Work Text:
THE NECROMANCER’S MARRIAGE SEASON
by CRUZ SABAANAS
CHAPTER XXVII
ABELLA TRINE SHOULD NOT HAVE come to the ball. She wouldn’t have, except that she had already given the Crown Prince her word that she would be there, and she had already been mysteriously absent from one significant event that day.
She looked out of place, too, like a goose among swans.1 Abella’s dress was a hand-me-down that she had found in the attic - one of her mother’s old frocks, a just-out-of-fashion cotton thing that Abella had hand-sewn2 gold silk trim onto in an effort to make it seem more expensive than it was - that was two sizes too big and fit her all wrong. The fabric fluttered loosely over her thin waist; the puff sleeves slid down her slim shoulders; her ample bust threatened to spill over the empire neckline. White was not and had never been Abella’s color, but it was customary for the New Year’s Ball.3 And so there she was: Standing (because the tight-laced stay she was wearing would not allow her to sit)4 at the fringe edge of an elegant and opulent gala, already looking forward to the glass of wine and warm bath she’d treat herself to when this was all over, and waiting desperately for a dance partner.
It was Abella’s own fault for never learning how to lead. She had only ever been taught how to follow in partner dances, and she already wasn’t great at fulfilling that role. To mentally reverse the steps in her brain and to then execute spins or dips or, Emperor forbid, lifts5on top of that - the night would surely end in disaster, injury, or death. Probably all of the above. Abella’s chances on the marriage mart were already slim. She would prefer, if possible, not to kill them off completely.
This, unfortunately, left her subject to the whims and wills of the existing available leads, and it seemed that they were vastly outnumbered by follows. More than one sorry sap was hovering, like Abella, just outside the dance floor, hoping to catch the eye of an available partner.6
Would that Pallas were here! Surely she knew how to lead, or at least her swords training had given her nimble enough feet and assured enough form that she could fake her way through it.7 But Pallas the Seventh would never be caught dead at the Ida New Year’s Ball. She was probably at a club somewhere on the strip, downing champagne like she needed it to live, indulging blithely in all the base debauchery that the Third House had to offer.8 Abella briefly caught a glimpse of her own cavalier: Janus had collapsed over one of the loveseats in front of the vast windowed wall of the ballroom, a champagne flute dangling from his left hand, his right thrown over the back of the fellow party guest that had landed on top of him. They both seemed to be passed out. This did not bother Abella terribly, as neither of them knew how to dance.9
Abella glanced out the window at the domed gardenhouse, its tropical plants colorful and inviting. She could just barely see Dominicus, blazing bright from so far away. Though its seasons rarely differed from one another in terms of temperature or weather, the Third was still in the middle of what felt like a perpetual winter - a winter that would last for another twenty years, give or take. Just as the hourly clock followed the twenty-four hour cycle of the First House, the inter-House “New Year” was celebrated per annum as the House of the Emperor made its full revolution around Dominicus.10
The music reached its final chord, and Abella clapped politely as she surveyed the newly eligible leads. There was Alonso Kuusi, the handsome Sixth veteran11 who had flirted with Abella at the state dinner - but he was glued now to the arm of another necromancer, who seemed so enraptured by him that her face hadn’t faded from the same shade of scarlet for at least the past thirty seconds. Her eyes scanned a smattering of other Third courtesans or visiting scions12 - most attractive, a few extremely so - but none moving in her direction.
And then a flash of all-too-familiar honey blond hair.13
She turned away on instinct, ducking behind the nearest pillar and praying that he had not seen her face. By all the Saints.
