Queen Of Glass

Chapter 27

Roland DeHavilliard sat up in bed and looked down at the woman sleeping beside him. In the dim light, her naked body was reduced to a mound of soft flesh and curves. But, even if they had been in the harsh brightness of daylight, that was all that she was to Roland. She wasn't pretty, she wasn't even interesting—she had been a sure thing, which, in his failure to seduce Lithaen Gordaina, was something that Roland DeHavilliard was in desperate need of.
Since the murder of Anuksun Ytger, he had hardly seen the mysterious woman. When he had seen her, she had looked so distant and cold that he had found himself unable to approach her. There were some boundaries that couldn't be breached—even by him.
And apparently, even by his cousin, Dorian. The Crown Prince hadn't been seen with the woman for three weeks now, and for the past two weeks he had been moping so sullenly and had lashed out so furiously when questioned that nearly all of the court was staying away from him. Only Lord Chaol, being the pathetic dog he normally was, kept at the prince's side, desperately trying to find a way to get the Crown Prince out of his terrible mood.
Even the King was starting to take an interest in his son's sulkiness. Roland didn't know where Dorian's slump had come from, but he could clearly tell that it was not due to one of the court ladies or his cousin's father. The death of Anuksun Ytger couldn't have affected him that much—true, Dorian and the princess could, on occasion, be found together, but they had never been on intimate terms. He never spent the night in her room.
There was only one person who he knew could have had such a direct emotional effect on the Crown Prince—and that was probably the most troubling thought for Roland DeHavilliard. What kind of a woman could wield such power over a man? Especially hold such sway the Crown Prince of Adarlan? Lithaen Gordaina had either knowingly hurt him or she had caused this out of her naiveté.
Either way, she was bound to snap out of her emotional daze at any time now, and with the Crown Prince conveniently out of the way, Roland would be waiting...
The woman next to him made a soft noise and opened her eyes to look up at him. They were dull and full of stupidity. Was this the best he could do? This lesser noble was little more than a serving wench. No, he had bedded serving wenches—they were far more satisfying than this woman had been.
Slightly disgusted, Roland managed a weak smile before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to pull on his clothes. The woman began to object, manipulating her simpering voice to try to woo him back to bed. Roland glared over his shoulder at her, becoming more and more dissatisfied with the way he had spent the last several hours. Had he been drinking when he had agreed to let her into his chambers? No, his head didn't feel fuzzy or thick at the moment.
He put his boots on and got up to find his shirt. The woman stretched herself out over the bed, his bed, in an attempt to draw him back to her. This only repulsed him more. Shimmying into his billowing white blouse, Roland tugged on his jerkin and looked back at the woman. He couldn't even remember her name.

"I want you to be out of here by the time I get back, understood? I don't want my servants or my mother seeing you in here. Try to get out as quietly as possible and don't go bragging to your court ladies about this." He hadn't meant to sound so irritated and cold, but he just couldn't keep his temper back. She had been a waste of his time. "Good night, lady..."
"Lingrayne. My name is Lady Lingrayne," she said meekly, her face flushing in shame as she gathered the blankets of the bed up to her chest. But her sudden showing of modesty had no effect on him.
He nodded his head curtly. "Good night, Lady Lingrayne," he purred and picked up his sword belt as he left the room. He closed his bedchamber doors behind him, hearing a faint sob as he did, and turned to his manservant, Gael.
"I want you to see to it that she's out of there within the hour. Take her out the servant's entrance, will you? I don't want anyone to see the kind of wench I'm reduced to bedding."
Gael smiled and bowed to his master. "It will be done within a quarter of an hour, my Lord."
Roland tossed his hair out of his eyes and fastened his sword belt around his slim waist. "I'm going for a walk—if anyone comes for me, tell them to see me in the morning. I have someone important to see now."
Gael nodded and departed through the bedchamber doors that Roland had just exited. With a grim smile, Roland left his rooms and strode down the empty hallway, his boots echoing in the silent halls. It was just past midnight, but he knew that the one he sought wouldn't be asleep.
No, the Crown Prince of Adarlan rarely slept these days.
Roland strode through the hallways and up staircases, the stone foundations of the castle quickly fading to those of glass, proof of Adarlan's magnificence and skill. Roland nodded to the guards posted outside of the entrance to the Crown Prince's staircase as he began to the long climb upwards.
The prince's rooms, despite its shimmering, incredible surroundings, lay at the top of the tallest stone tower—a relic of the original castle of Adarlan. Although he could have had far grander chambers, the Crown Prince had chosen to take his rooms within the ancient, cold stone walls. Personally, Roland would have chosen one of the rooms made from glass—they were so much more interesting than stone (and only reserved for the highest of nobility and guests— mainly the King, Queen, and other foreign rulers), but since he wasn't offered a choice when he had come to the palace those months ago, he was stuck with the stone rooms of the old castle.
He climbed the winding stone staircase that led to Dorian's rooms, growing faintly dizzy with the circular motion in which he was ascending. He found the sound of his footsteps echoing around him to be slightly alarming—it enhanced the atmosphere in the dimly lit area. Roland had been to his cousin's room several times, yet he still found that his chambers were slightly eerie. If in the right mood, they could be seen as seductive, but while trapped in the slender winding corridor, seeing no beginning or end, Roland found his pace slightly quickening.
He moved quickly to reach the end of the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. He was almost out of breath by the time he reached the top, and paused to collect himself before entering through the large oak doors that opened into the Crown Prince's chambers. Roland had no doubt in his mind that going up these stairs every day was certainly a factor in Dorian DeHavilliard's wonderful physical condition.
He knocked once before entering, knowing that the Crown Prince's servants had long gone to bed. Despite his preference for glass over stone, Roland found the prince's rooms to be quite pleasing to the eye and comfortable. They were five rooms in total: a bedchamber, sitting room, study, bathing chamber, and a recreational room in which the Crown Prince kept all of his toys and games. The Crown Prince spent most of his time locked within his study— surrounded by books on all sides, each wall coated in bookshelves and displays. Dorian never took women up here—it was almost a sacred space to him, and though the Crown Prince loved the pleasures of the flesh almost as much as Roland did, he had never been able to have a female presence soil the atmosphere.
Roland strode into the study, nodding at the servant who had appeared in his nightclothes to see who the intruder was. The Crown Prince was seated at his massive redwood desk—his head in his hands as he stared down blankly at the desk. Beside him were several empty glasses of wine and a barely-touched plate of food. Clearing his throat, Roland approached the desk.