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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Children's Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
A darkly mesmerising YA romantasy following a young Duchess and the powerful heir determined to steal her inheritance __________ 'Features a clever and deadly heroine who is just as much a beauty as a beast. Fans of Alessandra are sure to fall just as hard for Chrysantha' Kathryn Purdie, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Bone Crier's Moon and The Forest Grimm - - Praise for The Shadows Between Us - - 'A viciously satisfying romance featuring two well-matched opponents' Booklist 'Dark, mesmerizing, and completely addictive. With a gripping mystery and layered characters, it's a glittering tale of love and the pursuit of power' Kerri Maniscalco, author of Kingdom of the Wicked __________ Chrysantha Stathos has won. By hiding her intelligence and ambition behind the mask of a beautiful air-headed girl, she has become a wealthy duchess. And, once her elderly husband dies, she will have all the freedom, money, and safety she's ever wanted. Or so she thought.A man claiming to be the estranged grandson of Chrysantha's lecherous late husband has turned up to steal her inheritance. To make matters worse, her little sister is going to be queen and is rubbing it in her face. Chrysantha decides that the only thing to do is upstage Alessandra at her own wedding. And as for this grandson, he has to go. Never mind that he's extremely handsome and secretive with mysterious powers... No, Chrysantha wants Eryx Demos dead, and in the end, a Stathos girl always gets what she wants.
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v
For Rachel and Holly,
Thank you for making my dreams come true.
There’s no such thing as a bad idea, Just poorly executed awesome ones.
—Damon Salvatore, The Vampire Diaries, Season 2, Episode 15
Contents
Chapter1
My husband is taking too long to die.
I sit at his bedside, ever the dutiful wife, watching his breath squeeze out of his chest, praying that each one will be his last.
For gods’ sake, the man is pushing sixty-four years of age. He’s plagued with all manner of diseases from a life of debauchery and indulgence and devils know what else. Yet Hadrian Demos, the Duke of Pholios, clings to life as though there’s still something it has to offer him—a bedridden, lecherous old man with nothing going for him except for the sight of my face day after day.
Pholios shifts, as if my thoughts have roused him, and I check over my shoulder, ensuring that Kyros is still stationed in the room, before scooting my chair back an inch. I cast my gaze down to the ground and wait.
“Chrysantha,” the old man groans.
“I’m here, husband.” I reach out and take one of his spotted, hairy hands, wrapping it in both of mine.
“You look beautiful today,” he says.
“Thank you.”2
I manage not to roll my eyes, for it’s how he greets me every morning, as though paying me compliments will get him what he really wants from me, his nineteen-year-old wife.
Pholios smacks his lips together. “Water.”
I turn to the pitcher on the bedside table, only to discover it has nothing left.
“You must have been quite thirsty in the night, Your Grace,” I say. “I’ll refill your cup.”
“Kyros can do it.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I force my face to remain a mask of indifference. Living with the duke often feels like I’ve got an iron band around my lungs. It tightens the moment I realize I’m about to be alone with him.
Kyros, the handsome young footman, locks eyes with me. Sympathy and regret radiate from him, but I subtly nod my encouragement. The last thing I want is my friend getting fired for disobeying orders.
“At once, Your Grace,” he says. “I will return shortly.” The last bit is meant for me.
The moment he leaves the opulent master suite of the Pholios Manor, my husband jerks free of my hold and reaches for my breasts.
Long used to the duke’s antics, I stand and turn to make my escape, but not quickly enough. He manages to swat my rump before I’m out of arm’s reach. I keep my gaze on the ground.
It’s the best tactic for hiding my true thoughts.
“Shall I read to you today?” I ask.
Pholios grunts. “No. No more books. Come back over here.”
“More books, you said? Let me go select one.” I glide to the opposite side of the room, where a line of shelves decorates the wall.
“Damnable nitwit,” Pholios says. “I paid your father seven thousand necos for you. Such a waste.”
“I’m sorry, husband.” The band squeezes tighter.3
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to hike up those skirts and climb onto this bed to do your wifely duty.”
A so-called duty that he has been unable to force me to perform thanks to his illness.
“What duty could be more important than caring for my husband?” I ask.
He doesn’t think me cheeky. No one does. I’ve worked long and hard to secure the reputation of a simpleton. It’s saved me more times than I can count. It’s how I manipulated my father into marrying me to a dying wealthy duke. If only I’d known then what I’d signed up for. Pholios didn’t reveal his true nature to me until after we were married. I thought he merely wanted a bedside companion until he joined the devils in one of their hells.
“Your nightly duty,” the duke clarifies.
“It’s daytime, husband.”
“I know that!” His coughs fill the room, and I ignore them while I take my time staring at the rows of books. I already know which one I will select, but I’m in no hurry to step within reaching distance once again. Not until Kyros is back in the room.
Pholios may be a foul creature, but he likes to keep up appearances in front of his staff. Either he knows what he’s doing is wrong and wants to maintain some sort of reputation or he thinks matters of the bedroom should be kept private. Either way, when others are around, he keeps his hands to himself, though Kyros has walked in on plenty of untoward occurrences. I’ve been grabbed, pinched, slapped, and pawed at more times than I can count in the last two months of my life, which also happens to be the length of my marriage.
But it will all be worth it as soon as Pholios is dead. The duke has no children of his own, no relatives to inherit his title, which means that upon his death, all of this will be mine. The manor, the dukedom, the servants, the money. All mine to do with as I please, and no man 4will ever be able to decide my fate again. I will be a dowager duchess forevermore.
Forever free.