Of course Achileas Vieren would be here. He was, after all, an honored guest. The Crown Prince of Ida had made it very clear just last week that Vieren was to attend the ball as his personal invitee. Somehow, in all of the confusion and mishap of the past month, Abella had forgotten that.14
Vieren had not responded to her letter. She had delivered it early yesterday morning and waited desperately, but there had been no reply. Abella had stayed up all night writing it, throwing out draft after draft and soaking countless sheets of flimsy with tears until she managed to come up with a version that felt fine enough (and dry enough) to send:
Dear Sir,
I have received an invitation to your wedding ceremony scheduled for the morning of New Year’s Eve.15 I regret to inform you that I will be unable to attend. Please accept my most heartfelt congratulations along with my deepest apologies. Had I known of your involvement these past five years with Lord Menelaus Cinquet of the Koniortos Court, I would never have comported myself in such an uncouth manner. I cannot begin to imagine your opinion of me. I am beyond ashamed. Rest assured that I deeply regret any advances or flirtations between us. Know also that I have no doubt that your intentions were honorable, and that I do not feel that you have ever acted outside of your duty to uphold your vows to your betrothed.16
I truly wish you all the best in your marriage.
Yours, &c.,
Abella Trine
There was no acknowledgement that Vieren had ever received the letter, much less read it, but Abella had slid it under his door herself. This time, there was no chance for miscommunication.17 Vieren simply had nothing to say to her.
Abella had stared sullenly at the clock all morning until it struck noon, knowing that she had committed a great social and political faux pas in failing to attend the wedding ceremony. She could not bring herself to care.18 And now here he was. Achileas Vieren. The married man.
She did not see Cinquet near him, but that was no real surprise. Lord Menelaus famously had no affinity for parties or social gatherings. He also possessed enough of a reputation for complaint that his absence was rarely seen as a misfortune or as a slight.19
Another song struck up - a jaunty, merry tune, so contrary now to Abella’s own mood - and she couldn’t bear it anymore. She bolted for the nearest exit, ignoring the cavalier guarding the door who shot her a startled look, tearing up two flights of ornate marble stairs, and emerging on a small, unadorned balcony. From here she could see the terrace below, so full of drunk and oblivious partygoers, that upbeat music just barely audible. She ran her hands up and down her arms, more for the sensation of it than the warmth. The ball could continue without her; this isolated balcony was as fine a place as any for her to ring in the new year alone.
A deep, familiar voice behind her rumbled, “Lady Trine.”
Abella whipped around.
He was panting, out of breath, and more ill-composed than she’d ever seen him. His necktie was undone and his doublet unbuttoned.20 Deep splotches of red colored both of his cheeks, and there was a kind of wild fire in his blue eyes. Eyes that were focused on her. Eyes that scorched her skin as they raked up and down her body.
“Achileas,” she breathed. She forced herself to turn her back to him, bracing both hands against the parapet. “I came here to be alone.”
“I know,” he replied. “I’m sorry to interrupt your solitude, but I must speak with you.”
“I am sure you can have nothing to say to me.”
“You know that’s not true,” he said, and the hurt in his voice was almost enough to make her turn again. “Lady Trine. Abella. Please. I only need a moment - ”
“I’m sorry to have missed your wedding.” Her voice was louder than she meant it to be, almost as though she wanted anyone who might be listening in to have an easy time of it. “Please accept my sincere and heartfelt congratulations. I wish you and Lord Cinquet both a long and happy marriage.”
Silence from behind her. Then, quietly: “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do,” she said, her tone softening with surprise.
A wince - of pain? - footsteps - and a moment later he joined her side at the parapet. She made a point of staring straight ahead. “You are too kind to trifle with me. If your feelings towards me have changed, you must let me know at once.”
Her brows shot up nearly to her hairline, but still she could not look at him. “My feelings are irrelevant.”
“I assure you, they are not.”
“This is inappropriate,” she hissed. “I will not debase myself or you by engaging in this conversation.”
“It is too late. I have debased myself already. Abella, please. Tell me you do not love me.”
That did it. She swung her gaze toward him. He pinned her with eyes that seemed to tell a thousand stories, and she blinked rapidly, both to temper the heat of his stare and to clear the sudden tears that threatened to gather behind her eyes. “Why would you ask this of me?”
“Because I need to know. I need to know if I have any hope at all.”
“Hope.” She nearly laughed. “What need does a married man have for hope from me?”
“Then you truly don’t know.” Vieren’s eyes flitted rapidly between hers. “You haven’t heard.”
“Heard what? What is it I’m meant to know?”
