Bride Ball Read online

  “Not really. I never am just before.”

  Edward nodded and wrapped an arm around her, guiding Amber to the door, at a loss to reassure her. With both Marquita and Kambry expecting already, she felt the pressure was on her to produce a child for Edward. Worse, everyone from his parents to servants hinted that it wouldn’t be long until she did.

  He noted her color again. “Are you sure you’re well?” Her last courses hadn’t left her looking so worn. Perhaps the doctor was a good idea, after all.

  Amber laid her head to his chest, closing her eyes and letting him lead her toward the stairs. “Just tired.”

  Had she slept poorly? “Perhaps a nap after breakfast would be best.” If she was still feeling poorly then, he’d call the doctor up from his rooms.

  A smile curved up her lips, and her eyes opened again. “As if sleep is all you have in mind?”

  “I could be...enticed,” he teased.

  Her laughter preceded them down the stairs. Edward basked in it. Her silence and nerves worried him; this was the Amber he knew best.

  The dining room opened before them, a rich tapestry of scents pouring out: coffee and syrup, fruit and meats, breads and cream-covered eggs.

  Amber stopped abruptly, and Edward turned to look at her in concern. Her color drained away, and she swallowed hard.

  “Amber, is something wrong?” There was no question there was. He just needed her to state it, and he’d make it right.

  “I...uh...” She turned from under his arm, stumbling a few steps toward the corridor, her hand out as if to use the door jamb for balance. “I don’t f-f...”

  She dropped in a faint. Edward caught her, easing her to the runner carpet. All around them, people exploded into motion and shouting. He ignored them, trying to rouse Amber.

  A maid pressed a folded quilt at him, and Edward took it, wrapping Amber in it, then lifting her into his arms. Servants scattered before him, some speaking—probably to him, though he had no clue what they were saying and didn’t care to know it.

  In moments, he had her back in their bed, buried beneath two quilts. Her skin warmed slowly, and Amber stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

  Edward breathed a sigh of relief. “What happened?” he asked.

  “I...” She winced, as if she was in pain. “The smells were overpowering. I felt ill and...off balance, dizzy.”

  He stared at her, excitement warring with concern. “When were your courses due, Amber? Precisely now.” She hadn’t said she was certain, when he’d asked it.

  She seemed to consider that. “Now...I think.”

  “You think?” Excitement was fast coming out the victor.

  “I wasn’t... I wasn’t...paying attention, I suppose. I don’t remember precisely when the last was,” she admitted sheepishly.

  “Spring holiday,” he supplied. “Don’t you remember your upset that our celebration was curtailed?”

  Amber’s eyes widened.

  “You are late,” he guessed, reining in his emotions. Edward wanted to shout out in joy, but it was a little too early for that.

  She nodded. “A week... Good Goddess, almost two... Oh, Edward. I have never been so la—”

  He knelt to the mattress next to her, enticing Amber to a deep, slow kiss.

  A knock at the door broke them apart. “Highness, the doctor has come up from his rooms,” one of the maids called.

  Edward smiled. “Send him in.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you certain you won’t join us?” Alana asked.

  Amber pressed back into the pillows, feeling her exhaustion much more acutely than she had, even days before. Who knew carrying a child was so taxing?

  “Amber? Should I send for the doctor?” the queen offered.

  It was a refrain Amber heard often. Any minor complaint, even a rough bout of the typical mother’s sickness, sent someone scrambling for the doctor.

  She didn’t open her eyes. “No. I am just fatigued.”

  “May I join you for breakfast then?”

  Her stomach protested. “I fear the scent of coffee would be too much.” And Alana always had coffee in the morning.

  There was a moment of silence. “If I had tea?” Her voice was uncertain, tentative.

  Amber forced her eyes open, taking in the sight of the queen. Alana sat in a plush chair, her long fingers clasped in her lap, her eyes pleading. It was a side of her that Amber had never seen.

