Demon Prince of Mangala Ch. 05

She looked across at Yelena, who looked as confused as she felt. Vasily was looking at Leonid curiously.

"Please, Princess." Piotr said. "It is really important, Lord Prince Andrey told me to tell you that you are in his debt. He promises that he will see you later. Please?"

Nataliya glanced again at Yelena. She shrugged, holding Vasily's arm, a frown on her forehead. "You are in his debt... Perhaps this clears that obligation?" Yelena said.

"It seems that I have little choice," Nataliya said, quietly, feeling defeated. "Tell the Lord Prince that I am obedient to his whim on this occasion, but I owe him nothing after this."

Piotr sighed with relief. "Thank you, Princess."

"Come, then, Prince Leonid, escort me to dinner." She held out her hand, taking Leonid's hastily offered arm.

"Of course, Princess. It is my duty and my pleasure," he said, his voice more assured than his looks. In fact, he looked a little too pleased, she thought.

******

Although the surroundings were as opulent as she'd come to expect from the ruling family - the curving ceiling painted in a magnificent fresco depicting colourful scenes from the mythology of the Nine, the whitewashed walls between the arched windows rich with gold decoration - dinner at the dacha was a less formal affair than at the Azarov Kremlin. The buzz of conversation was louder, the sound of laughter from the guests less restrained and a quartet were playing cheerful music from a stage at the room's rear.

This informality didn't, however, prevent the four of them being seated at the far end of the room from Prince Andrey's high table. If one was needed, it was a further reminder to Nataliya of the gulf between them - further stoking her despondency. She stared moodily at the seat where Andrey would be.

"So, Prince Leonid, tell me of yourself," Yelena said, breaking the silence once they were seated.

"There is not much to tell, Princess," he said, his voice even, his eyes glancing between her and Vasily. "I am the youngest son of the Karzhov family. We are a minor house not unlike your own, our lands not far from Lord Prince Andrey's dacha. As is typical amongst the minor families, my two older brothers will likely inherit the estate and our mine holdings in the wastes and I'm afraid that I shall have to find my own career - like Prince Vasily, here." He nodded toward him.

In contrast to the Kremlin dinner the crowd here was younger, Nataliya noticed, mostly female - escorted by male relatives or chaperones from their house soldiery - though not exclusively. It was an obvious opportunity for those looking to marry into the ruling family, or indeed, amongst the lesser families. It certainly wasn't what she'd imagined when Andrey had asked her to dinner. Was he expecting her to compete?

Looking around the tables she recognised many of the house insignia, picking out a few of the individuals nearer the top table: Princess Evgeniya Shulgina, blond hair in ringlets, pretty but slightly stupid; Princess Tamara Yazova, black hair to contrast with her green eyes, rich, beautiful, ambitious and clearly seeing herself as a prospect for Andrey's eye. There were others, all less well known to her, but all closer to the man she'd come to see than she was. She sighed.

"And what career do you choose, Leonid?" Vasily said, unconsciously rubbing the four stars of the captain's rank pinned to his collar. Yelena beamed at him, watching Nataliya from the corners of her eyes.

Leonid looked down, blushing slightly. "I am drawn to the service of the Nine," he said confidentially.

"Oh, which one?" Yelena asked.

At that moment the door at the head of the room was opened and Prince Andrey entered, a beautiful blond woman in a black dress on his arm.

For a second Nataliya was so stunned that she forgot to stand, staring wide-eyed at the strange woman occupying the spot she thought she was going to be in. Belatedly, she forced herself to her feet, noticing the golden collar of a slave about the woman's delicate throat. It made her feel marginally better, but not a lot. She was far too pretty to be anything other than a body slave - something that inspired rather ambivalent feelings in her, much to her own discomfort.

Then there was Andrey. Right up until the moment she saw him she'd found herself stoking her resentment, feeding the fears that he was only using her, that she was no more to him than a distraction, a girl to be used and discarded. Right up until she saw him.

The moment he'd walked in - not even glancing in her direction, she'd noticed - she didn't care. Her heart had jumped so much when she saw him that she'd had to stop herself from gasping - her heart aching just with the sight of him. Although she hated herself for it, she didn't care if he was using her - she would have given anything just to be with him, to feel his arms around her again. From that moment onward, nothing else mattered.