“I was due to marry Lord Cinquet,” he said gravely. “But I must inform you that our engagement is no more.”
Abella furrowed her brow. “Yes. Because you’re married.”21
“No,” he said softly. “Lady Trine... Menelaus has married the Crown Prince of Ida.”22
She stumbled back a step, reaching out to the banister to catch her balance. “He... what? But you’ve been engaged for so long... Years, isn’t it? And he... and you...” Her bosom heaved with every breath as the true meaning of his words caught up to her. “You’re not married.”
“No.”
“How?” she breathed.
Vieren drew in a long breath, bracing both hands against the parapet and dragging his gaze from hers to the terrace below.23 “You are correct that our engagement was a long one. Five years hence I proposed marriage to Menelaus. It had been just over six months since Roc had died. I was a sad, lonely, wayward soul, too full of the self-loathing that came with grief - and too desperate to fix it - to know that rushing into another engagement was not the solution to companionship that I had hoped it would be.
“Lord Cinquet and I had met years beforehand at a Cohort promotion ceremony in Tisis. He was exactly the sort of man that Roc wasn’t: quiet, aloof, difficult to read. The sort of man you could sit with for hours without either of you speaking a word. At that point in my life, I was neither much for conversation. His title made the match advantageous, but his disposition made the match alluring. Companionable silence sounded like paradise. When Menelaus and I reconnected at a mutual acquaintance’s funeral on one of the Fourth’s moons...” He sighed a heavy breath and clenched his jaw. “It sounds trite. I am aware. But it did feel like fate, at the time.
“Menelaus, being a Lord of Koniortos Court, had infinitely many duties on the Fifth. I offered to go with him - to move to the Fifth House even before our nuptials - but he held off. It wasn’t proper, he said. Besides, were we to wed at the time, our marriage would have been even lonelier than my widowerhood. Him, always working; me, caring for the estate and with little to entertain me but my studies. Fifth House marriages are so often built on a good, pure, passionate thing, and they so rarely remain so.24
“And so we stayed apart. I remained on the Fourth and him on the Fifth. I knew, of course, that he had been sent on diplomatic envoys to the Third House with relative frequency, but I thought nothing of it. Our engagement grew longer and felt less real with every month that passed. To be perfectly frank, after the first year it felt more like a gentleman’s agreement than like anything romantic or even political. We remained betrothed out of courtesy and obligation. His sudden appearance at the Crown Prince’s state dinner a fortnight ago was the first time I had seen him in person since mere weeks after my proposal to him.”25 Vieren shifted, carding a hand through his thick blond locks. “I should have told you. I know this now. But what I felt - what I still feel - for you... It became so complicated so suddenly. I reacted poorly.”
“But the wedding,” said Abella helplessly. “Your wedding was this morning.”
“Yes,” said Vieren reluctantly, and Abella’s heart sank to her stomach. “It was Menelaus’s idea to schedule the nuptials as soon as possible. To end our drawn-out engagement with as much haste as we could logistically muster. In hindsight, I suppose that that was his solution to a problem similar to my own. I took the path of avoidance. He chose to rip the bandage off, in a way. To dive in headfirst. Perhaps if I had shown up to the altar this morning, he would have seen it through.”
Abella’s breath caught in her trachea. “You didn’t go?”
Vieren’s voice was quiet. “No. As I said - the path of avoidance.”26
For a long while, neither of them said anything. They both stared out over the domed landscape, listening absently to the party that raged on beneath them. The Crown Prince was down there somewhere. Menelaus may have been too, after all. Perhaps Abella did not understand as much about him as she thought she had.
“When did you find out?” Abella could hardly bring herself to speak above a whisper. “That Lord Cinquet - that he and the Crown Prince...?”
“This morning.” He cleared his throat. “It turns out that Menelaus had, in fact, begun an affair almost two years ago. I suppose I should have suspected. In hindsight, it’s probable not all of Menelaus’s trips to the Third House were politically motivated. The Crown Prince took my place at the altar, and they were married immediately. To my knowledge, the scandal of it has been overtaken almost wholly by celebration of the newlyweds. Even my abandonment of the altar is old news, now.”