That future is so close I can taste it. Just a few more weeks. A month at most. Pholios can’t have much longer left.
And then I won’t have to hide who I really am anymore.
When I hear the soft steps of Kyros returning, I select the book of poetry from the shelf. The footman looks relieved to find me on the other side of the room. His sympathy is unnecessary—I can handle the old man—but it is kind, nonetheless. I return to my chair as Kyros finishes assisting the duke in taking a drink. Pholios nearly chokes when he reads the title on the tome I hold.
“No,” he says. “I hate poetry.”
Which is precisely why I chose it. “It will clear your head, Your Grace. Poetry livens the soul.”
He grumbles some more but quiets as I start reading. I think he likes the sound of my voice, though he mostly stares at my chest while I read, so I raise the book a little higher. After about ten minutes of this, Pholios’s snores fill the room once more.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Kyros asks me, his tone a gentle murmur so as not to wake the duke.
“Well enough, Kyros, and you?” I close the book and turn in my chair to properly observe the man. Even in his livery, he is quite handsome. He wears the traditional white shirt and stockings with gloves and boots. He’s always clean and pristine, with the best posture. His strong chin bears the most adorable dimple in the center, and his green eyes always seem bright. Combed-back, sun-kissed hair hangs past his ears, and his strong form puts many footmen to shame.
Day after day, it’s just me and Kyros stuck in this suite, seeing to the duke and his every need. On occasion, Kyros’s young son makes an appearance, desperate to show us frogs he’s caught in the property’s 5pond or the rocks he’s found in the woods. The boy knows to be quiet in case the duke is sleeping, careful to catch our attention and drag us from the room for brief moments to see his prizes.
I always relish the opportunity.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Kyros politely does not speak of my marriage with the duke and what I’m subjected to. He has the common sense to know that I have no wish to talk of such humiliation. “Nico learned a new word this morning,” he says instead, to bring the conversation to brighter topics.
I smile at that. “And what is the word?”
“Indignant.”
“Such a big word for a four-year-old.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s four and a half, and not a day less.”
In the time we’ve spent together in this room, I’ve learned quite a bit about Kyros and his past. He had a son at seventeen. He and the child’s mother weren’t married, and when she became pregnant, she made it very clear that she had no interest in raising a child. Though the law makes no such demands of single men, Kyros took up the role of father alone.
“Where is Nico now?” I ask.
“In the kitchens, helping Cook. You know how he has a sweet tooth.”
“I shall have to track him down later. I look forward to hearing him try to work indignant into a sentence.”
Doran, another footman, enters the room, brandishing a salver with a single letter upon it.
“A letter for you, Duchess,” he says in a loud voice, waking Pholios once more. I wish to chide the man, but I keep a wan smile in place.
“Thank you, Doran,” I say as I stand and retrieve the folded parchment.
“I’ll have breakfast now, Kyros. Go fetch it,” the duke says, alert once more.6
Though I’m sure both servants leave the room, I don’t notice. I’m too busy staring at the handwriting on the letter.
It’s my sister’s.
Alessandra never writes me. I barely write her—only when I wish to amuse myself by chastising her. She thinks me a puffed-up imbecile, which I find all the more entertaining. Alessandra has always been too obvious about what she wants and how she’ll go about getting it. Right now, she’s attempting to woo the Shadow King.
I chuckle quietly to myself. If he didn’t want me, then he’s certainly not going to want her. It’s not a matter of vanity. I may have gotten Mother’s looks, but that’s no matter. A pretty face will only get you so far. What’s most important is that I’m the better actress. I can pretend to be what men want. And what men want most, I’ve discovered, is someone they think they can control. So I pretend to be docile. I pretend to be obedient. When men think they can control you, they don’t watch you as closely. When they think you’re stupid, they’re not so careful about the things they’ll say in front of you.
But Alessandra? I could always tell what she was thinking. Although, I will admit that I hadn’t thought her capable of murder. When the truth about what happened to her first lover came out, I was caught by surprise. And even more shocking was the king’s immediate pardoning of her.
It’s my fault the two of us aren’t close. We’ve always been in competition for our father’s attention. His whole world was Mother, but when she died when I was twelve and Alessandra eleven, I knew his love would either transfer to Alessandra or to me. He only ever had enough room in his heart for one woman at a time, so I snatched it up before Alessandra even knew what was happening. She would have done the same if she could.
We live in a world where men decide everything. Where we live. When we receive money. Who we will marry. I knew my best chance 7of achieving happiness was to wrap my father around my finger. It was her or me.
I chose me.
I feel a little guilty at times, but that won’t matter when I finally have what I want. When I’m rich and beholden to no man, I can do whatever I wish, including cultivating a relationship with my sister if I choose.
I unfold the letter and read its contents:
DearChrysantha,
Iwantedtoextendapersonalinvitationtomywedding.KalliasandIaremarryinginsixmonths’time.Mycoronationistobeheldthesameday,rightafterthemarriageceremony.
Youwillattend,yes?Orareyoutoobusyplayingnursemaidtoyourwrinkledhusband?Surelyyoucansparesometimefor thebiggestdayinyouronlysister’slife?Sendyourreplyalongspeedily,andIshallsaveyouafront-rowseattothistrollop’sweddingtotheShadowKing.
Allmybest,
Alessandra
There’s a thundering in my ears, and I don’t notice until it’s too late that I’ve crushed the letter within my grasp.
The king.
My little sister is wedding the damned king.
He didn’t want me, but he wants her. Her! The murderess.
All this time I’ve spent plotting, planning, trying to achieve something for myself. I’ve been molested, degraded, verbally assaulted day after day, and for what? Thus far, I have nothing to show for it.
