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Tserriednich was a man of many interests. Whatever it was that he turned his mind to, he’d pursue with quiet intensity. When he fell in love with football, he acquired a football club and led them to the championships; whenever he enjoyed a new dish, he’d master the recipe; he never missed the chance to debate art, politics, cinema, and philosophy.
Admittedly, he was less adept at relationships – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on a date that he’d enjoyed. He’d dispatched Mark to select potential partners on his behalf, hoping to bring some objectivity to the search, and yet it all ended the same way. There were nights when he’d be up to his elbows in blood. He didn’t take disappointment very well.
At 38, he’d never been married nor had children. That he was available and elusive at the same time only made him more appealing to the public, which was largely unaware of his misdeeds behind closed doors. To them, he was the Fourth Prince, a modern renaissance man yet to find his queen.
Theta wasn’t quite a queen. She was so much better. Bold and unpredictable, she was the only person to ever pull a gun on him and lived to tell about it. Tserriednich still feels the thrill of the moment – how he went from rage to amusement, and finally, to adoration.
And now, she occupied his thoughts. She was a new field of study that he had yet to master.
After the events of the Royal Succession, Theta remained under contract with the Royal Family and was legally bound to continue serving the Fourth Prince despite her transgression. He’d kept the murder attempt under wraps to keep her close.
He observed the minute changes in her expression as he sat across the table from her. Theta seemed listless that night, picking at her food and answering only when spoken to. That needed to change. He thoroughly enjoyed her show of confidence and aggression during the events in the Black Whale. He needed to see more of her and what she might be capable of.
“Is the food not to your liking?”
Soft piano music played in the private dining room he’d booked for them that night, close and intimate.
Theta was dressed in a black silk gown that made a striking contrast against her pale features. He much preferred it to her usual bodyguard’s uniform, which concealed her lithe frame.
“The food is excellent, your majesty.”
“Let’s forget the formalities, shall we? Call me Tserriednich from now on.”
“Alright. Tserriednich.” Theta looked up from her plate, meeting his gaze for the first time that evening. It sent a chill up his spine. It was like watching a wild animal rouse from sleep, ready to spring any minute.
Did she bring her gun? Tserriednich mused, wondering if there was a holster strapped to a pale, milky thigh beneath that slinky dress. But I digress.
There were no secrets between them. He knew that his actions upset her on many occasions. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to improve himself in some way. He was aware that his art was inaccessible at best. But if he couldn’t be understood, then he could at the very least express himself in new and thrilling ways.
This was the point where he should start to engage her in intellectual conversation. He wanted to pick her mind apart to see its inner workings. What were her thoughts on history, science, literature? Curiously, he didn’t know where or how to begin. He was never one to get tongue-tied. And yet discussing abstract ideas seemed futile when the present moment was so sublime.
He became aware that Theta had been looking at him expectantly. Flaxen hair framed her delicate face. There was so much verve and intellect in those eyes that there was nothing to say, nothing to discuss.
Tserriednich smiled despite himself. So this is what it’s like to lose all sensibility . The emperor has no clothes, after all.
He said little for the rest of the meal, listening to the clink of her knife and fork, gazing at her ever so often that her cheeks started to redden. The chef emerged from the kitchen as courtesy to the Fourth Prince. He made small talk with the couple, inquiring about the food. Was everything done just right?
It couldn’t be better.
When dinner was over, he invited her to a speakeasy a couple of blocks from the restaurant. She obliged. She leaned into him as they sat on a cognac leather sofa, listening to him describe the tasting notes of rarest whiskies in the collection. Red berries, marzipan, honeycomb, a hint of smoke. Light-bodied, malty sweetness. He began to feel more like himself again, eager to share his knowledge on the matter.
He watched her as she took a sip from a Glencairn glass and scrunched her nose. Like oak and cinnamon. Her skin took on the warm glow of the burnished pendant lights that hung overhead.
And then it was time to close. The servers leaned against the bar, eyes heavy with sleep. The state limousine waited in the back alley. Tserriednich opened the door for Theta, his hand on the small of her back as she slid inside.
This can only end one of several ways. Tserriednich could lose interest and go back to cycling through countless women. Theta could stay on as bodyguard or retire from her duties, never to contact him again. He could ascend the throne and take her as his queen or concubine, whichever she preferred. Or they could continue to do this night after night until one of them can no longer go on. Someone could get hurt.
In any case, he was already aware of the changes taking place inside him. Two-faced women were cute, but only if they had the same audacity as the one sitting next to him.
He looked at her outline in the dim interior of the moving vehicle. Theta sat upright, hands folded on her lap. Nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioner. She turned her head to meet his gaze. She reached down the silken slit of the dress over her left thigh, ready to draw her gun.