Asteria - In Love with the Prince Page 8

  Until now.

  I thought back to the embassy and to his room at the hotel. It had felt like I was slipping into something familiar. What the hell did that mean?

  I wondered what he’d make me do, the next time we were together. Whether it would be on his bed, or somewhere else. Whether he’d make me strip for him again, first. Would it be darker? Would there be pain?

  I became aware of my hand. I wasn’t rubbing myself, but my hand was suddenly resting on my inner thigh.

  I’d never really liked my body: breasts too small, hair too dark. But when he looked at me, I felt...beautiful. I thought of his eyes; the way they shone when he gazed at me.

  If I were his slave, I’d have to do anything he said. And this time, the idea didn’t seem so disturbing.

  A low, twisting heat had started to build between my thighs, and the hand that was down there started to stray, brushing over my lips just below the surface of the water. Anything he said. What would that involve? Pain? Being tied up? I imagined myself naked, tied with rope to the four corners of his giant bed. Helpless and waiting. My fingers were stroking my lips; between my lips. I still hadn’t seen him naked – not even close to it. I imagined his body on mine, sliding up between my thighs.

  I was still underwater, just my nose above the surface as my hips started to lift and circle. My other hand came up to caress my breasts: something I’d never done, before I met him.

  I imagined him hulking over me, something in his hand that would cause me pain: a whip, a paddle. Me shuddering beneath him as he brought it down on me again and again.

  I suddenly sucked in air hard through my nostrils, my body going tense. My feet pushed into the bottom of the bath and my back bent like a bow, water dripping from my mons as I arched and shook.

  The idea of women being owned horrified me.

  But the idea of me being owned by Jagor...

  ***

  Two days passed. I spent most of my time in my room, translating treaties. It was a luxurious life, compared to the UN: heck, compared to anything. Every meal was served out on the terrace, with glorious views and fine wine to accompany the five-star food. My clothes were laundered, ironed and returned; my room was cleaned for me. I was free to concentrate on my work, and that seemed to be going well.

  The only problem was the lack of privacy. Jagor was out most of each day, and around the hotel Medenko and the others were ever-present. I began to despair of ever getting a moment alone with him.

  Then on the third day, I woke to a quiet knock at my door. Jagor? I panicked and looked for something to throw on. I’d been sleeping in just panties, due to the heat. I grabbed the hotel bathrobe, checked my hair in the mirror – awful – took a deep breath and threw open the door.

  It was a waiter, bearing a breakfast tray. Beside the food was an envelope, the Asterian crest in one corner and my name in elegant, looping handwriting across the front.

  I thanked the waiter, took the tray and shut the door with my foot. Flipping the envelope over, I found a red wax seal. He actually sealed his letters: who did that, these days? It seemed endearingly old-fashioned and somehow decadent, that he’d devote so much time and effort to something so simple.

  Lucy,

  I will be attending an event today. I would like you to become familiar with basic Asterian law: Medenko has a number of books that you should read. I will meet you in town tonight at 9pm to review what you’ve learned. There will be a delivery for you at some point this morning: this contains some additional treaty paperwork from Asteria. Please bring it when you meet me this evening: you will not require any of the other treaties.

  He’d signed it “Jagor”, but it was incredibly formal. Why was he suddenly all business?

  He was avoiding any evidence that we were lovers, I realized. What was he worried about: that someone would read his private mail and discover us; or that I’d run to the press with the story? Did he not trust me?

  Breakfast was grapefruit, eggs and toast, with a pot of very good coffee. I hadn’t ordered anything. The idea of Jagor choosing for me held a whole new significance since our conversation in the limo.

  When I’d eaten, showered and dressed, I went to see Medenko about the books. He’d taken over one of the hotel’s function rooms as his office: just a single desk in the middle of a cavernous space.

  “The Prince would like me to review basic Asterian law,” I told him.