Meanwhile, Alessandra has slept with so many men that I’ve lost count. I’ve called her much worse than a trollop in the past. It was my way of telling her to be cautious. She had to be careful with her reputation if 8she was to secure a good future for herself. And it made me feel better, when the jealousy over her finding companionship while I was fighting for survival on my own would nearly overcome me. Because I thought carrying on as she did would prevent me from marrying into wealth.
But somehow she won a king. She will become an actual queen. She’ll have untold resources and money and everything. No one will ever touch her, not when she’s wedded to the most powerful man in the world.
My temperature spikes, and red tinges the world.
She won.
How could she have won? She didn’t do anything! She didn’t earn it. She didn’t even know we were playing the same game and how, how, how, damn it?
During my frantic musings, I hadn’t realized I’d drawn closer to the bed. Pholios strikes like a snake, gripping my hip through my dress, and trying to pull me closer.
In my fury, I smack his hand away without thinking.
The duke and I both freeze.
“Did you just strike me?” he asks.
“I had an itch, Your Grace.”
He grunts and has the audacity to look offended, but I can tell a foul thought has taken root in his mind when he suddenly smiles.
“Come closer, wife, and I shall forgive it.”
“Closer?” I ask.
“Yes, lean over the bed. My comforter has come untucked on the other side. You must fix it.”
My face is a mask of emptiness, and my soul burns. I’ve been trapped in this house too long, stuck in this room with the duke staring at me while he licks his lips and tries to coax me closer. Meanwhile, my sister is living a life of luxury and perfection and freedom. On the 9damned Shadow King’s arm. I had failed to woo him during my stay at the palace, so I thought I’d settled for the next best thing.
I will settle no longer.
The iron band around my lungs snaps. My brain detaches from the rest of my body, and my limbs move without my consciously saying so.
I do as the duke bid earlier. I hike up my skirts and sit astride him. His eyes bulge from their sockets before he has the good sense to reach out with both hands, wrapping them around my waist. He tries to force me into just the position he wants; then he makes his best attempts at thrusting his hips up into me, layers and layers of clothing and bedding thankfully still separating us.
But my focus is on the extra pillow beside his head. I lean down for it, and Pholios’s fingers go to cup my breasts. The pressure is bruising, but I don’t sit up until I’ve got the pillow. Even then, it’s only to adjust my position.
I smother him with the down-filled cushion.
That which had started to go hard beneath me suddenly goes limp. Pholios’s cries of distress are eaten by the pillow, and his feeble body barely moves beneath mine. His hands finally leave my chest to reach for my arms, trying to force them away from himself.
I don’t let up the pressure.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, husband? Am I finally good for something now?”
If Alessandra can get everything she wants despite murdering a man, then why can’t I? Her face rises in my vision, and I close my eyes against it, against every foul thing this man has ever done to me.
Never again.
Even when his pathetic resistance ceases, I don’t get up right away. I sit there atop my dead husband, lost in some kind of dark limbo between before and after.10
Before, I wasn’t a violent person. Before, I’d been patience personified.
Now, I’m free. Now, I can be whatever I want.
Starting with a murderess, just like my sister. I have stooped to her level. The thought finally drives me to action. I right myself, place the pillow back in its position, and smooth out the duke’s hair. He looks so peaceful in death.
I hope he finds no peace wherever I’ve just sent him.
As I return to my chair, I notice a figure in the doorway. Kyros’s son, Nico, stands there, crumbs on his chin.
He looks between me and the duke.
I catch my breath.
Chapter2
Nico puts his finger to his lips, the signal I usually give him when the duke is sleeping. I relax instantly. Of course he doesn’t think anything different.
He whispers, “Catch me if you can, Duchess.” Then he bolts back out the doorway.
I give chase.
“Did you really just come find me with crumbs on your chin and no sweets to share?” I call after him.
Nico shrieks with laughter. He is surprisingly fast for being so little. He slides down the banister at the stairs, while I have to take them slowly because of the heaviness of my skirts. When I hit the ground, I take off at a run once more, finally gaining on the boy. He pumps his little arms, and just before I’m upon him, Kyros rounds the corner with the duke’s breakfast tray.
I scoop Nico up into my arms and twirl him in the air. His giggles lighten my heart, and I reach down with one arm to tickle his tummy before setting him back on the floor. His laughter feels so right in this large manor. It is finally a place where we can all be happy. The duke is dead.12
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
I don’t think there’s a sweeter word.
“What are you two up to?” Kyros asks.
“Father, the duchess was indignant that I didn’t bring sweet rolls to share with her.”
“I would have tickled you, too, for such an oversight,” Kyros says.
“I’ll get more for us all!” Nico darts for the kitchens.
Kyros has nothing but love in his eyes as he watches the child run away. “We best return quickly, before the duke grows incensed, Your Grace.”
I say, “He fell back asleep, so I thought to escape for a moment.”
Kyros nods in understanding, and together, we return to the master suite.
It is hours before anyone realizes the duke isn’t breathing.
In the days that follow, nothing bad happens. No one suspects a thing. The man was dying anyway. Why should foul play be involved? Besides, everyone thinks me too stupid to even conceive of murder. I’ve made sure of that.
I wear black to the funeral, manage fake tears on Pholios’s behalf, keep my face buried in a silk handkerchief gifted to me by the dead man himself with our initials embroidered on it. Father comforts me and brings me flowers; he even asks if there’s anything he can do to help manage the estate. He’s quite pleased with me, since my brideprice saved him from ruination. Father may be an earl, but his estate was bankrupt. Iwas bankrupt until I married Pholios.