  “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  Alana’s vibrant smile returned. Did Amber’s company really mean so much to her?

  Amber hesitated. “Perhaps...Edward...” It was difficult to remember to call him that with his parents. “He might want to eat with his father...to discuss matters of state. I’ve been taking him from his duties quite a bit lately.”

  She seemed surprised by the offer. “He might.”

  The man in question opened the door and guided a rolling cart through. “There was a delay, of course,” he imparted. “One of the cooks scorched the first pot of boiled oats.” His gaze slid from Amber to his mother. “My thanks for offering Amber company.”

  “It was no imposition,” Alana dismissed his comment.

  Amber took a testing breath, relaxing when she found no scent unbearable. “Actually... I thought you might take breakfast with your father this morning,” she suggested.

  Christopher stopped, one knee on the mattress, the tray of food intended for Amber a hand’s width from her thigh. “Pardon?”

  “Alana and I would like to take breakfast together. We’ve rarely had time to talk, and... I’ve never had a mother to tell me what to expect of myself...now, I mean...carrying a child.”

  Edward settled the tray on her thighs. “Reanne never did?”

  “There was no need to.”

  “She could visit,” he suggested.

  Alana’s expression crumpled. She righted it, almost before Amber could notice the change.

  “I’m sure I’d like that, but... I really would like a young woman’s advice, Christopher.”

  He nodded. “I will send a tray up for—”

  Alana cut him off. “Whatever you’ve chosen for yourself will do.”

  “It’s boiled oats, Mother. You hate—”

  “Actually, I loved them as a child...with honey, as you eat them. It’s been many years since I’ve eaten them.”

  He seemed to consider that. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  Edward delivered the tray he’d brought for himself to the little table beside his mother, placed a gentle kiss on Amber’s lips, and left them.

  Alana lifted the lid from her oats and inhaled deeply, a smile pulling up at her lips.

  “If you favor them, why did you stop eating them?” Amber asked. She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. I’m much too direct, I know.”

  To her surprise, Alana chuckled. “Not at all. It’s refreshing. And to answer you, Benjamin’s mother was a noble, and I was subject to her scrutiny.”

  “And...she felt boiled oats beneath a princess?” How odd.

  “Good only for children and servants,” she agreed. “I wasn’t as strong as you are. Benjamin wasn’t strong for me, as Edward is, when you’re uncertain.” She paused, setting the lid aside and lifting a slice of lemon for her tea. “I didn’t raise Edward with their snobbery. He likes boiled oats, and I never discouraged it.”

  “I thank you for that, but... Why did you not eat them, once she passed?”

  Alana stirred her tea, seemingly considering it...or reliving the decisions she’d made. “I felt Benjamin had expectations of me. I was probably worrying for nothing, but it was my fear.”

  “And fear is not a rational thing,” Amber noted.

  The queen was abruptly far away in thought, a touch sad.

  “You love him dearly, don’t you?” Amber asked.

  For a moment, Alana didn’t answer. “Yes. I do.” She stared into her oats, mixing the honey in slowly. “Do you know...” Her smile was
strained. “I don’t know that he loves me.”

  “He has no mistresses,” Amber offered.

  “Oh, he’s amused enough, I’m certain. I have always excelled at keeping Benjamin sexually satisfied and surprised.”

  “But Chris... Edward told me—”

  “You can call him Christopher with me. I’ve always preferred it. In fact, I chose it, but the name wasn’t royal. It wasn’t a worthy name for an heir to the throne. Luckily, Benjamin allowed me to— But that isn’t important, I suppose.”

  Amber nodded. She didn’t ask if Benjamin’s mother was the one that decreed the name unsuitable; it was certainly she.

  “What did he tell you?” Alana seemed keenly interested.

  “He said that a man who loves his wife has no need of mistresses.”

  Alana considered that, her spoon still stirring idly at her cooling breakfast. “Rather over-simplified, I’m sure. But...we should eat, before the food gets cold.”