She nodded, again finding it difficult to breathe. “So it was the knowledge of Menelaus’s infidelity that kept you from the marriage. I understand.”
He looked at her in a peculiar sort of way. “Lady Trine - I found out about Menelaus and the Crown Prince after the wedding. I received the news of their affair at the same moment I received the news of their marriage.”
Only now did she turn towards him fully, daring once more to meet his eyes. “But - but you... You avoided your own wedding.”
“Yes.”
“You left your betrothed at the altar.”
“Yes.” He inched towards her, his fingertips brushing her gloved digits on the banister.
“Why?” She searched his eyes, storm blue in the dim light. “What were you avoiding? Why aren’t you married?”
Vieren slid his fingers under hers, lifting her hand just so from where it rested on the parapet and sliding the pad of his thumb over her first knuckles. “Perhaps I could have borne a loveless match. I could have borne spending the rest of my life lonely, tethered to a man who might have respected me but who would never be devoted to our marriage. I could even have borne playing the fool as my husband continued his affair.” He brought her hand to his mouth and, brushing his lips against her palm, murmured, “But I could not bear the thought of a life without you.”27
Heat pooled low in Abella’s abdomen. Her pulse quickened as Vieren worked his way proximally over the inside of her wrist, and she wondered distantly if he could feel her heartbeat through the glove under his lips. “But - my letter. I slid it under your door last night, and I did not receive anything in return.”
“I read your letter, but I did not reply. I could not.” He sucked in a deep breath over her forearm. “More accurately, I could not bring myself. I read it, over and over and over, but I could not force myself to pick up my pen and write you in return. To do so seemed inadequate. The written word is incapable of expressing the enormity of my feelings. I had to explain in person. I had to see you.”28
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s you.” His voice was uncharacteristically desperate. “I want only you. I need only you. I choose - I have chosen - I am choosing - you.”
She reached tenderly with her gloved hand, the minuscule span of her palm covering only part of his jaw. Like a dog, he leaned eagerly into her touch.
“Achileas,” she whispered. “Achileas.”
“Say you choose me too.” She could imagine the pleading blue of his irises beneath his closed lids. “Please, Abella. Say you want this. Say it hasn’t all been in vain. I will wait for you if you aren’t ready. I will wait upon you, hand and foot, for the meager remnant of my pitiful life, if that’s what it takes to stay close to you. To stay in your life. Put me out of my misery now, or keep me in misery forever - I don’t care, just as long as you keep me. Say you will.”
Abella removed her hand from his cheek and turned away toward the parapet.
She could hear the heavy effort of Achileas’s panting behind her. She kept her eyes fixed on the party below as she slowly - deliberately - removed both of her long gloves and laid them carefully over the stone of the balcony.
“I cannot choose you.”29 She cleared her throat, willing more power into the rasp of her voice. “I cannot, because for me, there has never been a choice. It was always you, Achileas. You are my Dominicus. You are my every house, as constant as the Kindly Prince and twice as everlasting. The whole and sum of me is in you.” When she revolved once again to face him, she could hardly make out his features for the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. “How can I keep you, when you are already so much myself?”
He rushed to her then, the roughness of his tongue like a balm against her hot tears. “One self, then,” he breathed. “One self, one life.”30
She arched into him, the short sleeves of her ill-fitted ballgown slipping down her shoulders and baring her cleavage to the dome above. When she drew her knee up along the lateral edge of his ilium, he took it as an invitation, hoisting her under the knee and buttocks to sit atop the parapet. The chill of the stone against her thighs made her shiver. Achileas reached up with one hand to expertly undo her slapdash bun,31 allowing her chestnut-colored locks to cascade down her back and tumble over her shoulders.
“But we can’t,” she gasped hornily.32 “Those people below... they’ll hear us!”
“Let them hear,” he growled. His breath was hot against the shell of her ear, and it sent thrills of seductive lust chasing down her spinal column. “Let them hear your pleasure. Let them hear our joining. I don’t care if the sound carries to the Emperor himself. All the universe should know.”