Now his fortune is mine to do with as I choose. No man can tell me how to spend it. Not even my own father.13
I’ve done it.
I’ve attained what so few women have managed.
True freedom.
The first thing I decide to do with that freedom is explore the estate and get to know my staff. Pholios never let me venture far from him. I was to take all my meals at his bedside. I was to be there when he woke up and long after he fell asleep. The duke mentioned many times that he was going to get his money’s worth out of me. I was his property, he said.
In the end, I think he realized he was sorely mistaken about who had control over whom.
“Your Grace, it is so good to see you again,” Mrs. Lagos, the housekeeper, says when she meets with me in the parlor.
I have seen her only a few times since I first set foot inside this dreary manor, when all the staff greeted me in the entryway as their new lady.
Mrs. Lagos looks about as formidable as a kitten, at four feet, eleven inches tall, but gods help anyone who tries to defy her claim that she’s an even five (I overheard a particularly nasty conversation to that effect). Her hair is black as night, and her skin is white as ivory. With oval eyes and not a wrinkle in sight, it’s impossible to guess her age, and I dare not ask her.
“You as well, Mrs. Lagos. Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Of course. How can I be of service?”
“I would like to make some changes to the estate. I hoped you might be up for helping me.”
“Certainly. What changes?”
I want my staff to adore me. I want them to wantme to be their mistress. It’s the best way to ensure a seamless transition, and I don’t want anyone to question the control I now have. There is a very simple means to achieve that from the start.14
“I’d like to raise the wages of the staff by twenty percent.”
Mrs. Lagos blinks slowly, as though she didn’t quite hear me. Then she grins. “You and I are going to get on well, Your Grace.”
“Excellent, because I have plans for lots of redecorating …”
First things first, the master suite. I order it gutted. Every single item is moved to storage, from the bed to the draperies to the carpet. I refurbish the entire room so it looks like Pholios never once stepped foot in it. I want it free of anything that could possibly remind me of him.
I’ve always been fond of pink, and I find a delightful bedspread in a dusty rose that immediately draws my attention at Matilda’s Shop. I decorate the whole room to match. White wallpaper with sporadic chrysanthemums, after my namesake. A white oak four-poster bed with mesh hangings. Gold filigreed armchairs with plump white cushions. An elaborate vanity, painted ivory with more gold knobs. I have the ceiling painted with the colors of the daytime sky with rosy-cheeked cherubs darting through the clouds.
While that’s being done, Mrs. Lagos prepares the rest of the manor for renovation. I don’t want any reminders of the horrible man who once darkened this home, so she sees to it that all the old paintings and vases and any other heirlooms of the Pholios family are removed to the attic, until they can be sold. Until my yearlong mourning period deemed mandatory by society is up, I’m not permitted to attend events or take social calls.
And yet, not even a week goes by before the letters start pouring in. I glance over mere snippets before tossing them all in a pile near the fireplace.
I was saddened to hear of your husband’s death, YourGrace.Shouldyouneedanycomforting,Ihopeyouwillcallonme.15
This from the Earl of Barlas.
Do not dwell on sadness, Your Grace. It is best to look on the future with hope. Might I call on you soon?
From the Earl of Varela.
I have admired you from afar for so long. Now that you are free to choose your own path, might I throw my hat in the running?
From the Duke of Simos.
And then one terribly embarrassing bit that makes my cheeks blush.
Awomaninyourpositiondeservesallthepleasureslifehastooffer.Bemymistress,DuchessPholios,andIwillkeepyousatisfied.
From the Baron of Moros, who is already married.
I’ll not be anyone’s mistress. I’m done with men telling me what to do, whether it’s in the bedroom or not. The correspondences remain thoroughly ignored, though I do read them from time to time when I feel in need of revitalizing. It is a boost to one’s self esteem, even if such attentions are unwanted.
At least from powerful men.
For years I’ve dreamed of the day when I will be the one with the power, free to seek out relationships of my own choosing. I have been alone all my life, denied the simple pleasures of romantic companionship as a highborn lady. The second my mourning period is over, I have every intention of putting an end to that loneliness.
I will take a lover.
A handsome, poor—yet skilled—lover who will dote on me and love me and want nothing from me except for the earthly comforts I can give him.16
Men take mistresses all the time, and as a dowager duchess, I may do the same. It is unconventional but not unheard of. I will have the power and standing to withstand any scrutiny I receive as a result. And besides, I’ll obviously find someone who can manage to be discreet.
But that’s not an option for another eleven months and two weeks. In the meantime, I focus on making new friends around the manor or supervising the improvements to the estate. Handymen can be heard hammering and sawing at all hours during the day. Painters and carpenters and mason workers come and go under the watchful eye of Mrs. Lagos and my staff. It’ll take months, or even years, before the entire place is refurbished, but that’s to be expected when I’ve inherited an estate only second in size to the royal palace of Naxos.
Alessandra’s palace.
After Mrs. Lagos, the footmen are the next to be won over. Kyros properly introduces me to the rest of them, and they are delighted to hear that I’m interested in learning how to play the game of hach.
“You want to play a card higher yet in the same suit,” Doran explains while Kyros looks over my shoulder.
I grab a queen of rubies.
Kyros leans down by my ear. “Not that one. It’s too high. You want to save it. Play this one.”
He sets the six of rubies face up on the table, beating the five played earlier in the round.
“I think she gets it,” Plutus says with a glare as I scoop up his card. “You can stop helping her now.”
“Don’t be a bad sport,” Kyros fires back. “You’ve been playing this game for years. She’s just learning.”