Once Andrey sat the rest of the room followed, the slaves and servants starting the service of the first course. Nataliya found herself almost physically unable to stop staring at him, him and the slave with him.

"Leviathan," Leonid said, as they were served, the plates clattering a counterpoint to the resurgent conversation.

"Oh? Remind me which family's patron he is..." Yelena said, waving her hand in front of Nataliya's face.

"Jimenez," Leonid said, smiling as Nataliya shook herself, looking away from Andrey with obvious effort. "They are the ruling family on Shukra."

Yelena nodded politely. "So will you be leaving to take service with them?"

"Possibly. I have petitioned the Lady Princess Ilsa and Lord Prince Mikhail for permission. It's a long process before I can even attend the college on Shani, longer again before I could become a Guide." He shrugged.

"How do your family feel about it?" Nataliya asked, her eyes slipping unconsciously back to Andrey.

Leonid grimaced. "I think they're just glad that I'm not expecting them to support me..."

Yelena glanced at Nataliya. She was staring at Andrey again, a wistful, lost expression on her face. She sighed, she had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

******

If Alexander the Butcher didn't skin her alive, Katerina thought, she was willing to take odds on the Princess Nataliya Fyodorvna doing the job.

All through dinner Nataliya had glared at her jealously, her patent dislike burningly obvious to her. Andrey had seemed oblivious, only stoking the flames higher by his attentiveness to her, to every nearby girl - to every girl but Nataliya, it seemed. She'd wanted to scream: 'I'm just his slave, don't hate me!' But it seemed that her possession of the seat at Andrey's side had singled her out in the eyes of more than just Nataliya.

She had picked at her food all through dinner, aware not only of Nataliya's personal enmity, but also the speculative glances, the whispered comments of the other women at the table - nearly all younger daughters of highborn families, girls who might be prospective brides. Worse, Andrey had made her wear the damned golden collar of a slave, a gesture she understood - it signalled that she was not a prospective bride, signalled his availability - but which she resented, which had made her both angry and upset.

They'd argued, of course - he'd been reasonable, up to a point - but she still wore it. As a consequence she'd ignored him through dinner, though he barely noticed. Unfortunately, ignoring him had meant that she had become acutely aware of everybody else - looking at her, assessing her, judging her.

Finally she'd been driven to stare back, lifting her chin combatively - yes, I do sleep with him, okay? Like you don't want to, she'd thought - somehow she couldn't meet Nataliya's eyes, though. There was an irony in that, she realised: Nataliya envied her her position at Andrey's side while she in turn would have given almost anything to have had Andrey chase her as a free woman, not his bound slave.

Finally, eventually, as if in belated answer to her prayers, dinner had broken up and the guests had made their way into one of the dacha's three ballrooms - the middle sized one, its marble floor and golden chandeliers only moderately ostentatious. Here an orchestra had initiated proceedings with well known and lively dances and she'd finally been released from her duty.

"I will have Piotr bring you some food, Katya," Andrey said, drawing her aside. "I noticed that you ate hardly anything at dinner."

Privately she was surprised and pleased that he'd noticed, but she shrugged dismissively. "Please, Master," she said coldly, "don't trouble yourself over your slave."

He winced. "Katya, I didn't want to do it... You know that," he said quietly, reaching around her neck and unfastening the collar, his fingers like silk on her skin. She had to stop herself pressing against them. "What options have I been left with?"

"You could have taken someone else... That Tamara was looking at you with inviting eyes all through dinner, or were you too busy ogling the brown haired girl at the back to notice?"

"Katya..." he said, his voice determinedly reasonable. "If I had taken anyone else to the dinner there was every chance that they would have suffered the same fate I'm trying to protect Nataliya from. You know that..."

She shrugged again. "I know that, Nataliya doesn't. If her face is anything to go by, you've got your work cut out making it up to her," she said, smiling bitterly. "Of course, you don't need to make it up to me - I'm just your slave..."

Andrey winced again. "Piotr, please escort the Lady Katerina to her room. Place a guard on it - for her protection," he said, staring at her, willing her to be reasonable. "And arrange for the kitchen to provide some food, she hasn't eaten this evening."

"At once, Lord Prince."

Katerina inclined her head slightly. She knew she was being a little unreasonable. He was under a lot of pressure and she wasn't helping him much, but the collar thing had really upset her - made her aware of her status in a way she hadn't been before. Still, as she walked away, an armoured soldier at her side, she felt stung by guilt. After a few steps she stopped, turned to face him. Andrey was looking back at her, his face thoughtful, guarded. For a moment she watched him, unable to read his expression but suddenly aware of how vulnerable they both were.

