Devrim's Discipline (Court of Paravel 1)

I make a face in the dark. He’s old enough to be my father, and then some. Worse, he’s a domineering bully and treated me abominably. I shouldn’t be lying here, savoring the memory of his good looks.

Eventually, I fall asleep, and I’m swept away by a dream.

I’m wearing Aubrey’s beautiful pink ball gown, and I’m being whirled in the arms of a man whom I can’t quite see. I can feel him, though. He’s strong and warm beneath my fingers, and he holds me like I’m the most precious treasure.

My mystery man dips his head to inhale the scent behind my ear, sending ripples of sensation down my body. I press myself against his scarlet uniform, as his strong arms tighten around me.

His deep voice curls through me, and his warm lips move against my ear. “Meet me in the room down the hall.”

A languorous feeling fills my body. I’m about to do something forbidden but delicious. I walk out of the ballroom and down the hall. The music and voices recede behind me. The room is richly furnished with sofas clustered around an ornate gold fireplace.

In the darkness, a strong arm encircles my waist and draws my back against a hard chest.

“Good girl,” he breathes, and my lips part in a pant. “Now, bend over the sofa and take your punishment.”

I reach back and cup the nape of his neck, just below the short curls of his steel gray hair. “Yes, Daddy.”

I wake with a start, my eyes springing open. The room is flooded with morning light. I can still feel the sensation of a man holding me against him.

I shudder and swing my legs out of bed. Was I dreaming I was Aubrey? I heard her call the Archduke, Daddy, yesterday, but there wasn’t anything remotely fatherly about his invitation in my dream, and nothing daughterly about the way I was accepting it.

“Thanks, brain,” I mutter, as I scoop my phone up and head to the bathroom. “I really needed more drama and confusion right now.”

I have a text message from Aubrey. I’m so so so so sorry. I can’t believe he did that to you. I want to strangle him.

Yesterday’s humiliation washes over me again. I quickly type a reply. It’s fine. What happened isn’t your fault. Prison probably messed with him.

I sit and think about it for a moment, imagining a cold, proud man like Archduke Levanter locked up in a cell for twenty-seven years. The loneliness. The psychological torture of spending day after day, year after year, locked away, with only your failure to keep you company.

I push these thoughts away. I have no desire to feel sorry for him, and he’s definitely not sitting around this morning feeling sorry for me.

At breakfast, I’m groggy and out of sorts, and Mama won’t stop talking.

“The next stage of our plan is vital,” she says, sorting through her handwritten who’s who at Court and sketches of family trees. I half-listen as she talks me through the next events on the social calendar. “Once our property has been restored, we should think about taking a little holiday. Perhaps to Spain. You father loved Spain.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a mouse run along the skirting board then disappear behind the cupboards. I can’t believe Mama’s talking about holidays when we’re still living like this.

The next evening, I’m dressed in my plain white satin gown, standing at the side of the ballroom. Mama has abandoned me, in pursuit of some old friend or another. The chandeliers are lit and couples are spinning beneath them, in each other’s arms.

My stomach is spinning, too, because, any second now, I’m going to see him.

It’s going to take all my strength not to march across the ballroom and slap his face.

“I’m so sorry.” Aubrey is standing at my elbow, and her pretty face is twisted in anguish.

I’m so thrilled to see a friend that I throw my arms around her and give her the biggest hug that I can manage. “I told you, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault that he’s an ass—that your father reacted that way. I’m just happy to see you.”

“And I you.” When she pulls away, I see her smiling hopefully, as if she was worried I was going to blame her for what happened.

Fresh anger bubbles up in my chest. How dare the Archduke try and keep us from being friends, when we’re both so alone here? “I thought you might not want to be friends with me anymore. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Aubrey leads me over to the refreshments table, where she pours me a glass of punch. “He can do his worst. I’m a grown woman, and I can be friends with whomever I choose.”

“Here, here,” I say, and clink my glass against hers. “Was he like this before he went to prison?”