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A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood #1)(21)

Author:S.T. Gibson

“Then I shall teach you,” she proclaimed, and took my hands in her own. “Do you want to lead? Or shall I?”

I stammered foolishly, throwing my eyes wildly around the room.

Magdalena threw her head back and laughed, a beautiful wolf savoring the terror of a rabbit.

“Me, then. It’s as easy as breathing. One foot and then the other. And don’t overthink it.” We moved together across the floor, fluid and unified. If any of her subjects had seen the kiss, they hid their disapproval well, restraining themselves to gossiping behind spread fans. No one stared or reeled in shock, merely continued with their dancing and drinking, eyes politely averted. As well-trained as her servants, then. This must not have been the most scandalous behavior they had seen from Magdalena.

“You must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing,” Magdalena went on, her cheek almost pressed to mine as we twirled. The wine on her breath was sweet as blackcurrants. I wanted to taste it on her lips as much as I wanted to taste it in her veins. “We should never deny ourselves any pleasure in this life.”

I could almost hear you in those words. Had you coached her, I wondered? No, there hadn’t been enough time. Maybe she really was a soul after your own likeness.

We glided together until the song was done and then, out of breath and giggling from our exertion, raised our hands in applause with the rest of the crowd. The musicians bowed, mopping sweat from their foreheads.

Magdalena tucked her arms though mine and led me with deliberate steps through the crowd, leaning over conspiratorially.

“You must sit with me tonight at dinner. I must have you close, Constanta. I want us to be the best of friends.”

You waited for us at the long wooden table, already seated at the left of Magdalena’s chair and making a show out of nursing a glass of grenache. I doubt any of it actually passed your lips. I still had some of my taste for food and drink then, as the undying life hadn’t yet entirely bled them of their pleasure.

Magdalena poured me a double measure of wine. Her crow-quick eyes watched my every movement, following the glass as I raised it to my lips, and you observed us both like one of your experiments. Trying to look disaffected, of course. But I knew the gleam that came into your eyes when something seized your attention.

“Try the polbo á feir,” Magdalena said. “It’s a peasant dish, but one I favor, and my kitchens make it better than anyone. You’ve got to dunk the octopus in boiling water a few times before butchering it; that’s the secret to keeping the meat sweet.”

I obligingly opened my mouth for her when she raised up a bite on her fork. The flesh was tender, spiced liberally with paprika and slick with olive oil.

Magdalena beamed, watching me chew with the delight of a child bottle-feeding a kitten.

“Will you eat?” Magdalena asked you, poised to hand-feed you as well.

“I never have any appetite when I travel,” you said, plucking the fork from her hands and setting it back down on her plate. You held her wrist between thumb and forefinger, slyly suckling oil off her little finger. If she saw the flash of your sharp teeth, she didn’t show it.

“If it wouldn’t be rude for me to ask,” you began, leaning in closer. “How is it that one as beautiful as yourself is not yet married? I’m sure it’s expected of a woman of your station. Ever since your father disappeared…”

A look of pure glee came over Magdalena’s face, and she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I think I shall never marry, my lord. I will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows.”

“Ah, but I’m sure your wealth attracts all manner of little birds hoping to fritter away a piece of it in their nests. You must receive suitors by the boatful.”

“Indeed,” she said with a laugh. “And I entertain every one. I hear their love poems and their declarations, I accept their gifts and I grant them a private audience, but that’s as far as it will ever go. Not that they know that, of course. They sincerely believe they have a chance, poor boys.”

You hummed your approval, dark eyes shining in the firelight.

“And if they have hope, they continue to behave themselves and allow you your little indulgences and eccentricities. Very clever, Magdalena.”

“A third of the men in this court want to bed me and wed me, another third despise me but won’t speak against me because I’ve carefully collected records of their affairs and murders and misdeeds, and the other third simper and fawn because they know where true power lies, and they wish to ingratiate themselves with it.”

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