been awake since the dawn, waiting for Imena’s visit. He closed his eyes and the world tilted into sleep.
He woke to a familiar touch and scent—Imena. Groggily, he smiled. He didn’t mind her in his rooms. He didn’t mind her here in the least. Her callused hand clamped over his mouth. “Get his feet, Seretse,” she said.
Maxime struggled to blink awake. A sailor had a firm grip on his ankles, and another grabbed his shoulders as Imena removed her hand from his face. “Quiet,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t struggle.”
He hadn’t thought she played these sorts of games, but he was willing to go along, even when the two sailors laid him on a cinnamon-scented wool carpet and proceeded to thoroughly wrap him within its folds. He tried to lift a hand to clear fabric away from his face only to find it trapped. “Imena—” In the other room, he heard his door open.
“Quiet! Chetri, did you find the courier?”
“Aye, Captain. Here she is.”
Maxime heard a laugh, quickly muffled, then Sylvie’s voice. “Well, well, Captain. You want him after all. I never would have thought you’d have your muscled crewmen carry him off.”
“Listen carefully, Sylvie,” Imena said. “Chetri, go with Seretse and Kuan.”
Maxime relaxed. Imena clearly intended to tell Sylvie her plans for him. She might play games, but she didn’t plan to put his entire castle into an uproar. He remembered the envoy from King Julien that would be arriving in the next day or so and began to struggle. Someone, probably Imena, kicked the carpet with a bare foot and said, “Get him out of here!”
He realized even a complicated game like this one would be unlikely to last more than a day and a night, and if the envoy arrived during that time, someone would send him a message. He had quite a lot of work to do, but courting his future wife was work, as well. He relaxed into the spice-scented carpet—the sensation of soft wool all over his bare skin reminded him of pleasurable encounters of the past—and let the crewmen carry him from his rooms and out into the corridor. They exited, he thought, through one of the side entrances and loaded him, still wrapped in the carpet, onto a cart. He heard a pony snort. Two men climbed onto the bench seat, shifting the cart’s weight, while the remaining man, probably Chetri, stayed in the rear with him. Maxime could just sense the weight of Chetri’s hand on the outside of the roll of carpet; the hand rested just over his genitals. Maxime grinned, wondering if Chetri was intended to be part of the evening’s entertainment, as well. If Imena had no objections, he certainly wouldn’t raise a protest.
Soon he smelled the sea. Chetri and the two crewmen slid his carpet from the cart and carried him down the dock, their feet slapping hollowly on the boards. He almost protested when he felt a cargo sling being adjusted around his carpet, but closed his mouth when he remembered his role. She’d told him to be quiet, so quiet he would be.
It was rather exhilarating, being swung into the air and into a boat, rowed for a distance, then lifted much higher and swung across to what he assumed was Seaflower‘s deck, more exhilarating because he couldn’t see, move his limbs or balance himself in any way. He had to give over control completely. Imena was delightfully devious. He’d chosen even better than he’d imagined.
The sailors manhandled his carpet down a set of shallow stairs, which told him they were beneath the captain’s cabin. He remembered the low-ceilinged space there. Temporary bulkheads could be erected at different intervals. It was sometimes used for passengers, sometimes for cargo, and at present smelled strongly of mangosteens and farm animals, who were kept below. His carpet was carried into a space that felt smaller, a temporary cabin perhaps, and set on the deck. The sailors departed in a hurry. The door shut and a chain rattled. They did not leave a light.
He wondered how long Imena would be, and if waiting was part of the game. He didn’t think he was intended to remain rolled in a carpet until her return; or if he was, he didn’t intend to behave, as the pressure of fabric against his face was beginning to irritate him. He shifted his weight, struggled and rolled to one side then the other. The folds of the carpet loosened. He persevered, and was soon free.
The cabin was small, only just long enough for his outstretched body, the ceiling too low for him to stand without stooping. There was no bunk or chair, butsomeone had provided a pair of loose trousers, a blanket and a spread towel that held a large jug of water, a loaf of bread, several oranges and a waxed-paper package of soft cheese, which he identified by smell and by the faint light filtering through tiny cracks between the boards of the temporary bulkhead. His searching fingers soon found an enameled box, as well: candied balsam, probably from the same shipment as the box he’d given to Diamanta. The food indicated his wait might be lengthy, and they didn’t intend to stint on him while he was aboard. He was grateful someone had thought to leave a chamber pot, as well.
It was a good thing Imena had told Sylvie where he was. He pushed the towel with the food into the corner and spread the carpet as far as it would go, folding the edges under so one end made a sort of pillow. He leaned back against it, pulled the blanket over himself and in moments was asleep.
Imena shoved her hastily scribbled transcript of the conversation she’d heard into Sylvie’s hands. “So there is a woman involved, but I wasn’t able to tell how, or what, her intentions might be.”
Sylvie made a face. “Where His Grace is concerned, she might be any one of dozens. Including you, Captain Leung.”
“It is not me,” Imena said sternly. “You will take care of this? At least until it’s safe for us to return?”
Solemn and cold, Sylvie nodded. “You may take refuge with Madame Camille if needed.”
“I don’t want to put Her Grace in jeopardy, as well. Her position is still precarious, isn’t it?”
“The Duke’s Council is growing used to her,” Sylvie said. Then she grinned. “You will take good care of His Grace?” The tone of her voice made it clear she meant the words pruriently.
Imena stared down her nose at the smaller woman. “I have to go now if we’re to catch the tide.”
A cat was meowing loudly.
Maxime woke, unsure at first what had changed. The cabin was cooler than before, and he’d dislodged his blanket. An enormous ginger tomcat had probably helped; it was sleeping behind his knees. He groped for the blanket, found it, then froze with his hand full of wool. He smelled the sea. Not the docks, but the sea. He vaulted to his feet amid feline protest. The gentle sway beneath his feet was not a ship docked, or even a ship at anchor, but one in motion, fleeing before the wind and propelled by a good tide.
“Fuck!” Maxime tried the door—fastened closed by a chain passed through bolts—then banged on the bulkhead. “Imena! Captain!”
His fist rang hollowly. He could hear it echoing across the empty deck. She hadn’t loaded cargo. Of course not. She’d hardly had time. Half her crew would have been enjoying shore leave. What was she about, heading out to sea under such circumstances? He would have been happy to entertain her in port. Why had she taken him to sea? Perhaps they hadn’t gone far?
“Captain!”
No response. In fact, not even a rush of sailors’ feet toward his door. He rubbed his sore fist and listened; he could hear feet pattering on the main deck above, distant shouting, the loud creaking of wood, the heavy hum of rope and the snap of sail. From below, he heard the grunting of pigs, chickens gabbling, a goat’s bleat and the plaintive lowing of a milk cow.
Being ignored was more frustrating than he could have imagined. He paced the narrow room, faster and faster. He was no longer in the mood for sexual games or sex, unless it was the quick-and-hard kind. What was she doing? Testing him?
If she kept him out here too long, he’d miss the king’s next envoy. And what of all the business that would await him this morning?
He might not want to deal with any of that, but he wanted it to be his choice if he did not.
After