her replying coquettish look granted him all the motivation he needed to get through what would surely be a wretched day.
Finally, at eleven, the king was due to make his grand entrance. Natasha and Connor remained in the throne room while Dominica reluctantly went to greet him at the gates, muttering all the while that she would have her vengeance on her sister for forcing her to perform such a vile task. Tasha simply rolled her eyes in response as she walked slowly up the dais, apparently her ankle still paining her despite her own allegations otherwise. They sat, and waited.
• • •
"His Majesty, King Robert Saunders, of Seralia!" announced a guard at eleven-fifteen.
"King Robert," Natasha greeted him. They both stood. "Let us not waste any time on common courtesy, shall we?"
"Let us not," he agreed, his voice a harsh, grating sound that was more like the rasp of steel against stone than any real language. "I have come with a proposal."
"Regarding the land bordering our two realms?" Natasha asked. "Very well, let us discuss it."
"Not regarding the land bordering our countries," he corrected. There was a harsh glint in his eye that spoke of trouble. "Of both our countries, and how best to join them."
"Such a discussion, I will never partake in," Natasha snapped. "I have no interest in Seralia. It cannot benefit me, and that is why our two countries do not trade."
"Perhaps my country cannot benefit you," spoke the king. "But yours is of a great deal of interest to me. And that is why I came with the offer that I did."
"The terms of which you have yet to outline—though I can save you precious time and inform you straightaway that I will reject it." Natasha crossed her legs at the ankles, kohl-lined eyes narrowing in a cold glare.
"Oh, fret not, my queen." Robert gave Natasha a leering grin that made Connor's blood simmer. "The terms are very simple. Kill your husband, and wed me."