“You’re the one who invited her. If she can’t keep up, that’s her 17problem.” Realizing what he’s just said, Plutus pales. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I forgot—”
“It’s quite all right, Plutus. Perhaps if I make things a bit more interesting, your mood might improve.” I pull a necos from my pocket and lay it on the table.
“We can’t match that,” Doran says, staring at the coin.
“Then play what you do have. Did I not just raise all your wages? Or are you afraid that I’ll take all your money?”
I don’t win a single game that night, but I demand a rematch for the next.
Kyros and Nico join me for picnics on the lawns when the sun is out, where the little boy will pick wildflowers for me, and Kyros and I will talk about everything and nothing. Nico shows me his favorite trees to climb, and I show him which fruits are ripe for picking—as well as which poisonous plants to stay away from. Sometimes, I teach the boy lessons at the piano, which I’ve always been fond of playing. I spared no expense in upgrading the fine instrument.
“You spoil him,” Kyros dares to suggest a few weeks into my new dowagerhood.
“Giving a child music is not spoiling. Besides, I like spending time with him.”
A large cloud streaks across the sun, dampening the rich verdancy of the trees and surrounding lawns. Kyros leans back on two hands atop our picnic blanket.
“And is that how you imagined spending your time as a dowager? Teaching a servant’s child to play piano?”
“I certainly imagined a lot less complaining from the child’s father.”
Kyros crooks a grin. “In earnest, though, are you happy?”
“Happier than I ever remember being.”
“You don’t leave the estate often. I thought you’d want to be away 18with people of your own station. Or inviting them over at the very least. Instead, you spend your days baking with Cook, playing cards with the footmen, and teaching Nico the piano.”
“That’s hardly all. I’ve just formed a book club with Damasus, Karla, and Tekla. We’re exchanging novels before meeting up to discuss them.”
Kyros laughs. “A duchess who discusses books with her butler and maids.”
“Laugh all you want, but I am right where I want to be. My father forced me to attend every social function, primp and preen at every ball, tolerate the presence of every foul man. Now I spend my days with who I wish when I wish. My servants are the finest individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I don’t need to seek out the false flattery of noblewomen or the unwanted attention of gentlemen. I read when I wish. I’m out in nature when I wish. I enjoy the company of my horse, a four-year-old boy, and yes, my butler, in addition to everyone else on this estate. It is perfection, and what can be improved, I’m already well on my way to renovating. Now, will you stop scolding me and let me enjoy my hard-earned comforts?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Kyros’s warm smile matches mine, and I recline onto the soft cotton of the checkered blanket. There is a feeling of levity in my chest, and it takes me some time to place it.
This is what it feels like to be happy, I realize.
Speaking my thoughts and having someone else care to listen. No men trying to boss me about or control me. Doing activities I actually enjoy. Being myself around people who care.
This. All of this was worth every hardship I suffered since my mother died.
I am untouchable, and it feels so good I could almost fly.
19When I leave the estate, it is a different matter entirely.
I’m required to wear black in public as a symbol of my grief. Over a month after the duke’s death, I don an ebony dress with a simple hoop skirt and a tight bodice. Long sleeves. No veil. The whole thing looks depressing, yet it’s what I must be seen in while I run my errands. Just ten and a half more months and I can do away with this charade, too.
I’m in the chandlers’, selecting new candles for the dining room, with a row of footmen behind me to assist with my purchases, when someone approaches me from the side.
“Your Grace?”
I turn to find Lady Evadne Petrakis, daughter of a marquis, doing some shopping of her own. We run in the same social circles, so naturally we’ve met countless times, but I wouldn’t call her a friend. She’s more like a frequent acquaintance. Not that it’s easy to call anyone a friend when I have hidden my true self from the world for seven years.
“Lady Petrakis, how are you?”
“I’m wonderful! And you? You must be so proud of your sister. Marrying the king!”
I force a smile to my lips. “The king was bound to pick someone eventually. What of you? Has anything of note happened in my absence from events? I’ve missed out on so much gossip since my wedding.”
“A few betrothal announcements, but nothing else of note. Nothing scandalous ever happens now with all the future queen’s new edicts.”
“Edicts?” Alessandra is making laws? Her?
“Oh yes. Women don’t have to wait for marriage before taking part in … intimate relations. Fathers are no longer allowed to accept brideprices for their daughters. In fact, they’re required to pay their daughters dowries upon their marriages to whomever they please, a sum reasonable to the father’s yearly wage.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. Some noblemen were rather upset about it, but the king 20had them beheaded for the threats they dared to throw toward the future queen. No one utters so much as a hint of protest against the new laws now.”
“How many new laws have there been?” I ask.
“I’ve lost count, to be honest. Just last week she decreed that lands and titles are to pass down to the eldest heir, regardless of sex. Oh, and younger daughters no longer have to wait until older daughters are out in society before attending events as they please.”
I blink several times, processing her words. “And the king just allows this?”
“He encourages it. His name appears beside hers on every new law. The people say he’s utterly smitten by his future bride and would never deny her anything. They’re already calling her the Shadow Queen.”
More of that anger and bitterness claws its way through me. Alessandra was supposed to be a bargaining chip, like me. A way for Father to get out of debt and save his lands. But she’s making laws and gaining favor with all the women of the court. She has freedom and happiness—in exchange for what? What has she suffered? She hasn’t earnedit. Not like I have.
I remind myself that I have everything I want now. I’m happy. That is all that matters. I take a fortifying breath and feel calm once more.