"Andrey, thank you, for the food," she said, finally. An olive branch. "I haven't forgiven you, but I will... Okay?"

For a moment longer he watched her, then he inclined his head, a brief smile sliding over his face. "Thank you...slave," he said, his voice light.

This time she laughed, a low, bitter chuckle, before she turned away, allowing Andrey's bodyguard to lead her off.

******

As with dinner, so with the dance, Nataliya thought. The four of them found themselves huddling together at the back of the room while the daughters of more senior families monopolised Andrey's time.

By the time Tamara had claimed her third dance, Andrey leading her gracefully about the dancefloor - she looking altogether too triumphant and he too happy for Nataliya's eyes - Nataliya had slumped into a chair in the shadows at the back. It may not have been the worst night of her life, but it felt like it. It took all her self-control not to start crying. Yet, somehow, despite Yelena's urging, she couldn't bring herself to leave - no matter how horrible it was to watch, leaving would take her further away from him and that was worse.

"They make a nice couple, don't they," Leonid said, watching the two of them moving easily about the floor, smiling confidentially at one another. Nataliya shrugged, withdrawing further into the chair.

Yelena glared at him. "Depends on whether you like stupid rich girls, I suppose," she said loyally.

"Tell me, Leonid, how did you get to escort Nataliya this evening?" Vasily asked, at last broaching the subject they'd all sidestepped at dinner.

"I was asked to do it by Kapitan Ivolgin, on the Lord Prince's request," he said. "I owed Andrey a debt - he sponsored my petition to House Azarov."

"I see. Do you know why?"

"No. He just said to escort you," he said, nodding at Nataliya who was lost in her private misery. "Not that I mind, although you were obviously expecting the Lord Prince. I must be a poor substitute."

"Do you know what happens next?" Yelena asked, sitting next to Nataliya.

Leonid looked over at Andrey once again, watching him for a few moments. "Yes," he said. "When Piotr tells me, I'm to take you for a romantic walk. After that, I don't know."

Nataliya looked up. Somehow a romantic walk was not what she wanted right then. Maybe Yelena was right, maybe they should retire early, leave in the morning, forget Andrey, forget the damned Azarovs altogether.

"A romantic walk?" Yelena said.

"Yes, I am to take the princess to the upper ballroom to meet the Lord Prince, though I can't explain the need for this subterfuge."

For the first time, Nataliya looked up, her face pathetically hopeful, Yelena thought. On the dancefloor Andrey was still with Tamara, the pair of them sweeping easily about the room. She seemed quite possessive - holding his arm in a proprietorial manner, glaring at other women who dared to seek his attention. As far as she could tell, Andrey hadn't even glanced at Nataliya all evening.

"Natasha?" she said, looking at her.

Nataliya shrugged. "I've waited this long, put up with...this, so far. Why not?"

"Okay, but Vasily and I are coming with you," she said, brooking no argument.

Nataliya nodded, smiling.

******

He could sense Tamara's eagerness, her willingness as he led her around the floor. The dances were familiar, elegant and she was a good dancer but it was more than that.

As they danced she held herself as close to him as she could without fracturing the rather flexible rules of propriety, closer than the more formal dances of the Kremlin would allow, taking every opportunity to press herself against him as she moved.

She was startlingly pretty, her dark hair tied in a braid, her green eyes shining - an attractive contrast with her pale skin, her slightly flushed cheeks - and her parents would encourage her to seek him as a match. He would be a strong marriage for a senior, ambitious, family like the Yazovs.

There was a danger here for them both. In his currently exposed position he couldn't afford to upset her, or her family, but if he allowed it to look as if she was important to him she would be at risk of collecting Lord Prince Mikhail's suspicions. And his wrath.

When the dance ended she showed a determined lack of willingness to release his arm, clinging to him as he led her from the floor.

"Thank you for the dances, Highness," she said, looking up at him, smiling. She had dimples, he noticed.

"My pleasure, Princess," he said, watching from the corner of his eyes as his bodyguards and hers moved to follow them as they left the floor. "Shall we take some air?"

"Highness."

Beyond the dacha it was full dark, the twin moons bright and high in the sky, bathing everything in a spectral light. In a few days they would be full, he thought, always an auspicious time.