  Amber picked up her spoon and sampled the oats, taking note that Alana was slow to do the same.

  * * * *

  “What?” Edward stared at Amber, his head spinning.

  “I asked if your father loves your mother,” she replied calmly.

  “I heard you. I just...it’s... Why would you ask it?”

  Patches of dark pink colored her pale face. “He doesn’t?” She seemed pained by the idea.

  “My father and mother are not us,” he soothed her, at a loss to comprehend her concern.

  “Oh, I know that.” But tears pooled in her dark eyes, just the same.

  “I don’t understand,” he admitted. Was this the effects of being pregnant? He’d heard women were emotionally unsettled while carrying.

  “You said a man who loves his wife has no need of mistresses. Your father hasn’t taken mistresses. Not ever. He hasn’t had consorts, since Alana, either. Not even when she was in her confinement after giving birth.”

  “I know.” But he still didn’t understand.

  A tear wound down her cheek. “How can he not love her?” she demanded.

  Edward stood there, feeling like a stag in torchlight. “Well, I imagine he does love her. If he didn’t, he would have dissolved their union rather than putting up with her behaviors all these years.”

  “She only acts that way, because she’s afraid your father will turn her out. Don’t you see?”

  He didn’t see what she meant, at all. “You mean she’s restraining herself?” he joked.

  Amber glared at him.

  Edward grimaced, motioning her for peace. Perhaps levity had been the wrong choice. “Obviously, I am upsetting you. I have no wish to. Explain it to me, slowly and calmly.” Goddess help my mother, if this is a game.

  “Your grandmother...Benjamin’s mother shaped Alana into the image she presents. Your father seems to like her this way.”

  “Like it? He’s like to tear his hair out some days is closer to the truth.”

  “Has he told her that?” Amber asked pointedly.

  “Well...” Edward shook his head, finally working his way to understanding.

  “She does love him, Christopher. Alana loves him so much that she’s afraid to be something different, now that she has the choice to. If he was displeased, he might turn her out or take mistresses.”

  He ambled to the bed and sat next to her. “What a mess,” he sighed.

  “Yes, it is.” Her hand settled on his thigh. “We have to do something about it.”

  * * * *

  “Are you mad?” Benjamin asked, staring at Edward as if he believed that very thing true.

  “It’s a simple question, Father,” Edward reasoned. “Do you love her?” How did I let Amber talk me into this? But he knew that a pout was all it took. Tears would have shredded him alive, and she’d been close to that.

  “I’ve been with Alana for twenty-six years.”

  As if that answers the question. “And taken no mistresses. Do you love her?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “At times, I believe I do...in the privacy of her rooms or mine.”

  “If I suggest something that may make you both happier, would you consider it?”

  Benjamin stared out the window, a plotting expression on his rugged features.

  “Forget your pride for a moment and consider my words,” Edward cautioned.

  “Very well. I will consider it.”

  “Go to her rooms. Bring her a handful of the yellow roses she loves. Don’t play sex games. Kiss her. Touch her softly—”

  “She is your mother,” Benjamin protested, turning crimson. “This is not an appropriate discussion—”

  “And that is Grandmother Lia talking. I recognize the tone and the rhetoric, young as I was when she passed.”

  He didn’t deny it. Benjamin seemed to have trouble meeting Edward’s gaze.

  Amber was correct. Lia had been the problem, all along. “You love her. Do what I suggest, and... If you feel that love when you’re with her, tell her that you do. Tell her that you love her when she is...the way she is when you feel that love, whatever that may be.”

  His father gaped at him.

  “Have you ever told her that you love her?” If Amber was correct, he never had. “Have you ever told her what you love about her? The person you wish she was more often?”

  “I don’t recall,” he replied gruffly.

  “Then perhaps it’s time you make a decent memory. Past time, in my opinion.” Edward walked away, before his father could protest again.

