The third thing to know about Adalbrecht: If you’ve kept up with the math, you now know he is nearly twice as old as me. Plenty of nobility shrug off a winter-spring romance for political gain, but I was raised to be a maidservant, not a princess. A maidservant learns quickly that when a full-grown man desires a girl half his age, it is not out of love, but hunger.
Fourth and finally, this is the thing you must know if you wish to survive: Adalbrecht von Reigenbach hungers most of all for that which he should not have.
That is why, when I see Castle Reigenbach through my carriage window, its great entrance hall doors thrown wide open and the margrave’s wagons clustered on the drive, I want nothing so badly as to run.
“Stay here,” I tell Ragne quietly, trying not to think too hard about the coal-dust misfortune clouding my view. The carriage door opens before she can protest. I steel myself, think of thePrinzessin, hold that card like a shield between me and the margrave—and step out.
“There you are.” The bass rumble of Adalbrecht’s voice ricochets off the hard floor and out through the gaping doorway, made even stiffer by the unnatural hush. He strides toward me, cobalt cloak billowing under a hefty wolf-pelt mantle. “My bride, myjewel.”
When the Golden Wolf came to Sovabin, I knew it was not simply for want of a young, tender bride. It’s the trinity, you see: Gisele offers not just pleasure, but the power of prestige, of marrying the daughter of aprinz-wahl.
Last night, I erred in thinking two out of the trinity would protect me from Yannec. I never would have made that mistake with Adalbrecht von Reigenbach.
Servants and soldiers still weave through the hall, unloading Adalbrecht’s train, but each one seems to be holding their breath and affording the margrave plenty of room to pass. He seems to take up most of it regardless, a walking monument to conquest who looms head and shoulders over me even with the pearls, a little too big to be lifelike. His pale face is chiseled hard, broad, and flawless; one golden lock strays from his short braid to frame his face like a scroll of gilt filigree, picturesque.
He snatches my hands up before I can hide them. His fingers feel heavier than they should, like shackles locking into place. Each breath fights me harder than the last.
You see, Adalbrecht von Reigenbach is not just dangerous in the common way of Almandy’s nobles, the casual threat of working for
those who value your obedience more than your life.
No, the danger of the Golden Wolf is that he takes what he wants.
But thePrinzessinhas no reason for fear yet. I cover my revulsion with a sweet, warbling, “Darling!Welcome home.”
“You were out.” Each word drops like a charge at a sentencing.
I bounce on my toes, the very picture of a giddy, insipid bride-to-be. Internally, I am spewing a string of curses that would make even the most grizzled brothel-keeper in Lähl blush (and, perhaps, take notes for theirmietlingen).
“I thought you might want to rest after your long journey,” I lie, “and with our wedding so close, it seemed the right time to share some of our joy with the less fortunate.”
Adalbrecht squeezes his hands around mine.
Here, with so many witnesses, and with the weight of Gisele’s name, he keeps a semblance of grace; his face is patient and mild, and the gentle waves of his blond hair grant him a halo in the morning light.
But I know what he is when there is no one around. I know what he is to girls who don’t have the protection of royal blood.
I can only imagine he is worse inside his own castle.
Even now his smile is hardening like cooling glass. “I understand you already shared somejoywith the junior prefect this morning.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Barthl abruptly busy himself with straightening out a tapestry. A sizzle of annoyance dances in the back of my skull. Ofcoursehe already squealed on me.
But there’s an easy way out. I tilt my head, blinking Gisele’s big, silvery eyes. “Why yes, he came to take my statement about the robbery, and it would have been rude to send him away with no breakfast! The poor boy’s practically skin and bones.”
Adalbrecht runs his calloused thumbs over my knuckles, pressing a little too hard as the wheels of one of his delivery wagons clatter outside. “Perhaps things are done differently in Sovabin, but in Bóern, it’s not seemly for a young lady to take guests when she is . . .underdressed. You don’t want to embarrass me, do you?”
His thumbs push into the backs of my hands, between the bones.
I yank free to cover my mouth with well-bred dismay. “Oh, how— how mortifying! I understand. Never again, darling—”
“Good.” His gaze alights over my shoulder. “Ah, here we are. I brought you a present.”
Two pairs of soldiers march up behind me, each pair carrying a large, canvas-wrapped bundle nearly as large as a man. “Where do you want them, m’lord?” gasps one man.
“There.” Adalbrecht points up to the marble busts of his father and mother in their alcove. “Take those down.”
Barthl’s long face falls. He looks like he’s only refrained from falling asleep on his feet through some unholy bargain. Still, he rallies as best he can. “We have room in the east gallery—”