“Oh dear,” Evadne says, “did I speak too quickly? I know you have a hard time with that sometimes.”
Yes, because everyone thinks I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot while Alessandra is a powerful monarch.
“I’m all right,” I say. “Just a bit dazed. I think I’ll pay for my merchandise and go.”
“All right, then. It was lovely chatting with you. I’m hosting an event in a few months’ time, by the way. I’ll send an invitation. Any relation of the Shadow Queen’s is welcome at my estate.”21
“Thank you,” I say, “but I’m not permitted to attend events until my mourning is over. The duke died, you will recall.”
“Oh, that’s another thing the future queen has done away with. Women don’t have to undergo a mourning period. Nor do you have to wear black.” She looks over my dress with sympathy. “You are, of course, free to make your own decision regarding the matter, but no one expects you to show respect to a man almost four times your age. Good day, Duchess.”
When I look down at the two long-stemmed candles in my grasp, I find that I’ve snapped them both in half with my grip.
As Lady Petrakis exits the shop, I stare after her. Why haven’t I read the papers? How could I have let all of this sneak up on me? When living with the duke, I always escaped to literature. To fiction, where I could pretend to be going on grand adventures or solving an intricate mystery alongside my favorite heroines.
I’ve missed so much. Alessandra snuck up on me.
It’s not that I ever wanted power or to rule anything, really. I only ever wanted my own freedom. Now I have it, but it feels … cheapened. It feels like less when I compare it to what my sister has.
And now I have no excuse not to attend her damned wedding.
If I simply skip it, she’ll know she’s won. That I’m too ashamed or jealous to attend. I can’t let her think that at all.
Really, what has she won? Constant scrutiny from those she rules over. A life of catering to her husband. So much responsibility.
I’m gladthe Shadow King didn’t pick me. Being a dowager duchess is far superior. I’m not like Alessandra, who is petty and vain and self-centered. I don’t need attention and pampering. All I’ve ever wanted is to be left alone to control my life. I have that, so it’s time to start exercising more control. More changes.
I’ll expand the library. More books, yes, that’s what I need. I don’t have to mourn? Fine. Good. Great.22
Then I won’t wait any longer to find myself a lover.
Alessandra has her king, a man who will soon tire of her antics and eventually seek to control her, but imagine if I showed up to her wedding with a man of my own in tow? One who obeys me. One who is there to please me. One who is far more handsome than Kallias Maheras.
That ought to get her attention.
With my new resolve, I approach the pay station.
The man behind the counter asks for my account number. After I recite it, he checks through his records before placing a forced smile on his face.
I know that look. He’s about to deliver uncomfortable news.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but it seems your account is maxed out. We have yet to receive payment for your last order of items.”
I don’t even blink. “How is that possible?” I signed over the amount just last week.
“There was some sort of holdup with your solicitor.”
Is that so?
Not a muscle on my face changes as I order my footmen to place my merchandise on the counter. “I will return shortly,” I inform the man.
“Change of plans,Kyros. We’re bound for Vander’s next.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” He hands me into the carriage, and after a ten-minute ride, we arrive outside the solicitor’s.
“You may accompany me inside, Kyros.”
My friend follows behind me, and though I don’t need him at my back, it feels good to have someone there.
“You’re about to see a different side of me,” I warn him. “Prepare yourself.”
“Sounds exciting.”23
I march up the stairs of the building and bypass a frazzled secretary once inside, before letting myself into Vander’s office.
He looks up from his desk in surprise.
“Mr. Vander,” the secretary says, rushing into the room behind me. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Pholios, has arrived.”
“Yes, I can see that. Please be seated, Your Grace. The door, Alasdair.” The reedy man behind the desk adjusts his spectacles.
The door closes behind us. I take a seat in the offered chair, Kyros hovering over my shoulder. I adopt my usual tone and demeanor with men: casual and aloof.
“Mr. Vander, there seems to be some sort of mistake. I tried to pay for some items at the chandlers’ but was denied due to an overdue payment. Did you perhaps forget to send the money?”
The man steeples his fingers atop the desk as he eyes me like a fish he’s caught for supper.
“Oh, Your Grace, you have simply overspent. I noticed you’ve ordered quite a bit of changes to the estate. You have exceeded your monthly allotment. I’ve slated the overdue payment for next month, along with a surcharge to the agency for the fees that naturally accrue with such an oversight on your part.”
At my silence, the man continues. “Fear not, Your Grace. Mathematics are extremely difficult to master. The occasional slipup is understandable, but you have me to handle all that. I shall make sure you’re taken care of. Perhaps you’d like to discuss a budget? Or maybe you’d like me to approve your purchases before you make them in the future?”
Kyros has gone rigid behind me, as though he wishes to say something. I stand from my chair.
“Are you quite finished condescending to me?” I ask, my tone still neutral.
Vander looks surprised by the question. “Forgive me if my tone was too harsh, Your Grace. I only wish to help.”24
“Help, you say? Perhaps you’d like to help me find a new solicitor, then?”
“Your—Your Grace?”
I place my hands on the man’s desk and lean forward, my voice turning sharper than a knife. “Tell me, Mr. Vander, does your wife know about the clubs you frequent at night?”
He blinks. “What are you—”
“How about the woman you’re keeping on Sixth Street? You know, the one you visit every other weekend when you’re supposed to be out of town visiting a wealthy client?”
“How do you—?”
“Tell me the answer to this mathematical equation, would you? If you take your wife and add the knowledge I intend to divulge to her, what does that equal?”
He’s finally speechless.
“Or how about this one? If I subtract my business from your establishment and then use my considerable reach as a duchessto convince the rest of the nobility to move their business elsewhere, too, what does that equal?”
