A Touch of Poison Page 6

  “Of course! She sent her lady-in-waiting away a few days ago, unfortunately, but—”

  “Oh, did she?” he asked, his smile getting a tad bigger, his gaze still locked on her.

  “Yes, but I’m certain we could find a member of your personal escort or some other chaperone for—”

  “We won’t be needing one of those,” Tremaine interrupted airily.

  “But, Prince Tremaine, such things aren’t—”

  “Oh come now, Bryn!” he sighed in mock disappointment, his smile never losing its arrogantly amused quality. “And we were getting along so well, too. Look, this is a big step up for your kingdom, and the last thing you’d want to do is jeopardize our budding friendship by starting off on the wrong foot, right? I mean, if my future father-in-law doesn’t even trust me to be a gentleman while alone with his daughter, how could he possibly trust me with the responsibility of running our new, unified kingdom?”

  “No, no, you’re quite right,” agreed Bryn hurriedly, his tone so apologetic and subservient that Gwenwyn knew it was an act.

  As if to confirm her suspicions, she caught a glimpse of her father’s half-hidden, knowing smirk out of the corner of her eye. Contrite, accommodating, eager to please… everything he was doing suggested he was a weak king, easily dominated. If this young prince was used to getting his own way, the idea of having a pushover for a father-in-law would be an attractive one.

  It wasn’t as if her father had to worry about her chastity, after all. Not with the enchantment that had been put on her.

  “Indeed,” said the smiling prince. “You’ll find I’m right about most things, actually. Plus, there are the feelings of this lovely young woman to consider. Arranged marriages are hardly romantic, after all.” He gave her another smile that sent another unexpected collection of butterflies fluttering around her stomach. “Handsome I may be, but it’s not fair to expect a girl to fall in love with me at first sight, is it? Why, that sort of thing takes at least an afternoon!”

  Bryn laughed dutifully at that, and Anifail gave the prince a patiently amused smile.

  “Right then. That’s settled,” Tremaine said, turning the full force of his confident grin upon Gwenwyn, and then bowing from the neck. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we? We can escape the company of these dreadfully boring old folk, and you can show me some of this lovely kingdom of yours.”

  He held out his arm for her to take.

  She briefly stared at it, anxious and uncertain, feeling like a trapped animal. Everything was happening too quickly, and she didn’t seem able to stop any of it!

  Not knowing what else to do, and to avoid awkwardness, Gwenwyn took the proffered arm. The two of them then began walking down the garden path, leaving the company of Anifail and her father. She couldn’t see behind her, but she could almost feel her father’s smile upon her back.

  This prince already seemed convinced he’d be marrying her… and even seemed to be looking forward to the prospect. She couldn’t tell him what she was, nor could she show him! Yet if she did nothing and allowed herself to be married to this young prince, it would be the same as murdering him!

  What was she going to do?

  Chapter 6

  “You don’t exactly talk much, do you?” Tremaine said. “A little on the meek side? Perhaps not the sharpest sword in the rack?” Gwen watched speculation settle over his face, and noticed him study her as they walked. “Ah well, no matter; you’re certainly a genius in other ways.”

  What an unbearable, odious toad, she thought.

  The two of them had been walking for nearly half an hour, making their way to where the apple orchard met the horse pasture, and the butterflies had fled Gwen’s stomach long ago.

  What little superficial charm and tact he’d displayed for the benefit of her father had all but evaporated once they’d made their way down the garden path to the edge of the field. His small talk was smugly self-assured, and full of barely concealed innuendo and lewd suggestions that made her wish she could curl her lip in disgust from time to time.

  He also kept accidentally allowing his hand to brush up against the fabric covering her leg, sometimes even going so far as to pat her behind! Her geis would force her to twist away involuntarily any time he attempted to touch her skin, of course, but every time she did he simply laughed and accused her of being coy. Nothing seemed to blunt his enthusiasm.

  And there was the way his gaze crawled all over her. She could almost picture him licking his chops as he was doing it, like a dog eying a steak.

  There was, however, a much bigger problem. Much to her dismay, she discovered she was enjoying everything Prince Tremaine did. Really, really enjoying it.

  She’d never been afforded this kind of attention! Even as she realized how much she loathed this arrogant princeling, she’d feel an unexpected little thrill at some of those hungry looks of his. A couple of times she actually caught herself about to smile.

  Could she be this desperate for human contact? Was she so deprived of attention that she was reduced to welcoming the advances of this ill-mannered pig of a prince? How sad was that?

  Worst of all, none of these unexpected feelings were helping her come up with a way to stop what was happening.

  “Come on, you’ve got to say something, Princess,” Tremaine laughed. “How will I be able to tell you’ve fallen madly in love with me unless you talk to me? Come, I’ve spoken too much already. Tell me more about this kingdom of yours. Or your father — tell me about him. How did he ever become king? The poor fellow seems scared of his own shadow.”

  Gwen took a breath, and wondered what sort of drivel would end up coming out of her mouth this time.

