“Very well, Your Grace,” she said with icy formality. “I shall dance with you and dine with you and hear what you have to say. But I shall never, never marry you and at the end of this month, I will refuse your suit publicly. And after that I shall snub you completely and never speak to you again!”
The Duke’s face sagged with something like surprised realization—he knew as well as she did that if Rissa, as the Crown Princess, snubbed him so publicly, the rest of the Court would too. It would be the end of his social life and it would ruin any chance he might have of finding a wife among the nobility.
“How dare you, you little bitch?” he began, but suddenly James had him by the neck and was glaring down into his face.
“You will not speak to the Princess in that way or call her derogatory names and insults,” he growled, his long fingers tightening around the other man’s throat. “The next time you do, I’ll rip out your tongue and you’ll never be able to call anyone anything ever again. Do you understand?”
The Duke quailed for a moment, then glared back at James.
“Very well, Sir Robot—I admit, that was ungallant of me,” he said in a rather tight voice, since James still had him by the throat. “But you cannot stand between me and the Princess forever. Tonight we will dance every dance and I will hold her in my arms all night long!”
He’s right, Rissa thought, feeling sick. I won’t be able to help it—I must dance with him!
She could feel her Heat Cycle rising, the Fire Blood rushing in her ears and heating her cheeks and neck and points until she felt like a volcano, about to explode. Unfortunately, the Duke seemed to notice her face getting flushed.
“What’s wrong, Your Highness?” he asked, smirking at Rissa. “Is your Royal blood heating up? Perhaps we had better get married now so that I can slake your Heat.” He leered at her. “It will be my pleasure, you know. Despite your complaints to the Steward about my age, I am in the very prime of my life and it will be my pleasure to ‘plow your furrow,’ as the servants say.”
“That’s enough!” James’s big hand tightened on the other man’s throat until the Duke’s face turned bright red.
But Rissa couldn’t watch anymore. Her blood was rising so hot and fast she truly felt as though she might either explode or faint. Turning, she swept from the Throne Room, trying not to wobble as she walked because she didn’t want to display any weakness in front of her odious suitor.
But though she walked straight and held her head high, inside she was burning up and her Heat Cycle was rising higher and higher.
It was out of control and there was nothing Rissa could do about it.
18
“It’s no good—you’re not cooling down.”
James stroked the Princess’s flushed face anxiously, frowning at the way her skin refused to cool. He had cooled his own body temperature down as low as it could go—almost to the point where, if anyone besides Ka’rissa had touched him for any length of time—they would have gotten frostbite. But the Princess didn’t seem to be responding to his touch. Instead, she was panting and pacing around her bedchamber as tears leaked from her lovely eyes.
“Oh James, what am I going to do?” she asked, ignoring his concern. “He intends to marry me and I do not know if I can last another month with my Heat Cycle ramping up the way it is.”
“It’s ramping up all right,” James muttered grimly. He stroked her cheek again—it was like touching a hot iron. “We need to get you into a cold bath,” he said, frowning. “I can’t cool you down enough just by touching you.”
“I cannot take a bath until tonight because Lady Mildew has the remote to turn off my Chastity Wire,” she pointed out. “And after what Lady TittleTattle wrote about her, I’m sure she won’t be bothered to come help me.”
“Don’t worry about the damn wire,” James growled. He drew her into the bathing chamber and turned on the cold tap, causing icy water to gush into the large, oval tub.
“But I cannot get in with the wire on—it will electrocute me!” Ka’rissa protested. “It’s already shocking me, because I am perspiring so dreadfully,” she added, wincing and twitching her hips as the wire crackled under her clothes.
“I can take care of it,” James insisted. “Please, Princess—we need to get you undressed and out of those heavy, hot clothes! You’re overheating.”
Indeed, he could smell the strong, sweet scent of burning sugar and her nipples were glowing a dull red through the white fabric of her formal Court gown.
At last, Ka’rissa allowed him to help her out of her wig and clothing. Every time her skin brushed his, it was like touching a hot stove. She really was getting close to combustion, James thought. It seemed that a cold hand was squeezing his throat, making it difficult to breathe as he thought this. Was the feeling some kind of emotion? Maybe what the feelers called “panic?”