Although it had been at least two months since the wedding, Marrok and Jannali still hadn't consummated their marriage. People began to talk, as they usually did, hushed words behind embroidered fans and gloved hands. Some wondered if it was because the prince found his bride repulsive—those who held a distaste for the royal family, despite the threat of treason, would say that the prince was impotent.
Jannali insisted on sleeping in her own chambers. Whenever she was encouraged by her maids to visit her husband in the evening, she would purse her lips and narrow her perfectly-glamoured eyes, shutting them up instantly. She knew what she was doing. She was taking her time.
Marrok didn't make any efforts to forge a physical relationship, for which Jannali was grateful. It just made her task that much easier. Because the truth was, she wanted to sleep with him, very much. She wanted to spend the night in his arms, hot and breathless and moaning with delight. Little by little, she found the prince intruding in on even her most private moments, when she bathed, when she studied, when she forced down her prospect and slit his throat. He followed her through the halls and felt her under the table at dinner, sly and lustful. Marrok himself never did any of these things, but Jannali had created a complex fantasy in which he was her mate and would go to any lengths to please her.
It would have to happen eventually, of course. But not yet. Jannali wanted to reveal her entire self to him, and to do that she would have to reel him into her arms. For now, she was stuck spending the majority of her days with her mother-in-law, and Jannali was at the end of her rope. Aisha's chipper attitude about everything drove her up the wall.
"What do you think, Sweets?" Aisha tittered, holding her hands up in a square shape. "Would this tapestry go well in the throne room? Tybalt wants a replacement and I promised Genevieve's sister that I'd feature one of her pieces."
If she heard the name Sweets one more time, Jannali would throttle the woman. For her part, she thought the tapestry was nice, subdued enough for her taste. The black cloth depicted the Lunar insignia in shimmering, handwoven threads, a design that had originated back when Luna was a republic. It depicted Luna and the capital city of Artemisia in the foreground, with Earth in the distance.
"It will do," said Jannali, fingering her wedding band. She wasn't usually one for precious jewellery, but she found herself growing fond of it, despite the lavish excess of diamonds incrusted into the silver.
The queen smiled. "Yes, yes, that would be good indeed!" She turned to the guard that kept watch behind them. "Fetch Marilee and tell her that she can take down the old rag and hang this up in its place." She waved a dainty hand. "As soon as possible would be best."
As the guard walked away, Jannali cringed. Aisha had put a hand on her shoulder and prattled on about the next week's gala for the full earth. The princess hated galas. She hated the full earth. And above all, she hated the queen.
Jannali despised perky people.
Ugly J had struck again.
King Tybalt was furious now, even more so after the disappearance of one of his little bastards that he kept stashed away somewhere in Elathia. The king had never legitimized the children that he had with other women, but he supported them and kept their mothers quite wealthy. Marrok had never met any of his half-siblings, and nor did he care to. The queen, though, would visit them on occasion and return to the palace glowing with happiness, for she had a great affection for young children. Her only son was too old for coddling, but she still called him Twinkles. Unlike many other queens of the Blackburn dynasty, Aisha did not mind her husband's bastards, nor his mistresses—she had a few of her own, after all. Mistresses, that is.
Her sadness was great along with the king's fury when the body of seventeen-year-old Lucas was found dismembered with a 'J' carved into his ankle. At the news, Marrok couldn't help but feel a pang of melancholy. He couldn't make himself think of this dead stranger as a brother, but he mourned for him as one of his subjects. Even Jannali seemed contrite, when she noticed the king and queen's conditions.
But Marrok didn't have much time to feel bad—soon, he was elated; he had been allowed to see James again, and the day bode well. A good romp through AR-4 was in order—the sweet shops and bakeries weren't going to empty themselves. With a Danish pastry in his mouth and a handful of candies in each pocket, Marrok was horrified to find that Jannali was waiting for him with their entourage near the entrance of the shopping district.
"I thought it was understood that you were to spend the day with me," said Jannali, crossing her arms over her chest.
"That was never my intention."
James peeked over Marrok's shoulder, still suckling on a sour apple petite. "Man, I think you're in a wee bit of trouble."
Jannali narrowed her eyes and stared at James with a look that nearly indicated disgust, but was toned down enough to refrain from it being so. Marrok cleared his throat and brushed James away. "Lord Abrasax, you must calm down. You're in Her Highness' presence," he narrowed his own eyes, "and in mine."
James puffed his cheeks and dropped into a bow. "Princess."
Jannali reluctantly curtsied and held out her hand. Marrok hooked his arm through hers and lead their entourage back to the palace. From there, the monotonous pace of court life continued with renewed dullness. James began to refuse spending time with Marrok in Jannali's company. She freaks me out, he would say. The way she looks at you scares me.