  “We’ve all manner of trade, Sir. Hides, furs and agriculture mostly, but there are some devilishly clever leatherworkers in town as well, with an excellent reputation far and wide.”

  Well, at least she wasn’t talking about the weather.

  “Simple, simple girl,” Tremaine chuckled sadly, looking up into the sky. “All farming and skinning and little else. Still, nothing wrong with that, is there? Much better than knowing a couple of things and being full of yourself all the time. Might even be considered ideal, in some ways.” He looked her up and down. “An empty vessel, just waiting to be filled. With knowledge, I mean.”

  Gwen felt herself blush at that, though she found herself unable to actually sneer at his condescension. His comment did bring up a good point, however; if she was going to make any progress at all here, she’d have to find some way to gain control of the words coming out of her mouth. All of these nothings and pleasantries she spouted weren’t going to dissuade him in the slightest. But how could she say anything else? If the geis kept replacing her actual words with meaningless small talk—

  What if she tried to saying something that was already meaningless small talk? Could she take control of what she was saying then?

  Gwen took a breath.

  “I… have never been… to Bespir,” she managed, her words coming out as though her mouth were filled with marbles. But it worked! She’d meant to say every one of those words, and not a single one had been replaced. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  “You haven’t? Well, to be perfectly honest, the best thing about Bespir,” said Tremaine, favouring her with a wide, toothy grin, “is me. Frightfully dull place when I’m not around. No parties, no banquets...just a gaggle of miners and merchants, servants and shopkeepers. That’s not to say you won’t like it better there, of course.” He sniffed, glancing briefly over their surroundings as they walked down the lush, green horse trail. “It’s certainly an improvement over this place.”

  Okay, she’d managed to get one whole sentence out. If she kept the conversation limited to small talk, she could control what she was saying. How did this help exactly?

  What if her small talk wasn’t really small talk at all? Could her
geis identify the difference? What if she could find a way to bury some sort of hidden meaning into what she said?

  Like dropping hints about what her father was really like? Or maybe arousing the prince’s suspicions a little?

  “Yes,” she said, giving him as significant a look as she could manage. “I’m very much looking forward to leaving this place. Very much.”

  “Oh, believe me, I understand completely. Tell me, does this entire kingdom smell like horse? I’ve been unable to smell anything else since arriving.”

  “Getting away from… things… would be wonderful.”

  “Yes, you said that already.”

  Argh. Of course he wouldn’t delve into what she was saying, or ask what she meant. He didn’t really care in the first place! She had to come up with something else, something that would show him her true nature, warn him off.

  She couldn’t just tell him, obviously, so that was out. The only thing that might grab his attention was to show him, provide a demonstration. How could she do that, though, if the geis prevented her from touching any living thing?

  Mid-step, Gwen had a revelation that was so surprising she almost tripped.

  Living things, Anifail had said! She couldn’t touch anything that was alive!

  What about things that used to be alive? Or were very recently alive? A technicality at best. Still, would the effects of the geis sphere stop her from touching things like that?

  It was worth a shot.

  “I… loved that rose you had, earlier.” Gwen sighed, wistfully looking around the meadow. “I love flowers. So lovely and romantic.”

  The prince picked up on the heavy-handed hint in practically no time.

  “Flowers? Why, say no more, Princess,” he said, walking a handful of steps off the path and bending over to pick some daisies.

  As Prince Tremaine did this, she took the opportunity to peel off the long, silk gloves she wore. She hurriedly tossed them aside and stood there on the path, waiting.

  Tremaine had only picked about five or six flowers before turning and heading back to her. His gaze wandered over her now-bared arms, and his cocksure smile got even wider, as though her gesture meant something. Then, as if remembering he had them, he held out the meagre collection of flowers to her.

  She reached out to take them, hoping for the best. Her fingers wrapped around the stems and leaves, and she pulled them close to her, feeling relief wash over her. She’d done it!

  Making certain the prince watched, she held up the handful of flowers and, slowly and deliberately, she stroked one of the daisy petals with her bared index finger. It immediately changed colour from white to beige, and then to a withered brown. The faintest plume of smoke appeared briefly, and the air smelled of burning leaves and perfume.

  Exultant, she turned to Tremaine to see his reaction. His eyes were narrowed in thought, and he appeared mildly puzzled.

  “Well, that’s certainly odd,” he said, frowning. “Are all of the flowers around here so delicate? Or is it something special about this particular kind?”

  Gwen could only stare at him incredulously as he took a flower from her, peered at it, and then ran his own finger over one of the petals, as though he expected to see the same result. His frown deepened, and he looked back to Gwen with a how did you do that? sort of expression.

  She felt like screaming.

  Well, at least she’d gotten his attention. Still, if she couldn’t explain why her touch did what it did, her efforts might be for naught. He’d simply ask her father about it, and the king would find a way to smooth things over, convince the prince it was nothing — a parlour trick, or some prank she enjoyed playing on guests. The marriage would go on, and Prince Tremaine would be just as dead. She needed to convince him to leave, and in a hurry, without talking to her father first.