  “Yes,” Medenko said, as if the idea displeased him, “He mentioned that.” I found him incredibly hard to read. He was always scrupulously polite, but I knew he considered me beneath him – certainly beneath the Prince. There was something else: something in the way he looked at me. He waved me to a chair. “We haven’t had a proper chance to talk. Come, sit with me.”

  Every nerve jumping, I sat down. Medenko leaned back, lacing his fingers. He moved very gracefully for someone so old: slowly and smoothly, with just a hint that he might suddenly dart forward and wring your neck. He put me in mind of a praying mantis.

  “How are you finding it?” Medenko asked. “Working with the Prince?”

  Something about the way he said working made me jump to attention. Did he know?

  “Very—Excellent, thank you,” I managed. Was it just my paranoia? “Finally, I get to use my Asterian.” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

  He ignored it.

  “How long have you served the Prince?” I asked.

  “Since he came of age,” Medenko told me, without emotion. “And his father, before that.”

  I’d known that Medenko had a lot of pull, but maybe I’d underestimated how much. “You must know him very well.”

  His smile had no warmth in it. “The Prince is...very different to his father. His father was traditional. He shied away from foreign diplomacy. He preferred to pursue...internal relationships.” He stared straight into my eyes. “Jagor, however, has set his sights further afield.”

  My hands were resting neatly on my lap. I willed myself not to dig my nails into my knees. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” He furrowed his brow. “It concerns me. The Asterian people are not fond of change. They would be distressed if they thought that their prince was engaged in inappropriate relationships. With the US, for example.” His eyes flicked down to my mouth. What was wrong with my mouth? Did I have lipstick on my teeth? God, had he seen my lipstick on Jagor’s collar, or neck, or something?

  I nodded. “I could see how that would be a problem.” I felt like I was going to throw up.

  Medenko leaned forward and gave me an icy smile. “I’m glad you do, Miss Snow. Or can I call you Lucy?”

  I’d gone stiff: brittle, almost, like I’d shatter if I someone so much as touched me. “Lucy is fine.”

  “Excellent. Here are the books the Prince wanted you to look at. I hope you enjoy your introduction to our ways.”

  With a smile that felt painted on, I took the books and fled.

  Back in my room, I tried to concentrate on my reading but my head was full of Medenko. It was obvious that he knew, or at least suspected. But what should we do about it? Call a halt to everything? Ignore him? I wished I could speak to Jagor.

  There were three books. I don’t know what I’d been expecting: a textbook, perhaps: The Complete Beginner’s Guide to Asterian Law. What I’d got were three black, leather-bound volumes, written in language at once archaic and dense with legalese. Picking my way through it was like sieving a muddy river for flecks of gold in the dark.

  Reading it was strange: seeing such completely alien concepts laid down in words was jarring: words like collar and slave market. But it had another effect, too. Seeing it written down made it real: not just some story told by Jagor, possibly exaggerated. This was another country’s culture, staring me in the face. And somehow, the weight of that: of knowing that millions of Asterians lived by this code every day, normalized it a bit.

  I was so absorbed, I almost forgot about the delivery. A courier knocked on my door mi
d-morning with a large cardboard box. It was marked as airmail from Asteria: the sender name sounded like a legal firm.

  Inside, beneath a protective covering of packing peanuts, were four tissue-wrapped packages. Unwrapping them, I found the most decadent lingerie I’d ever seen.

  The first item was small – a pair of tanga-style panties. Black, made of pure silk, the delicate panels trimmed with lace. They were exquisitely made, but what made me gasp was how insubstantial they were: little more than a thin strip of fabric at the front and back and a narrow waistband to connect them.

  The next package was much bigger, and heavier than it looked. Unwrapping it, I found a corset. Not some modern, nylon-and-elastic top in a corset shape: an actual, old-fashioned, metal-boned corset.

  It was black, shot through with spider web-thin lines of shining silver, the firm bones covered with a smooth layer of silk that looked hand-stitched. I held it up in front of me. It covered me from about where the panties would start all the way up to my breasts, which would be lifted and squeezed. I swallowed. There would be a lot of cleavage on display.

