THE IMPALER'S WIFE

19

I am Artemis, goddess of the hunt, my body swathed in white linen and laced with silver cords that hug my curves. I sling the basket of quivers over my shoulder and adjust the laurel wreath circling my head. Bernádett did a wonderful job weaving my braids with shimmering ribbons.

My glittering costume matches my sparkling mood. Aunt Orsulya says I glow. Happiness does that!

Keeping such a delicious secret makes me ravenous and so I savor every mouthful of fish soup, fig-stuffed pork, spiced swan, honeyed lamb, and apple crepe.

Even the music is sweeter. The minstrel's songs about love and honor make me by turns blush, giggle, and sigh. My happiness soars to such heights not even the thespians' anemic version of the passions of Christ mars my mood.

Yet nothing compares to dancing with my betrothed. Vlad's eyes are alight with innuendo as I melt into his arms. When his hand closes around mine to spin me around, I imagine his hand other places, shameful places. When his cheek brushes against mine, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his lips on mine, to taste—

"Thinking about our wedding night?" Prince Vlad dances me toward a shadowed alcove.

The tips of my ears burn with embarrassment. "I was thinking of a Bible verse."

Prince Vlad quirks an eyebrow. "Which book?"

"One from the Song of Solomon," I giggle.

Vlad presses his lips to my ear. "How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love for delights! This thy statue is like a palm tree, and thy breasts to cluster of grapes." His gaze drops to my heaving bosom. "I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples; and the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak."

His recitation is thick sweet cream pouring over my body, lusty images dripping down my skin, and soaking my maidenhead.

"Solomon was a lustful king." My voice is husky.

"And most beloved by God." Vlad bends over my hand, the raven-feathered plumes on his costume tickling my skin. "The next forty days will pass with tedious slowness." His lips whisk across my hand with the lightness of a breeze. "My beloved, I hate to leave your side, but our intimate proximity conquers my honor in ways I am loath to defend." He spins about and disappears into the crowd.

Margit, dressed as the pagan Earth Mother, Boldogasszony, sashays toward me in a daringly draped fabric bedecked with foliage and flowers.

"Prince Vlad left you alone." Margit adjusts a flower above her breast. "Your charms must no longer charm."

I shrug and feign indifference. If only I could slap that smug grin off her face.

Margit plucks an arrow from my basket and taps the point. "You are Artemis to Vlad's Apollo, brother and sister. How prophetic." She pokes the arrow into my side.

I flinch but do not step away. "You are very dull this evening."

Margit snaps the arrow in half, drops it to the ground, and stomps away.

I leave the party soon after Aunt Erzsébet—inspired by her always well-timed exits—and return to my room.

A young ladies' maid, twelve-years at most, leaps from the chair. "My lady, Bernádett has not yet returned."

I had given Bernádett the evening off.

"Good. She deserves some fun." I turn my back to let her unlace my dress.