She tangled her fingers in his collar as he slipped her dress further down her bosom, letting it pool, forgotten, around her hips. His lips traveled over her carotid, down to her clavicle, sucking deep bruises into her skin, as he leaned forward to unhook her stay.33 Her breasts spilled forth, unleashed from their cage, her nipples already peaked with desire. Vieren stretched his massive left hand across her chest, strumming her left nipple with his thumb and her right nipple with the tip of his longest finger.34
Abella pressed herself further into his touch, throwing caution to the wind, her loins afire.35 She slid his doublet and undershirt down his torso, already slick with sweat, and hooked her first two fingers under the waistband of his trousers. He came to aid her, freeing his long and sturdy trunk as he hiked up the hem of her skirt to meet her bodice around her hips.36
Her throbbing sex and his pulsating member were beating to the same rhythm, their hearts pounding forth from their chests - from behind her perky, hefty breasts and his glistening pectorals - as though yearning to meet in physical space.37
“I’ve dreamed of this for so long.” His voice was strangled, his hand gliding up and down his length. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want to be inside you right now. I just need to...”
“Let me,” she panted. She reached out with her necromancy, hyperaware of every molecule between them that touched, every cell of hers that pressed against every cell of his. She focused her power and his rod grew impossibly larger and more turgid. “Tract magic,” she moaned, “extends to the peripheral nervous system, including erectile tissue.”38
His pillar was marble now, smooth and solid as stone. He positioned himself at her entrance, groaning as he hilted himself inside of her in one deep, fluid motion. A bead of sweat raced down his temple. “Abella,” he panted, savoring each of the three syllables. “A-bel-la.”
Her channel fluttered around him and they both cried out. He rolled his hips forward, the mast of his ship exploring her mystic feminine ocean. They swayed together, entwined like two voracious eels, the rough texture of the banister biting into the backs of her calves and making her heady pleasure all the sweeter.39
She burst into stars just as the fireworks popped, signaling the beginning of the new calendar imperial year. At the same moment, Achileas groaned, shuddering above her.
Atoms.
They were each just atoms, molecules bounding off of and swirling around each other, no longer two bodies but one singular entity. Their pleasure was one and the same.40
He held her close, both arms circled around her and keeping her upright on the edge of the balcony, as her shattered consciousness slowly pieced itself back together. Below them, Abella could hear the unified voice of the party singing the traditional New Year’s song.
Achileas’s deep blue eyes bored into hers as they panted into each other. A rivulet of sweat slid over his temple, and she ran her thumb over it, pressing the pad of her finger into her mouth and savoring the salty taste of him.41
“Abella Trine,” he breathed, shifting one hand up and burrowing his fingers into the hair at the crown of her scalp. The gentle pull of it made her moan. “I have one more thing I need you to do for me.”
Anything. She would do anything - agree to anything he asked - if he just kept his large, warm palm tucked against her head like that. She nodded weakly and leaned further into his touch.
