But it wasn’t just his skin that was strange, it was his eyes—they flashed a shiny, metallic blue like a hartha beetle’s wings. In her dreams, those eyes were always looking at her, staring in a way that sent shivers down her spine. And sometimes she thought she heard him whispering in her ear. He had a deep, rumbling voice that seemed to penetrate her bones and the things he was telling her to do… Well, she could never quite remember what he was telling her to do, when she woke up, but for some reason they made her feel so…unsettled.
That was the irritation of it all, Rissa thought—that she couldn’t remember the details of her dream. She only knew that when she woke with his voice in her head and the image of those flashing blue eyes staring at her so hungrily, she felt a hot and urgent need she couldn’t explain between her legs. Once or twice, she had even forgotten about the Chastity Wire and reached down to try and ease the pain and need she felt there—only to be painfully shocked completely awake the moment her fingertips made contact with her heated flesh.
But I would never do such a thing during the day, when I was awake, Rissa thought resentfully, as she stared down at the hated silver wire encircling her waist. Why must I wear it all the time? It makes everything so much more difficult and I’m certain people can see its outline beneath my gown!
They could also see her points, glowing red with heat, even though she now wore ice gel pads to hide and cool them everywhere she went, Rissa thought. That much had been made clear when she’d read the latest issue of Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs.
The Crumbs were written by some unknown person who always seemed to keep abreast of court gossip and the last issue had been entirely devoted to Rissa herself. Such scandal rags were common enough, but this issue had also mentioned her dear Mama and her untimely demise—which was something Rissa had been trying hard not to think about, ever since her own Heat Cycle had started.
“Do you think my uncle, the Steward, will approve any new suitors for me to meet soon?” she asked, as Lady Mildew helped her put on her ice pads and then her long, white linen chemise and the white pantelettes, which fell to mid-calf. Next came her stockings and then her corset, which was laced tightly in the back—so tightly that Rissa sometimes felt she could barely breathe in it—though she knew better than to complain.
The Steward was not truly her uncle, but only a very distant relation of her long-dead father, but he had been a fixture of the Court for as long as Rissa could remember. He had been her father’s personal butler and had been named in his will as Steward, which gave him the power to rule the planet in Rissa’s place, until she came of age and got married. He was also the only one who could approve or deny any suitors for her hand. And since her Heat Cycle was ramping up, Rissa certainly hoped he would find someone suitable for her soon.
“I’m certain the Steward will approve some new suitors—maybe even tonight—since your Cycle is getting well-advanced,” Lady Mildew said. She frowned reprovingly at Rissa. “But you shouldn’t be so picky, my girl! The last two he approved would have suited you quite well. Both would have made excellent Royal consorts when you ascended to the throne.”
Rissa frowned.
“But one of them was old enough to be my grandfather! He was deaf and couldn’t hear a word I said. He kept on saying ‘Eh? What’s that? Eh?” And the other was scarcely more than a boy. He stuck his tongue out at me and ran away when we met! I cannot marry someone so unsuited to me in age and temperament!”
The thought of letting either one of those suitors to “slake her Heat” made Rissa wince with disgust. Though, to be honest, she wasn’t quite sure what was involved in the slaking process. She suspected, however, that it might have to do with the way babies were made.
Then again, she knew very little of that process either—no proper young lady of the Court did. She only knew it had something to do with letting a man kiss you on the lips—which was strictly forbidden. In which case, a baby would be formed and, if you were unmarried, your reputation would be irrevocably ruined.
Regardless of the exact method of slaking, Rissa hadn’t wanted to let either of those males kiss or touch her. So she had refused them both, much to Lady Mildew’s dismay and disapproval.
“It doesn’t matter what age they are, what counts is their bloodlines. It’s not proper for any male without Royal blood to slake your Heat,” her old chaperone said now, frowning. “Both of them had the Sheen to their skin. And the Steward would not have approved them if their blood wasn’t Royal enough.”