"Be careful, Phèdre," he said softly.
"I am always careful," I retorted, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
He smiled faintly. "You were not careful with Lord d’Essoms, and you will not be careful with Melisande. You could lose yourself in her, I have seen it. And she knows what we are."
I tucked a stray curl into the mesh. "I am for Prince Baudoin this night. You know that."
Alcuin shook his head. "She will be there. It is his pleasure to have her present, in the bedchamber. I have heard it. Melisande Shahrizai is the goad to Baudoin’s desire."
The thought of it made my heart quicken, but I took care not to show it. "I will be careful," I promised. And then the coach arrived, and we spoke no more of it. Alcuin accompanied me downstairs, where I presented myself for Delaunay’s inspection.
"Very nice," he murmured, settling my sangoire cloak on my shoulders and pinning it for me. "A member of the house of Delaunay with a Prince of the Blood. Who would have thought it?" He smiled, but there was a reserve to his tone I didn’t understand. "I shall be proud of you." He kissed me on the brow. "Be well."
Safe in the assurance of his blessing, I went out to meet Melisande’s coach, Guy trailing me like a shadow.
I do not know how many properties Melisande Shahrizai owned, but one of them was a house in the City. I had supposed it would be close to the Palace, but it was in a quiet section near the outskirts of town, a rich little gem of a house surrounded by trees. Later I learned that she had quarters in the Palace itself. This was where she went when she wished to entertain in private; for her own sake as well as Prince Baudoin’s.
I was not sure what kind of reception to expect, but when her servants ushered us into her home, Melisande welcomed me like a guest.
"Phèdre," she said, giving me the kiss of greeting. "I am pleased you accepted. You know my lord Prince Baudoin de Trevalion?"
I looked past her and saw him, and made a curtsy. "I am honored, my prince."
He came forward and took my hands, raising me. I remembered how he had swept me into his arms at the Midwinter Masque. "It is my honor, to receive such a gift," he said, and looked past me to smile at Melisande. "One so touched by the hand of Elua’s Companions."
Melisande returned his smile, laying a hand lightly on my shoulder. Caught between the two of them, I trembled. "Come," she said. "We would have you play for us while we dine. Is that acceptable?"
I made myself nod. "It would be my pleasure."
She turned to a servant. "Attend to Messire Delaunay’s man, and see that he is well quartered. We will adjourn to the table."
Although I was trained to it, it had been some time since I had been asked to play for a patron’s pleasure. I saw clearly enough what was intended as I accompanied them; the velvet hassock and the lap-harp made it plain. I sat and took up the harp, playing softly while they dined. It was strange, to be welcomed as a guest, then ignored in such a manner. Servants in the black-and-gold Shahrizai livery moved smoothly and silently, serving an array of savory dishes. Melisande and Baudoin ate and bantered in low tones as they dined, speaking as lovers will, of inconsequential things. I played, feeling very odd indeed.
When they had finished and the dishes were cleared, Melisande ordered a third glass of wine poured and dismissed the servants. "Phèdre, join us," she said, setting the glass at Baudoin’s elbow. "Drink."
I set down the harp and rose obediently, coming to stand next to him. I tasted the wine, and it was very good; subtle and spicy, with an undertone of currants and rich earth.
"So you were raised at Cereus House," Baudoin mused, grey eyes beginning to gleam. His hands encircled my waist and he lifted me to his lap effortlessly, so smoothly my wine didn’t even spill. He was a trained warrior, and strong as steel with it. "Will you squirm with discomfort, then, like the adepts of that House, to be so treated?"
"No, my prince." His hands were at my hips now, pressing down. Beneath layers of cloth-of-gold and his velvet breeches, I could feel his phallus stir against my buttocks. My breath caught in my throat.
"Phèdre is an anguissette, my prince." Across the table, Melisande’s face shone by candlelight, fair and beautiful and heartless. "If she squirms, it is not with discomfort."
"It is hard to fathom." He ran a hand up my body to cup my breast, squeezing it. My nipple hardened against his palm. "But you speak the truth," Baudoin said to Melisande, pinching my nipple. I gasped at the bolt of pain, rocking back against him. "And you’ve attired her fit for a prince." He transferred his hand to my hair, digging his fingers into the gold mesh and drawing my head back. I felt his mouth at my bared throat, sucking at my flesh. "Shall I have her for dessert?" he asked, lifting his head and laughing.
Melisande shrugged, sipping her wine and watching, cool and lovely. "You have all night, my prince; this is not dessert, but only the first course. Have her here at the table if you wish."
"So I shall," he said, smiling at her. "For I’ve a wish to see if this desire is truly unfeigned."
And with that he rose, pushing me down across the table and lifting my skirts. With one hand at the back of my neck, he kept me effortlessly in place as he undid his breeches. My cheek was pressed hard against the white linen that covered the table; all I could see was my overturned goblet of wine, and the pale red stain of wine seeping across the tablecloth as he thrust himself into me.
Baudoin de Trevalion was no green lad, and he had had years of training at Melisande Shahrizai’s hands. If I hoped he would spend himself quickly and hasten an end to my humiliation, I hoped in vain. I closed my eyes and whimpered as he moved inside me with long, slow strokes. "Truth again, my lady," I heard him say above me, laughter and astonishment in his voice. "She is hotter than Camael’s forge inside, and wetter than Eisheth’s tears."
A chair scraped and I heard Melisande rise, knew by the rustle of clothing that she had come around to stand behind him. I could hear her hands slide over the breast of his doublet and knew that she whispered at his ear. "Do it hard, my love," her rich voice breathed. "I want to watch you make her spend."
Tears trickled from beneath my closed lids as he laughed, obeying her order, bringing me to the brink of pleasure with fierce, hard thrusts.
"Mmm." Melisande’s voice, low with approval. "My love, you do well." She touched my cheek, grazing it with her fingertips, and gave the command coolly. "Now, Phèdre."
I obeyed without volition, shuddering at the force of my climax and crying out. Baudoin laughed again and thrust once more, twice, letting himself spend.
"Ah," he said, withdrawing from me. "We should have one of these, my lady. Shall we buy one at market, do you think?"
Relieved of his weight, I straightened slowly, turning to meet Melisande’s amused eyes. "You will not find one such as Phèdre, my prince," she assured him. "And her service is pledged only to Naamah and Anafiel Delaunay. But come, you have tasted only the smallest part of what it is to have an adept kissed by Kushiel’s Dart. If you would know the full of it, the night lies at our disposal. Unless you wish to give the signale?" she added wryly, addressing the last to me.
"My lady knows I do not," I said softly. I did not care how skilled a lover Baudoin de Trevalion was; he would never hear the signale spoken from my lips. Nor, while she served his pleasure, would Melisande Shahrizai. If she could wait, so could I. That much, I vowed to myself.
Melisande laughed. "Well, then," she said, going to the far doors and flinging them open. "We shall play."
Beyond the dining hall lay a pleasure-chamber. Through the door, I could see it bathed in firelight, cushion-strewn, with a complete flagellary and a wooden wheel with manacles, an exact replica of the one I had seen in the halls of Valerian House. Baudoin looked at Melisande and smiled.