  The technicality was key; her geis made it so she couldn’t touch things that were alive, but she could touch flowers once they’d been pulled from the ground because they technically were no longer alive. What about her ability to talk? Could she find a technicality in that?

  Anifail had told her she was limited to polite chit-chat, discussions about the weather, and—

  Idle stories!

  She couldn’t talk about herself at all, of course, but what if she wasn’t talking specifically about herself? What if she were telling him about herself as though it were a story? Would that get around it?

  Gwen took another breath.

  “I like stories, too,” she said, running her finger over the petal of another flower, causing it to darken and smoulder. “There’s this one story I know quite well; it’s about a princess. Her touch was poisonous — everything she touched withered and died.”

  She did it! She’d found a way out of this mess!

  The prince cocked his head, looking confused. He regarded her, and then the flower she held, and his eyes got the tiniest bit wider.

  “You see,” she continued, touching more petals, one after another, “back when she was a baby, her father did something to make her that way, because he planned to kill a certain prince and take over his kingdom. And so, once she was old enough, he arranged a marriage between the two, and he cast a spell on his daughter so she couldn’t tell this prince anything about herself.”

  Tremaine’s eyes went even wider as he watched each petal she touched smoulder and burn. He paled slightly.

  “But the princess didn’t want to hurt anyone, and so she found a way around her father’s spell and even managed to warn the prince right before they were married. The prince, fearing what other things the princess’ father might do, saddled the nearest horse and galloped back to the safety of his kingdom without telling anyone in his entourage he was even leaving.” Another idea came to Gwen, and she added, “Once he was safe, he warned all of the other neighbouring kingdoms about this princess and what she could do, so no other prince would fall victim to her father’s wicked plan.”

  Prince Tremaine stood completely still now, staring at nothing and looking shocked beyond words.

  She’d gotten through! Gwen was so relieved, she actually felt the tiniest bit dizzy.

  They stood in silence on the meadow path, neither saying a word.

  “Is that… do you mean to tell me that—” Tremaine ran his fingers through his hair, his distress now quite plain. “Are you seriously implying that you’re… that if I touch you, I’d—” He looked at the remaining flowers she still held, all of which were wilting. The stems were beginning to give off a faint hissing sound.

  Gwen tried to say yes, but found herself unable. She tried to nod, but her neck wouldn’t cooperate. So, instead, she smiled prettily at him and said, “Would you like to visit our royal stables? We have lovely stables, filled with lots of lovely fast horses.”

  Swallowing nervously, and looking as though he’d just stepped in a nest of vipers, the prince gave Gwen a terse nod of his head.

  “They’re this way. I love horses. Sometimes I feed them apples,” she said, turning back the way they’d come and motioning for him to do likewise.

  Gwen was giddy with relief. She’d foiled her father’s plan to use her to kill the prince! And, if Prince Tremaine did as she hoped and spread the word about her condition, her father wouldn’t be able to spring this particular trap on any other unsuspecting princes, either!

  She looked behind her occasionally as she walked to see how he fared. He still looked thoroughly shaken, and whenever she turned to look at him he’d straighten his posture, and regard her cautiously. Once, a sudden move she made caused him to panic, and he stumbled a little.

  Gwen stifled a giggle. In mere minutes she’d transformed this arrogant princeling from a smugly confident lout to a wide-eyed nervous wreck. Gone were the accidental touches through her dress, the pats on her behind. His eyes no longer prowled hungrily over her, but were instead filled with a
fearful wariness, the sort of look with which Gwen was all too familiar.

  She sighed.

  Even though she’d found a way to do what she’d set out to do, a part of her was still the tiniest bit sad, and was already missing some of the looks she’d been getting from Tremaine this past half-hour. For a few brief, fleeting moments she’d felt like an attractive, desirable young woman.

  Now, given the new looks the prince gave her, she felt more like a monster.

  Chapter 7

  Gwen was once again sitting on her bed, in the familiar confines of her bedroom. She’d been strangely calm these last few hours. Calm, and the tiniest bit elated. She wasn’t sure if this heady feeling of pride was because she’d successfully saved the Prince’s life, because she’d saved her soul, or because she’d thwarted her father. Probably a little bit of all three, now that she’d had time to think about it.

  “Gwenwyn!” her father bellowed from somewhere below. The furious thumps of Bryn’s boots against the stone steps of her tower were quicker than usual.

  Her massive door exploded all the way open, smashing against the stone wall so hard that one of the brass hinge-pins popped off and tinkled musically against the stone floor. The king stormed in shortly after, hair mussed and crown slightly askew. He looked at Gwen, his face a mask of fury.

  “What did you do?” he roared, moving forward threateningly. “Where is Prince Tremaine?”

  Gwen cocked her head at him, somehow managing to retain most of her previous calm. Then, she stood up from the bed and gave him a small curtsey.

  “Your Highness,” she said in a cheerful, upbeat voice. “Lovely weather we’re having today.”

  He stood there staring at her a moment, looking like he was about to explode. Then he began patting himself down, hunting through his pockets. Within moments, he pulled out a dull marble-like object that Gwen recognized as the geis sphere.