The air was rich with the smell of blossom, the earthy scent of the gardens, the surrounding woodlands - pleasantly cool after the heat of the day but not cold. Over everything the chirrupping of cicadas was a constant, a backdrop to the sound of other animals, the call of night birds.

Although it was dark the gardens were brightly lit, coloured lanterns picking out the twisting paths, others hanging from trees or set low on the ground. Unbidden, Tamara slipped her hand into his, walking easily alongside him. He smiled, few were as easy or familiar with him. The Yazov family must be really pushing the match.

"Is this your dacha, Highness?"

"No. In fact it belongs to my brother, Prince Vasily Mikhailovich," he said, walking slowly, her arm against his. "My own dacha is far more modest - further west and south than this - more a retreat than a palace."

For a moment she was silent, walking with him, their feet crunching gently on the gravel path, echoed by the guards following discretely behind.

"I would very much like to see it, Highness."

He looked down at her. "Then I shall arrange for an invitation, Princess," he said easily.

She smiled happily, dimples showing on her cheeks. This one was going to be dangerous, he thought.

At the centre of the garden was a large juniper, its dark branches hung with a multitude of coloured lanterns. Set at its base was a low stone bench, facing back toward the dacha. They sat together, sheltered beneath the tree - leading to a moment of farce as their combined bodyguards struggled to get out of their line of sight, while they conspired not to see them. Across the garden the dacha glittered like a jewel, blazing with a thousand lanterns, with myriad chandeliers - its every window ablaze.

"The dacha looks beautiful from here," she said, shivering theatrically against him. "All lit up like that."

Smiling lightly he slipped his jacket off, draping it over her. She didn't miss the chance to cuddle in close against him, slipping under his arm. "Not as beautiful as you, Princess," he said, rubbing her gently through the jacket. Where was Piotr?

She snuggled closer, looking up at him, her eyes wide. "Thank you, Highness, that was sweet."

In the distance he saw Piotr approaching through the gardens, his feet crunching on the gravel. When he reached them he bowed briefly. "Lord Prince, Princess," he said, nodding in turn.

"What is it, Piotr?"

"Highness, I apologise for disturbing you but I must speak with you urgently. In private."

Andrey sighed. "Of course, Kapitan. Will you excuse me, Princess?"

She was looking daggers at Piotr but when she turned to him her face was composed once again. "Of course, Highness. I shall look forward to receiving my invitation... Until next time, then?"

"Yes, until next time," he said, bending and kissing her on the lips.

As he'd anticipated, she responded enthusiastically - opening her mouth and pressing her tongue into his. For a second his tongue twisted in her mouth, his demonic soul uncoiling within him, reaching for her. He allowed it to shiver lightly through her body - the merest trickle but he felt her gasp, her hands clutching at him - then he withdrew, composing himself with a mischievous smile. "Good evening, Princess."

She smiled up at him - eyes shining, face flushed, a little breathless - but somewhat like the cat that got the cream, he thought.

******

Watching Andrey leaving the building arm in arm with Tamara was an agony for Nataliya. First the slave now the rich bitch, she thought. The one consolation she had was that the evening couldn't possibly get worse.

It seemed that every second was an eternity after that. With the plan being to meet Andrey, it seemed obvious that their summons would come after he left. When the clock showed he had been gone ten minutes, Nataliya started to imagine all sorts of unpleasant scenarios. By the time it reached twenty, Yelena had to physically stop her biting her nails, but her teeth still worried at her lower lip.

Finally, at forty minutes, some unseen cue prompted Leonid to turn to the three of them, asking whether they would like to take a walk.

Yelena sighed with relief. "Thank God for that, you're driving me mad, Natasha."

"Sorry, Lena, it's just..." she said, shrugging.

Yelena smiled softly. "I know, I just hope his explanation is good..."

Once again Nataliya took Leonid's proffered arm, struggling to look romantically inclined. All of a sudden she felt nervous, sick - and angry.

Leonid led them from the ballroom, passing through a wooden door into the central hallway. Here four massive chandeliers hung down from the high ceiling, a centrepoint to the wrap around staircase and balcony above. Although quiet after the noise and bustle of the ballroom there were a few guests present - couples in uniform nursing drinks, others passing between the gardens and hallway through the thick front doors - a buzz of conversation filling the room.