His face pales.
“Did you think me some easy mark? The poor, simple, newly widowed woman too overwhelmed by her new responsibility? My monthly income would put the ShadowKingto shame, and you think I’ve overrun my accounts by refurbishing the estate? I could buy dozens of estates on my income. I’ve been through the account books, the dukedom’s revenue, and Pholios’s usual expenditures. Then there are the new investments I had you arrange, which have nearly doubled the estate’s revenue. Or did you think I wouldn’t check up on those?
“And you? You donottell me what to do with my money. Pholios is dead. His entire fortune and holdings are mine. You will pay the chandlers the sum owed to them. Plus a generous sum to make up 25for the mistake, which will come from youraccount. Not mine. This will not happen again. I will not be forced to come to these wretched offices again to remind you of your place. If you so much as misplace a single necos in the future, you will not like the consequences. Do you understand me?”
The silence is so acute I can hear Vander swallow. “I understand.”
“Your Grace.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
“Good. I look forward to a long and profitable relationship for us both. Good day, Mr. Vander.”
Kyros opens the door for me, and I don’t look back as I exit.
Only once we’re outside does he say anything.
“I wanted to clap.”
I offer him a small smile as I turn my head. Then I bow as though I just finished some grand performance and received my standing ovation.
“Different side of you, indeed,” Kyros says. “You are sensational.”
I have never once blushed in a man’s presence, but I’ve never been complimented on something that matters before. It’s quite heady.
Before I can respond, Kyros asks, “Why continue to do business with him? Why not carry out your threat?”
“Because I’ve put him in his place now. He will not try to take advantage of me again. Besides, any new solicitor I sign with will try the same thing. Then I’ll have to go through this scenario all over again.”
“And how did you know all of that information? About his mistress and the clubs?”
“He joked about it with Pholios while we were drawing up the papers for the marriage agreement.”
“And he forgot you were there?”
“He thought me irrelevant.”
“How is that possible?”26
I take the remaining steps to the carriage, and Kyros reaches for the door. “Because it’s what I wanted him to think.”
Kyros shakes his head as I duck inside. “And what is it that you want me to think?”
“That I’m your very capable employer.”
“I already knew that,” he says as he shuts the door.
Chapter3
When I arrive back home, I ring for Medora, my lady’s maid.
“Yes, Your Grace?” she asks as she lets herself into the room. She’s older than I, at twenty-seven. Her skin is a creamy peach, while mine is a dark beige. Medora has a bigger bust than I, and she’s much thinner about her middle.
“Would you help me out of this hideous dress?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Perhaps we could use it as fuel for my hearth fire tonight?”
She harrumphs. “Might as well burn its weight in bank notes, Your Grace, for it likely cost as much.”
“I don’t care. I can’t stand the sight of it for one second longer. Apparently, I had no reason to wear black all this time.” I tell her about my run-in with Lady Petrakis.
“Perhaps we burn this one, but might I suggest relocation for the others? Such fine material would feed families.”
“Very well. See to it, but I want to watch this one burn.”
When I step out of it, Medora throws the heavy dress atop the ashes in the hearth. “There. What would you like to wear instead?”28
I skip over to the wardrobe that matches the rest of my room. White finish. Gold handles. Sweeping designs of trailing flowers. More chrysanthemums.
I begin to flip through dress after dress. Without any preamble, I ask, “Medora, have you ever had a lover?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “A few, Your Grace.”
“I’m thinking of taking one.”
“Truly? Who?”
“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find someone. And quickly.”
Before my sister’s wedding.
“Falling in love can take time, Your Grace.”
I consider a bright green day dress with long sleeves, before sliding it aside and looking at the next. “You misunderstand me. I have no intention of falling in love. I only want a lover.”
“Oh,” she says in response, as though she doesn’t quite understand.
So I help her. “Men in my position are permitted mistresses. So why not me? I’m wealthy, titled, and sick of spending my nights alone. I want a mistress. The male equivalent of one. What would you call that?”
“I don’t think there is a word for that.”
“Then perhaps we should make one.”
For a moment, there isn’t a sound except for hangers slinging across the rack in my wardrobe.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” Medora says. “You want to keep a man in the way men traditionally keep women? Exchanging sex for housing, clothing, and all other possessions? No love involved?”
“Precisely.” I mean, it wouldn’t hurt if my lover fell head over heels in love with me, but I intend to remain at a distance.29
I step away from the wardrobe with a pale orange dress with sheer sleeves that extend to my elbows and ribbons that tie into neat bows at my back.
“What do you think of that?” I ask her.
“I think it’s brilliant, Your Grace! As long as you’re careful, why shouldn’t you carry on as a powerful man in your position?”
“Careful?” I ask.
“For two reasons. One, as the woman, you will still bear all the responsibilities if you become pregnant. And two, despite you having the upper hand as far as money and reputation, the man you choose will likely be much stronger than you. I don’t wish to see any harm come to you.”
The way Medora looks out for me is heartwarming. I’ve, of course, already thought of such things. I have come all this way, risen as high as I can go, and yet, because women are the child bearers, we are left with all the consequences of pregnancy. Not the man, who is the reason for a woman becoming pregnant in the first place.
I will place an order for contraceptives before starting any physical relationship.
As for Medora’s second concern, it hasn’t escaped my notice that I’ll have to place my trust in a man if I’m to do this. He won’t be like Pholios, weaker than me due to illness. I’ll have to choose someone who will not abuse me, who will heed my wishes when we are behind closed doors. Even then, I could choose someone who seems kind and then proves to be entirely different when we’re alone, just as Pholios was. Luckily, my staff consists of many footmen with impressive physiques, bless Mrs. Lagos for hiring them. I will have them within hearing distance, should I need aid.