  There were laces at the back, threaded through sturdy-looking steel eyelets. I had visions of English ladies being cinched into these things by helpful maids. How was I supposed to do it on my own?

  There were suspenders hanging down, too, ending in shining silver clips. In the box, I found a final package: black, sheer stockings – real silk ones.

  I looked at the label again. It definitely sounded like a law firm. Jagor must have someone in Asteria to do the things he couldn’t: like ordering lingerie for his secret lover. Something twisted in my gut. It was all very slick. Did that mean he’d gone to a lot of trouble, or that he’d done this before?

  I thought back to the letter. There will be a delivery for you at some point this morning: this contains some additional treaty paperwork from Asteria. Please bring it when you meet me this evening. He wanted me to wear this ensemble that night.

  The only problem was, I didn’t have anything to wear it with, unless he intended me to wear it under one of the suits. The dress I’d worn to the casino was far too form-fitting: it would show every line of the corset. I pondered, and re-read the letter.

  You will not require any of the other treaties.

  Oh, great. He wanted me to wear the lingerie and nothing else. I was meant to meet him in town: how was I supposed to reach him, dressed like that?

  Jagor, I was learning, was all about the details. He must have a plan.

  On instinct, I went to the wardrobe. Hanging up next to the suits was a new addition: a raincoat.

  I tried to imagine travelling in one of the black SUVs to meet him with only the coat over the lingerie. Could I refuse: say it was ridiculous; that it was summer? But a glance out of the window revealed that the heat and mugginess of yesterday had finally built into a storm: dark clouds were gathering over the ocean, rolling in towards us. It would rain by this evening, or at least it would be likely enough that a coat wouldn’t be suspicious.

  I imagined Jagor checking the weather forecast a few days ago. Telling his dresser, quite innocently, to make sure a raincoat was in my wardrobe. Ordering the lingerie via his friend in Asteria. The man’s ability to engineer things was incredible: all so he could have me trembling on a knife edge of trepidation and desire. I genuinely had no idea what he was going to do next, which made it all the hotter.

  For the rest of the day I pored over the legal texts. At lunchtime I sat out on the balcony with a salad and an iced tea from room service, and watched the clouds breed.

  At six, Villik came to tell me that Jagor had chosen a meeting place for us.

  “The bar is actually only around the corner,” he told me. “A few minute’s walk.” He looked doubtfully out of the window. “Do you have a coat?”

  “Oh yes,” I said weakly.

  Chapter Seven

  And so, at ten to nine I was standing outside the hotel entrance, an umbrella over my head and a raincoat over my mostly naked body. I’d both buttoned and belted the coat, and it covered me from neck to mid-thigh: there was nothing to suggest that I was in lingerie underneath. That did precisely nothing to comfort me.

  It wasn’t a long walk to the bar, but with every step I could feel my bare thighs rubbing against the thin fabric of the coat; my sex feeling exposed and incredibly sensitive under its thin covering of silk. The storm had unleashed its full force now, the rain not so much falling as smacking violently into the flagstones and bouncing up. I’d worn a pair of the shining, five-inch heels and stalking along the slippery, uneven sidewalk was...interesting. I would have gone sideways a few times if it weren’t for sheer mental will: I knew that if I fell, I’d likely expose my entire lower body as the coat flapped up.

  Then there was the corset. Standing in front of a mirror, I’d worked the thing tighter and tighter, gasping as it cinched my waist in. Even under the coat, my hourglass figure was obvious and the feeling of the thing was impossible to ignore. I felt like I was being squeezed by a lover, my breathing soft and short. I felt powerless, too: I could no longer bend at the waist. If I wanted to pick something up, I had to bend from the hips, thrusting my ass in the air, or squat right down. I could see why men loved them.

  I was scared...yet every step increased my arousal. The feeling of being near-naked in public; the fact that I was having this experience scant feet from oblivious passers-by. Even in the raincoat, the combination of stockinged legs and towering heels meant I attracted quite a few glances from men sheltering in doorways: they didn’t know what I was wearing underneath, but it felt like they did and that made me even hotter.

