Lady Mildew was her only Companion and she talked about nothing except how Rissa must accept the next suitor, no matter who it was. That and the fact that she was a dirty, disreputable girl and the sooner she was married off, the better.
“I only hope your new husband will even want you, considering the scandal you have attracted to your name,” she often said. “You’ll be lucky if he is willing to slake your Heat at all! He might decide that you are too dirty to want to help you. He might even let you burn to ashes on your wedding night rather than come anywhere near you! I shouldn’t blame him a bit if he did.”
Rissa felt that would be fine with her. She didn’t want anyone but James to slake her Heat, which, after studying the Royal anatomy book with him, she now knew could only be done by letting a male enter her with his shaft and shoot his seed into her pussy. She thought often that she would rather burn to death than let any man but her Kindred guard do that to her.
But it seemed that was never to be. How could James help her if he could never see her again?
It was at her lowest point, when she was thinking these thoughts, that Lady Mildew suddenly came into her room and told her to get up.
“You are summoned to the Throne Room,” she told Rissa. She made a face. “And that horrid Kindred is to come, too.”
“James is coming too?” Rissa’s heart started pounding in her chest. “Pray, Lady Mildew, what is all this about?”
“You shall see, my dear.” Lady Mildew got a very unpleasant look in her faded blue eyes. “I believe that his Stewardship has a surprise for you.”
41
“I am too old for this,” the Steward complained, shifting on the black velvet cushion as though the hard golden throne beneath it hurt his bones. He let out a burst of flatulence which made the page boys giggle until he glared at them.
“I am sorry you feel that way, Your Stewardship,” Rissa said politely. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she waited for the man she thought of as her Uncle to get to the point. “The crown must be a heavy burden to bear and I thank you for bearing it for me all these years,” she added.
“Yes, yes…heavy indeed. And you have not made it any easier, my girl,” he added, frowning down at her. “Trying to find a suitor you are not too picky to accept has nearly plagued the life out of me!” He shook his head. “Well, I am done with making that mistake. I have found you the man you are going to marry.”
“What?” exclaimed Rissa, before she could stop herself. “How can you say that, Uncle?” she demanded, forgetting to be formal. “When I have not even met him yet? A Royal female has the Right of Refusal, you know!”
“Only for the first three suitors proposed to her.” The Steward glared at her. “And you have had your three refusals, my girl. Now, before you go getting upset,” he continued, leaning forward and using a more soothing tone. “I believe this man is perfect for you. He is from the Second Court on the other side of the planet but he has the blood of the Very First Family running through his veins. Also, he is no more than five years your senior, I believe, which ought to make you happy. And, I am told by the maids who attend me in my rooms that he is exceedingly handsome. So, there. If that does not make you happy, I do not know what will!” He leaned back on the throne, a self-satisfied look coming over his jowly face.
Rissa shot a swift glance at James, who was standing beside and a little behind her. She knew very well that the only thing that would make her happy was the big Kindred who had been sent to guard her. But it seemed their chance at happiness together was slipping away.
“Uncle,” she said tentatively. “I, er, thank you kindly for taking so much trouble to find me a new suitor, but why must a Royal female marry a man with Royal blood at all?”
“What? Whatever do you mean?” the Steward blustered, frowning. “Of course you must marry a man with Royal blood in his veins!”
“I know it is not because only a man with Royal blood may slake my Heat,” Rissa said boldly, which caused a gasp from Lady Mildew, who was standing on her other side. “Well?” she demanded. “Why should I not say it? It is true, you know. One of my ancestors, Queen Lenore the Headstrong, married her gardener and made him her Royal Consort. So why must I have a husband with Royal blood in his veins?”