It’s sad that such things have to be considered, but if I’m to do this, I need to do it the right way.30
I step into my dress and turn around so Medora can do up the back. I imagine myself at Alessandra’s wedding, all eyes on me, not the bride. On me, not the queen.
“I promise to be careful,” I tell her. “Time to take next steps, then. I suppose I should interview some candidates.”
“Perhaps you need not choose someone so soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“May I speak my mind, Your Grace?”
“Please do.”
The fabric at my back tightens as she does another clasp. “Perhaps you might take some time to figure out what you like. Men don’t start by taking mistresses. They sample first.”
“Sample?”
“Yes, at brothels and the like.”
“Oh.”
I think on that for a while. Even when I’m fully dressed, I don’t yet turn. Visit a brothel. Sample. Learn what I like.
It’s a good idea.
Nerves and excitement clash in a delicious dance in my belly. I’m going to do this. I’m really going to do this.
I will have everything I’ve ever wanted.
It doesn’t take much digging to find the perfect place. Not only has Alessandra been busy making her new edicts, but the people of Naxos have quickly made changes to accommodate the new laws. Women no longer have to wait until marriage to engage in sexual relations?
Then why not open a brothel dedicated to serving female clientele? Zanita’s boasts its “welcoming environment, enthusiastic and healthy 31workers, and complete discretion for any noblewoman wishing to partake,” according to the article in the paper Medora shows me. Its grand opening was just two weeks ago.
I arrange for a carriage to take me that very night.
Everything is lit by candles, rather than electricity, which of course adds a sensual air to the main receiving room. Having never been to a brothel before, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but something tells me this place is much classier than those the poor attend.
For one, all the prostitutes are more clothed than I expected. The men wear verytight pants. Some wear suspenders without shirts underneath. Others are barefoot with buttoned-down shirts left open. Everything is meant to entice, rather than give anything away. It’s tasteful while slightly scandalous.
Second, there are so many more male prostitutes than women, but there are female workers present, too. Many women of the nobility prefer female to male lovers, so it’s no surprise that Zanita’s has some of each. They all lounge on chairs and cushioned ottomans, talking or playing games of cards. You’d think this were no more than a gaming hall. It’s so relaxed and normal, clearly meant to ease the gentler patrons.
“Welcome,” the madam says, stepping forward out of the crowd. I assume she’s the madam, since she looks a bit older. “I’m Zanita. How can I help you?”
I hand over a hefty purse. “I’m here to sample your male workers.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Your Grace,” I correct her.
“Please forgive the oversight, Your Grace. It shan’t happen again.” Lady Zanita snaps her fingers. “Gentlemen, if you please.”
The men in the room immediately stop what they’re doing and line up against the far wall, shoulder to shoulder.32
“Your advertisement claimed discretion,” I say, turning away from the dozens of well-muscled men.
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
“I would like to pay for house calls.”
“That’s not a problem. Who would you like to have accompany you home tonight?”
When it’s my first time? “Someone patient and gentle.”
“You will have to be more specific than that, Your Grace. These are professionals, all trained to see to your needs, not their own. Any one of them is capable of performing a perfect first-time experience.”
Is that so? Well, then.
I take a few steps closer and walk down the line of men. Some have pale ivory skin, some medium tones, like mine, and some so dark that their skin shines beautifully in the light. I make eye contact with each man. Some offer cheeky smiles, others wink, still more bite their lips as they look me up and down, making me feel wanted.
Professionals, indeed.
“Do you like working here?” I ask one at random. The question may be strange, but it feels like something I need to be sure of.
“Payment for sex?” the ebony-skinned man responds. “Isn’t that every man’s dream? Though it’s a special treat when someone as beautiful as you walks through those doors.”
I return my attention back to the madam. “I will try them all, starting with this one.” I point to the man who spoke.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Sandros, love, and what shall I call you?”
I rather like that word on his lips, so I say, “Love works just fine.”
Two months fly by in absolute bliss. Zanita was right. Each and every one of her workers is capable. I find that it is less their looks that 33impress me, since they’re all so beautiful, but more what they uniquely offer.
Thaddeus gives sensual massages before each session, claiming he loves to feel every inch of me before we start. Kallen likes to snuggle after lovemaking, cradling my body against his while I drift off to sleep. Soterios is determined to see to my needs three times before he lets himself get lost, saying women are a wonder in how they can perform again and again in rapid succession.
But Sandros is perhaps my favorite. Not just because he gave me a perfect, nearly painless first experience, but because he will spend hours kissing me during each session. As though he is ravenous for me. As though I am special to him.
And I show him that he is special to me by offering him gifts: sapphire cuff links, silk suits, expensive colognes, and anything else I’d love to see him wear. But my favorite is at night when he wears nothing at all.
I feel more relaxed and free than ever as I go about my life. I cannot wait to see the look on Alessandra’s face when I show up with Sandros in tow at her wedding.
While the workers toil the days away refurbishing the interior of the manor, I set my mind to the estate grounds. There is much to plan. Hedge mazes and gazebos and flowers. Water fountains, paving stones, and everything else I can think of. I meet with botanists and gardeners, more carpenters and stone masons.
The hedge maze is already nearly done. I paid extra to have mature plants transplanted here. The water fountain plumbing has been finished. I’m just waiting on the mason to finish the sculpture: a beautiful horse with its front legs kicking into the air.