  Section II: Should-Have-Beens

  Chapter Eleven

  Benjamin stood outside Alana’s door, feeling every millimeter the fool. He looked at the roses in his hand, wincing that he’d stooped to this. After all the times Alana had held him at arm’s length, did Edward really believe flowers and chocolates were going to sway the woman? Did Benjamin?

  He’d like to. He’d like to throw common sense and years of experience out with the bath water and believe that Alana held some kind feelings for him, the feelings he’d thought he’d experienced with her at the Bride Ball so many years ago.

  She’d changed so quickly, nearly on the discovery that she’d conceived that night. At first, he’d assumed that Alana was reacting to their whirlwind marriage...or perhaps to the stresses of assuming the place of princess and her pregnancy. Even to the lingering effects of the Gorus tainting her system. But there had been no change in all these years, patient as he’d been, glimmers of something more he hoped he was interpreting correctly notwithstanding.

  I’m a fool. I’ve always been a fool for her. He raised his hand to knock. And I will be again, no doubt.

  Alana called out an invitation to enter, and he did so.

  She was at her dressing table, her hair unbound as he liked it, a demure robe knotted around her body. Her face was free of cosmetics. She was beautiful.

  The brush paused in mid-stroke, and she met his eyes in the mirror, hers widening in shock. She recovered quickly, that false smile curving up her lips. “Oh, Benjamin. I didn’t expect you. Did you need something?” There was an invitation couched in that, one that, however insincere, raised his cock.

  He ambled to her, placing the roses on the dressing table. Alana stared at them, seemingly confused by the move. Benjamin buried his hands in her hair, enjoying the weight of it, the texture when it wasn’t coated in layers of spray and gel.

  “Benjamin?” she questioned.

  It was time to put Edward’s suggestions into practice. “I love your hair this way. You should wear it down more often.” He raised it to his face, drawing the scent in. “It’s so...enticing.”

  Her breathing went ragged. “I...I never knew.”

  “Well, now you do. Will you?” He waited for her protest that it wasn’t the style, her laughter at his uneducated male palate for such things.

  She swallowed hard. “If it pleases you, of course.” But she seemed off balance.

  It wasn’t something he saw often, and he marvele
d at it.

  “And the roses?” she asked, her gaze straying to them, something that appeared to be longing lurking behind her imperfectly-masked expression.

  “You like them, don’t you?” Again, he steeled himself for a flip response, a dismissal of his effort at pleasing her.

  Her hand stretched out toward them, trembling lightly, then stilling. She stroked the petals, smiling an honest smile the likes of which he hadn’t seen in decades. “You know I do.”

  “Then why shouldn’t I give them to you?” He asked it seriously, more of himself than her. Goddess, but I have been a fool. When was the last time he’d done something so simple and pure for her? How often had he simply showered her with praise? Was that why she’d turned from him?

  A king does not openly display such sentiments. But that was his mother speaking.

  Damn it, it is normal for a man to show such kindnesses to a woman he loves. Edward does it. No one thinks less of him for it.

  To be honest, Benjamin had tried to talk him out of it, but his son had ignored him. Thank the Goddess! Edward was right, but was it too late to bridge the gulf between himself and Alana?

  As if in answer, Alana masked her expression and stood, her hair sliding from Benjamin’s hands. “I should get a servant to bring a vase,” she decided. “They will wilt quickly enough in water, but—”

  He reached out and took her shoulders, stopping her move to round him. Alana looked up, frightened as he hadn’t seen her since her first days at the palace.

  “Don’t,” he requested. “I’ll bring you more, gardens of them, if you’d like. Don’t...walk away from me.”

  For a heart-stopping moment, she stared at him. Then she nodded, and his chest muscles loosened the death grip they’d had on his heart.

  * * * *

  Alana waited for whatever Benjamin had to say. This entire scene was so unlike him that she hardly knew what to think. She was fairly certain he wasn’t dismissing her. If he was, he wouldn’t request a change in her hairstyle, would he?

  But why now? Why this sudden change? Her stomach squirmed in apprehension she tried not to let show.