  The walk must have only taken minutes, but it felt like an hour: by the end of it, I was almost panting, my face flushed and the rising heat inside me beginning to turn to hot, slick moisture. Without the covering of clothes, being turned on like that was itself a turn-on: I could feel myself throbbing, practically in the open air.

  I finally saw the bar and pushed through the double doors. Jagor was standing beside a table at the end, forcing me to walk down the entire length of the crowded room. I had a feeling that was intentional. I could feel heads turning as I walked, my heels clicking loudly on the wooden floor. It was an upmarket place, filled with people in suits sheltering from the rain.

  Jagor smiled as I walked up. “Did you get very wet?”

  I looked behind him. Four bodyguards were standing within earshot.

  “Yes,” I said simply, laying down the umbrella. Not for the first time, I didn’t know whether to hit him or kiss him.

  “Would you be so good as to get a drink for yourself, and for me?” he asked. “Wine, I think. Ask them to recommend something: they have an excellent wine list.”

  The bar hadn’t cleared an area for us as the hotel restaurant had. Jagor had gone low-key, I realized: the bar didn’t know who he was, other than some rich man with guards, and there are plenty of those in Monaco.

  I glanced around. Thanks to the storm outside, the crush at the bar was five deep, the bar staff struggling to cope. Jagor smiled. “You don’t mind, do you, Lucy?”

  I smiled sweetly. “Of course not.” I nearly added “Your Highness”, but stopped myself in time: if he wanted to keep it low key, I’d be low key. He nodded his approval.

  As I looked at the crush around the bar, I realized the low key approach wasn’t coincidence. He hadn’t told the bar who was visiting to ensure the place was heaving. He wanted me to be surrounded by people, knowing I was next-to-naked under the coat. He was putting us – or at least our sex games – ahead of his own safety.

  It also occurred to me that I didn’t have any Euros. I know that seems ridiculous, but we’d swept out of New York in an afternoon, then breezed straight through the airport in Nice, the heliport and then the hotel. I had Jagor’s credit card, but I couldn’t use that if we wanted to remain anonymous.

  Jagor stepped closer and pressed something into my hand. A 100 Euro note. It should have been a s
imple thing, but all I could think about was Asteria. I was standing in a bar, in lingerie, with not a usable cent to my name except what he’d just given me, about to fetch him a drink. I looked into his eyes and he wasn’t just thinking the same thing: he was checking that I was.

  Plunging into the crowd was like pushing off from the side of a swimming pool. I was immersed in flesh, people pushing up against me from every side. Europeans are very relaxed about personal space – French men on the Riviera especially. Only with the other women, they were brushing up against layers: coat, suit, blouse and bra. With me, every brush of an arm or back against my chest was brushing the bare upper curves of my breasts under the thin coat. Every groin that rubbed me from behind was essentially against my naked ass.

  By the time I got to the bar I was twice as flustered and aroused as when I arrived. And thanks to Jagor’s insistence that I ask for advice, I had to stand against the bar for a good few minutes while cursing, frustrated patrons piled up behind me, their bodies molding to mine.

  Even the 100 Euro note and the vast amount of change it required had been designed to prolong my torture, I realized. Then, when I returned to Jagor’s table, a glass of wine in each hand, Jagor suddenly said to one of the guards, “Arno, take Lucy’s coat for her, will you?”

  The bodyguard sprang up to unfasten my coat. For two terrifying seconds as his hands approached, every word of Asterian I’d ever learned vanished from my head. When I managed to speak, I snapped out “I’m fine, thank you!” so fast and violently that he actually took a step back, which Jagor found hilarious.

  When I finally stood at the table and sipped the wine, the relief was glorious: after the walk through town and then the crush at the bar, merely standing there half-naked in public felt almost tame. Was that deliberate? Was he...training me?

  He questioned me, seriously and deliberately, on what I’d learned about Asterian law. I knew the real learning would come later – when he showed me the ways of Asteria in practice.