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“Oh! They’re little slippers,” Nicolette said suddenly after frowning at the booties I was knitting.
Glad my first attempt at crocheting was at least recognizable, I smiled and nodded. “They are, indeed. Thank you.”
“I hope your baby’s a girl,” she went on. “That way, I can actually spend time with her.”
Soren didn’t agree. He’d only ever referred to the child as he. I don’t think it had even occurred to him that I might not provide him with a male issue on the first try.
“What do you mean?” I asked, pausing in confusion. ?
??You could spend time with a little boy, as well.”
Nicolette nodded and let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I know, but sometimes I wish I had a sister.”
I don’t, I almost muttered aloud, before realizing how ungrateful and awful that would sound. Pursing my lips, I swallowed down the terrible thought, even while I continued to think Nicolette probably wouldn’t be so quick to wish for a sister if she’d ended up with one like mine.
I loved Yasmin, I honestly did. I would die to protect her. And when she got her way, she was perfectly pleasant. But she had this annoying habit of wanting the best of everything, or at least the version better than what I received. And it made her a bit…hmm, what’s a tactful word to use? Unmanageable, maybe. I honestly believed that if King Caulder had picked me to be his bride instead of her, she would’ve had me murdered in my sleep. Yasmin would do anything to get what she wanted.
As if sensing my unpleasant thoughts, the queen sauntered into the room with a trio of servants trailing behind.
“Ladies,” she greeted us with a pleasant sigh as she flowed our way. “Please tell me I’m not missing any good gossip. If we’re talking about the dress Princess Allera was wearing, don’t worry, I’ve already ordered three replicas in even better colors. And I’ll let you borrow them once I’ve worn them all.”
Since Nicolette had been lounging in the nicest chair in the room, she scurried to stand so Yasmin could have the seat of honor instead. With a gracious nod to the teen, Yasmin seated herself next to me, her maids bustling around her to arrange the skirt of her dress so she looked perfect.
“Actually, we were discussing the new prince,” I said.
I decided not to mention we’d already bypassed that topic and were now onto my baby, because Yasmin was still irritated that I’d gotten pregnant before she had.
It was always best not to irritate the queen.
Heads might roll. Literally.
“Yes. Isn’t he just amazing?” Nicolette gushed, flopping down on the other side of me, and ignoring the settee closest to Yasmin. “His eyes were so blue and his jaw so firm.”
Yasmin merely sniffed as she examined her painted fingernails. “He’s a little too tall and muscled for my taste. Only servants should be that brawny. And that scar at the corner of his mouth was simply—”
“Delicious,” Nicolette announced, making Yasmin gasp in outrage. “But the tattoo by his eye is the sexiest part, I think. Why, just looking at it made me so heated, I nearly had to fan myself right there in the Throne Room.”
“Nicolette! A lady your age doesn’t say such things.”
Nicolette rolled her eyes at Yasmin and promptly turned to me. “You’ve heard what they mean, haven’t you?”
“What what means?” I asked, trying to follow the conversation as I tied off the yellow string of yarn to start a row of light green.
“The tattoo by his eye, of course,” Nicolette pressed. “It’s a love mark.”
I glanced up, not expecting to hear such a term, especially not about the stern-looking prince who’d arrived today with his sister. “A love mark?”
“Pfft. It’s pure absurdity is what it really is,” Yasmin muttered. “Soren says the entire tradition behind those damned tattoos is a bunch of evil sorcery, plus a lousy excuse for them to mate below their station if they wish. Hell, before you know it, they’ll rut with the livestock and try to excuse it by saying the mark told them to do it.”
I blinked at her, totally lost. I’m not sure what bothered me more; the horribly prejudiced words coming from her mouth, that she was quoting my husband, or that my husband had talked with her about something he’d never discussed with me, because I had no idea what either lady was talking about, and I felt distinctly left out.
“It is not evil sorcery.” Nicolette sounded aghast. “Brentley told me the women of magic who perform the rituals are High Cliff’s most cherished priestesses. So they’re quite holy.”
“Whatever.” Yasmin rolled her eyes. “It’s still a stupid custom.”
“Well, I think it’s romantic,” Nicolette muttered under her breath.
Moodily embarrassed by my ignorance, I glanced to either side of me before quietly asking, “What’s this ritual we’re talking about again?”
