My Prince

I wasn't sure what she – or any of them – wanted me to do. Their pale skin glittered with sweat from dancing, faces delicately flushed, and not a hair out of place. My latest present, a thin girl strung with ropes of pearls, was draped across my bed. She, like every girl before her, had been plucked from the ballroom under the careful supervision of my mother's watchful eye.

Mother forced one on me every night, but I didn't want them. I only wanted him.

She spotted me between the silk drapes, eyes narrowing with intent, and I fled. I didn't want her hands on me, I didn't want her promises, I didn't want her body; I just wanted them to leave me alone.

In less than three months, the Yule celebrations would begin, culminating in a great ball where Lords and Ladies from across the land would meet, dance and fall in love. I had to decide who I would take, who would hold my arm and dance the night with me. I was expected to choose advantageously, but I refused. I would not be coerced into a relationship I didn't want because of a dance.

I reached the sanctuary of the bathroom. I shoved the stiff bolt shut, listening to the calculated chatter from the ball below me. It was a game; a sick game with a huge prize, and my mother was determined to find the winner. The room below me was filled with pretty, wealthy girls from across the land, smothered in powders and jewels and fine cloth, all of which could be hastily removed should I so desire. But I didn't. I was fully capable of choosing who I wanted, but I wouldn't marry for appearances or money.

The bath had gone cold. A servant had filled it too early, laced it with too much oil, lit too many candles and left too many towels arranged around the ends. As always, it had been prepared for two. I tried to swallow my growing anger and disappointment.

I opened a cupboard, reading the paper labels precariously attached to the tiny jars and bottles. All of them were supposedly aphrodisiacs. I laughed quietly, ripping them from the shelves, half-hearing the tinkle of breaking glass around my feet. I opened the next cupboard, seizing bottles and tearing off the wax seals and pouring away their contents. But it was fruitless. They would be replaced by morning.

I preened for a moment, washing oil off my fingers and running them through my hair, before retreating downstairs to tell my mother that the girl in my room wasn't what I wanted, that I wouldn't marry her, and that I would be retiring before the end of the ball.

That was when I saw him. He stood alone, separated from the nearest crowd of gossips by a small table, the bright light shining on his dark hair. My heart raced as I walked towards him.

"Lord Rochdale," I spoke in greeting, fighting to keep the elation out of my voice.

"My prince," He returned. "It has been too long!" He smiled, the corners of his dark eyes tipping up to follow his mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a group of young women approaching us with hopeful eyes. I chewed my lip, thinking fast.

"Would you like to accompany me to the fencing rooms? We recently had a delivery of fine new rapiers and-" he pressed a finger to his lips, smiling conspiratorially.

"I know. Let's go." He knew full well of my dislike of female company. We had been sparring partners for some years; he was one of the finest swordsmen in the land, and my father had hoped learning the manly art of swordplay would awaken some sort of masculine craving in me. It had, just not for women. Watching his clothes soak with sweat, crystalline beads dripping from his dark hair, casual smile playing across his mouth, they all drove me mad.

But I could never tell him, and he could never know.

He lead and I followed, walking briskly towards the sparring rooms. I had no intention of fencing, and there were no new rapiers, I just wanted to be away from the ball. I shot glances back, making sure my mother hadn't seen fit to send servants after us. She shouldn't have – it is perfectly normal for male friends to want to spend time alone together. She should have no concern. It probably hadn't even crossed her mind.

The sparring room itself was big. The walls were oak panelled, with wide leaded windows and a high ceiling. A case of rapiers lined one wall and body padding was in another. We'd spent hours alone in here, and I wanted to spend many more.

"Lord Rochdale, would you accompany me to the Yule Ball?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I clasped a hand to my mouth and turned away, flushing bright red. How could I have said something so stupid? He would think I was crazy, I was sure. I expected him to march out of the room, slamming the door and swearing never to speak to me again.

But he didn't. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, pulling me back towards him.