Page 32 of The Court of Venus

Guiding a drunk Roland down the hall to his apartments was an ordeal. He paused beneath portraits or tapestries he found particularly lovely and stared at them for minutes at a time. He recited a verse into the empty courtyard. I took his cup while he was distracted and left it on a windowsill.

After throwing open the doors to his chambers, his hands slipped back into his hair. The candles were burnt to the quick here, too, the only light streaming from the hearth. “Draw a bath, won’t you, Ed?”

His fingers trailed over the strings of his breeches.

My mouth fell open. Was I meant to undress him? Fill his bath? Empty his chamber pot?

Roland’s eyes narrowed. I saw the suspicion leaping behind them, quick and agile. “What is it?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just—for a moment— Nothing.” I was unsure what Edward would say or do next. I began with removing Roland’s bulky box coat, then his doublet, laying them carefully over a chair by the crackling fire. I didn’t dare breathe or look too long in one place.

On his upper body, Roland wore only a loose linen shirt. I could see his lithe muscles beneath the gossamer fabric, the terrain of his stomach. He shrugged it off and handed it to me. Next came the breeches and hose and boots.

I had seen men before. None looked like Roland did. He rolled his wide shoulders, cracked his neck from side to side. I trained my eyes on his face, then ran off to find a pail of hot water for his tub.

I had been with men before. With some it was a chore. With others, frantic. Stolen time in empty hallways, against doors, in a field of long grass that itched all over for days afterward. I closed my eyes.

The water was heavy; it took a long while to carry it. Roland had turned to watch the fire. Two dimples shone in the small of his back. I averted my eyes again. The water steamed and hissed as I poured it into the bath, thick ribbons of oils slithering through it. “The flowers, Ed,” Roland reminded me.

“Oh. Apologies, Your Grace.”

“In the bowl. On top of the wardrobe.”

“Right. Yes.” I scattered the rose petals in the bath. He sighed as he finally lowered himself in, his arms flexing with his weight. The opaque water swayed near his navel.

He sat luxuriating in the bath until the water was icy, until all the soapsuds and steam had cleared away.

“Ed,” he said softly, finger trailing through the water.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

He opened one eye. “Tell me something.”

I sat fretting on the edge of his bed, glancing out the window. What time was it? Had I missed the Guildford meeting entirely? I should have chosen a different body than Edward’s, one without such a demanding employer as Roland. I had begun gritting my teeth in concentration to avoid slipping back into my true form. “What shall I tell you?”

Roland sank deeper into the tub as he laughed. He flicked water at me, watching with amusement as it struck my face. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t realize?”

My heart dropped into my stomach.

At his smirk, I swore under my breath, stormed over to the chair and threw one of his folded shirts at him. He caught it easily. “I undressed you!”

“I only knew for certain when the water turned cold. Edward always grows impatient; he would have insisted I get out ages ago. And his eyes are hazel, greener around the edges, not brown. So.” He met my gaze. “What are you doing here?”

My face heated. “I planned to join the Guildfords as Edward tonight. This detour was unfortunate.”

He leaned his head back, exposing his throat. For a few moments he stared at me, deep in thought. “What will it take for us to trust one another?”

I tore off Edward’s face and sagged in relief. My hair fell loose down my back, no headdress to contain it. He snorted at the oversized livery I wore. “Covering yourself would be a start.”

He took the shirt I’d thrown at him and arranged it on the surface of the water, so it floated over his lower body. “If you spent time in the Lionessian court, Bianca, you’d become more accustomed to nakedness. It wouldn’t shock you. And you’re the one in my—”

“This wasn’t my intention,” I muttered. “I didn’t look. I swear it.”

A disbelieving eye roll. “You already know factions of the court plot against me. Just the other night, Cecily Guildford suspected she might be pregnant, but this morning she bled, according to Joan, and—”

“You do realize that a woman’s monthly bleed is a private matter?”

“You do realize she is the queen, so it is considered everyone’s matter?”