Marrok tried to catch a glimpse of this stare that James spoke of, but whenever he glanced at Jannali he was met with bored indifference, and the courtiers around him reported the same thing. The venom with which they said it made irritation gnaw at Marrok's spine. We've heard that you haven't yet made any efforts to give us an heir. Do you not have it in you? Or is it your little bride that finds you insufficient?
He hated them. From birth, he had been raised to beware the hounding courtiers. Every word they said, no matter how worthless or insulting, needed to be taken seriously, for they were the thoughts of the powerful. And no one knew better than Marrok that you should never alienate the powerful. But he refused to be the one to reach out to his little bride and coax her to spread her legs for him. If she truly cared, she would have to do the work herself.
As much as he would avoid her, Jannali wasn't a non-entity in Marrok's life, much to his dismay. He wasn't sure how he got roped into an afternoon with his wife and mother, but Marrok found himself tinkering away at the piano with Jannali reading off her music on a nearby stand. He had to admit that she had a splendid singing voice, obviously authentic as they recorded each rehearsal. Aisha sat by on the harp, and if the need arose, a little hand drum that was a necessity to most Lunar folk music. The prince found it hard to focus on the notes on the page with Jannali so close by, and he made more than a few mistakes.
"What's going on today, Twinkles? Your playing is usually flawless."
Marrok shrugged. "I didn't get much sleep last night." A lie. He had slept like a log by nine o'clock. Aisha raised an eyebrow, and Marrok couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I was rereading over father's memoirs until midnight."
"And you, Jannali? Did you sleep well?"
Jannali dipped her lashes coquettishly, and there it was again. That scent. Marrok's head spun and he felt heat pooling in his cheeks. Something welled in his gut, unwelcome and strange. Unlike before, the tantalizing aroma of Jannali's perfume refused to fade from Marrok's brain. He wanted to believe that it was a glamour, that Jannali or some other courtier was playing him around, but even when he was alone the feeling persisted.
Marrok came to learn that Jannali was quite forgetful.
Three times now, she had left her notebook in his chambers after evening tea. This time, instead of having a maid return it to her, he made his way to her own rooms with the intention of giving her a firm admonishment. If she left it lying around again, Marrok resolved that he would take to it with a pair of shears.
He paused in front of her door and knocked, rolling back on his heels with impatience. He didn't have anywhere to be, but it was an inconvenience that he shouldn't have to endure in the first place. There was no answer. Marrok glowered and knocked again.
When Jannali didn't open the door, he slipped in with his typical grace and stayed against the flowered walls. Jannali was nowhere to be found—the sheers were drawn over the windows, and the pretty sofas in the sitting-room held a slew of books. For how much she supposedly hated reading, Jannali had many tomes lying around. Quite expensive ones, Marrok might add. Genevieve would have loved to get her hands on them.
He passed by a large mirror on the far wall and did a double-take. It was the one from the chapel's antechamber. He personally hated the thing—Marrok preferred simplicity, and the complicated frame proved to be quite an eyesore. He could hear soft humming from around the corner, and he gripped the notebook like a vice.
Jannali sat on a ruffled tabouret, running a brush through her long brown hair. Marrok's eyes widened as he took her in, dressed in nothing but a thin silk robe that didn't leave much to the imagination. Her hands, swathed in warm tan skin, sported sharp nails that could be seen even from where Marrok hid behind the wall. She continued to hum a charming little ditty as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Marrok could see her angular face staring back at him through her reflection, and she grinned.
His heart crawled through his throat and threatened to fall out of his mouth. Jannali stood and glided over to him. "Why, Your Highness...I wasn't expecting a visit from you," she said with unmistakable huskiness to her voice.
It took Marrok a moment to swallow back his fear and desire. "I ask that you refrain from leaving your belongings everywhere in the palace." He held out the notebook, and Jannali took it without breaking eye contact.
Marrok nearly doubled over. Her eyes, through her long lashes, were a rich onyx colour, thick like tar. Her chestnut hair fell in waves around her cheeks. Her mocking smile, her tender voice, her sweet scent...
New Fish.
He charged away from her, his blood flowing like molasses. "Stay away from me."
"Your Highness?" Jannali listed her head, revealing her elegant neck, not unlike a swan's.
"I'll have you arrested." He gripped her bioelectricity and she froze, rooted to the spot. Jannali's crimson lips curled into a smirk. "Don't come any closer."
The princess retaliated with her own glamour and forced him to his knees. Marrok forced himself to stare at her as she slowly back away. Her hips swayed seductively. "Why don't you stay for a while, New Fish?" Ugly J tittered, draping herself on a white divan.
