The Marriage Game

In Which Camila Sleeps In

The sun burned against her skin, but Camila didn't mind. She lay in a beautiful meadow on a patchwork picnic blanket. Dimly, she registered that she was naked, covered only by a thin blanket spread across her hips.

"You look happy." She heard a voice. It was deep. Familiar. Camila rolled onto her side and smiled.

Declan didn't smile, but he looked at her with something like wonderment. Maybe even love. He was naked, but Camila kept her eyes from wandering. Something tugged at her memory—wasn't she trying to marry someone else?—but his arm wrapped around her waist and every thought evaporated.

Faint freckles dusted his cheeks. Camila brushed her knuckles against them, reveling in the softness of his skin, the hard edge of his cheekbone.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

"I'm always happy with you." His fingers touched her cheek. A curl of black hair escaped her ponytail and he tucked it behind her ear. "I can't stop thinking about you," he whispered. It sounded almost like a plea.

"I'm here."

He kissed her gently. Tenderly.

Camila closed her eyes, giving in to the warm sunlight, the grass tickling her calves. "I don't know what I'm going to do about you."

His lips brushed her chin, a soft, hesitant kiss. Then her neck, a breath above her windpipe—hadn't he tried to strangle her? She struggled to remember—then lower, flush against the hollow of her throat. "I have a few ideas," he whispered into her skin.

"Yeah?" Camila ran a hand through his hair. It was soft, curly, and black as night.

He screamed in her mother's voice. "Camila! Get out of bed!"

Camila's eyes flew open.

She was not in a meadow and no one was kissing her neck. 

Instead, she was in bed. Her mother shook her by the shoulder, her long grey-black braid slapping Camila in the face with every movement. "Thank Goddess! I was beginning to worry we were going to have to call this whole fiasco off and give up on the kingdom if you didn't get up soon. We have a luncheon in the gardens in thirty minutes."

"...We do?" Camila rubbed her eyes. "Fuck. I forgot about the luncheon."

"I can see that. The suitors, also, might see that. And watch your language. We want to send a good impression. Serena! Where is- Serena!" Her mother raised her voice.

Serena hurried into the room, carrying a long, navy blue dress. "I'm here! We'll be fine." She shot Camila a comforting grin.

Her mother inhaled sharply. "I hope so. Serena, you're a lifesaver. I really have to go, but I'll see you at the luncheon I hope. And Camila, make sure to smile. And try and talk to Antoine, I think he's feeling left out, and Sebastian as well. Oh, and maybe-"

Serena raised a hand. "I've got her. Go get ready."

"Okay but-"

"Mom. Go." Camila pushed the covers away and pulled herself out of bed. "I've got Serena. And I'll talk to Antoine. I'll be fine."

Her mother smiled. "Okay, fine. I love you. I'll see you at the luncheon."

The past month had been busy, filled with balls and luncheons and elaborate, five course dinners, all an excuse for Camila to get to know the roughly fifty suitors staying in her family's palace.

Even if every conversation was stilted small talk, at least Camila knew their names. 

By now, Declan was probably hiding in vampire-ridden Canada or sailing across the Atlantic to torment Tiberius's wolves, the Alpha who ruled of Europe and Asia. Camila's subconscious, however, was dead set on reminding her what a mating bond was supposed to be. In her dreams, Declan made her breakfast in bed. He went mini golfing with her and distracted her with kisses so she lost. He brought her flowers and chocolates and looked at her like she was the sun after a long winter.

There were other dreams too, filled with heat and passion and an overwhelming need. Sometimes he memorized every inch of her body, worshipping her with his teeth and tongue. Sometimes it was angry, frustrated, ripped clothes and pent-up desire. Again and again, he marked her, his canines sinking into her neck. It was addicting, euphoric, and she'd wake flushed and sweaty, desperate to touch him, and reality would crash down and she'd remember who he was and what he'd done.

The constant reminder of what could have been made the courting process all the more miserable, the inevitably loveless marriage even less appealing.

Her blue dress flowed just below her knees, longer in the back than it was in the front. Although she ditched her favorite heels in favor of outdoor-appropriate sandals, Camila still arranged her knives along her thighs and back.

As her father said when he gave her the dagger set fourteen years ago, it never hurt to be prepared.

Thank you for reading!! You're fantastic and I'm sending you lots of digital candy!

-Harley