“Marry me.”42
1 Neither of which are native species to any House. An odd simile to use in a book exclusively about House courtesans and House politics set entirely within the Nine Houses. return to text ↩
2 An unlikely skill for a Third adept of Abella’s status and privilege to possess, but everything about Abella Trine is unlikely, so I’ll let it slide. return to text ↩
3 The fashion described here matches the Imperial Revival and places the setting of this novel sometime around the end of the fourth millennium. The style of the prose, however, more closely resembles the syntax popularly seen in fiction in the seventy-fifth century, which the copyright date on the front page confirms. This accounts for any factual inaccuracies within the text - i.e., white did not become a customary New Year’s color on the Third until circa 6740, when the then-Crown Princess of Ida began to wear white gowns with mother-of-pearl detailing as an homage to the saints of the First House. It seems our author did not perform their due diligence in regards to historical fashion research return to text ↩
4 At least Sabaanas used ‘stay’ instead of ‘corset.’ It’s the little things. return to text ↩
5 Spins, dips, and lifts were common in the high energy and improv-focused partner dance styles of the seventh and eighth millennia, but not in the comparatively more reserved and choreographed social dances of the Imperial Revival. Perhaps it’s too much to expect a romance novel to know what a quadrille and an allemande are, let alone the differences between them. If I’m ever going to finish my twelfth reread of this book I’m going to need to lower my expectations. return to text ↩
6 Generally accurate, as far as partner dances go. Follows are always in want of leads, and newcomers always want to learn to follow. It’s the flashier and therefore often more fun of the two options. A millennia of ballroom dancing and still this problem persists. return to text ↩
7 Written like someone who has never been forced to waltz with their cavalier at an inane Third social function. return to text ↩
8 The final nail in the coffin for Pallas’s character assassination. Let alone her characterization as a representative of the Seventh House focused solely on hedonism - Emperor forbid that a swordswoman may want to drink on New Year’s Eve. I maintain that she was the better romantic interest in every conceivable way, even accounting for my own personal bias. return to text ↩
9 Realistically untrue - if Abella had learned to follow, she almost certainly would have done it with Janus learning how to lead - but I’m willing to call Janus enough of a sub-par cavalier to make this make sense. return to text ↩
10 The inclusion of these factually correct but very ordinary details implies that The Necromancer’s Marriage Season was likely marketed to - and perhaps even written for - out-of-system colonies. Despite Sabaanas being a Seventh arithmonym, the author may have been a colonist themself writing under a pen name. It’s impossible to know for certain without access to publication or census records. I wish I had access to my library. Or to my stationery. Alas. return to text ↩
11 Likely Nireid. Potentially Alexandrite, but Kuusi just doesn’t seem like he has the wits. An unattached veteran Nireid attending the Ida New Year’s Ball isn’t necessarily out of the realm of possibility, but it’s highly, highly unlikely. Must remember that this is off-world fiction. I’ll fix it in the sequel. return to text ↩
12 On the one hand, I wish Sabaanas went into more detail regarding exactly which scions were attending the Ida New Year’s Ball. On the other hand, the inevitable inaccuracy would likely make me tear out my hair in frustration, and my hair is one of the only things I still have going for me. So perhaps it’s better that they didn’t. return to text ↩
13 Sabaanas’s style swings so heavily from attempting to mimic Imperial Revival romance to zippy contemporary pulp schlock that it gives me whiplash. return to text ↩
14 How??? It’s a major plot point and the driving force of the last third of the novel???? return to text ↩
15 Weddings scheduled for major holidays - and for year’s end celebrations in particular - might be common on out-of-system planets, but never at Ida, where any discrete opportunity to plan an event will be seized with enthusiasm. Another tally in the column of Sabaanas being a colonist. return to text ↩
16 Let’s be clear - based on Vieren’s behavior towards her through the novel’s whole second act, she would have every right to feel this way. They nearly had sex in a basilica like two weeks ago. return to text ↩
17 Would that this were true. There’s always a chance for miscommunication. return to text ↩
18 Abella is, again, an unlikely socialite of the Third, who (stereotypically) care almost exclusively about social and political faux pas and who (stereotypically) would not for all the Houses miss the drama of a lover being wed to another. At least in my experience. return to text ↩
19 So deeply un-Fifth in philosophy that I must take this as confirmation that Sabaanas did not, in fact, belong to the House system. A true lord of the Koniortos Court would rather die than publicly admit that they hated social events. The entire Fifth House culture, economy, and political sphere is balanced on social posturing. return to text ↩
20 Anachronistic for the Imperial Revival. Should be a waistcoat. return to text ↩
21 I am begging Abella Trine to read the room. Just one time. Please. return to text ↩
22 Plot twist of century. I can’t even be mad. This had me on the floor on my first read. Kudos, Sabaanas. return to text ↩
23 Vieren’s following monologue - while, of course, tedious and overdrawn - seems to play referentially in style and texture to the neostoic oratory traditions that resurged in the 48th century. Whether this was intentional by Sabaanas is unclear. My guess is probably not. return to text ↩
24 Untrue, generally speaking. Fifth marriages are almost always sensible social prospects that grow into mutual respect and care - and yes, even sometimes love. As per usual, Quinn and Pent are the exception, not the rule. Nothing about their courtship or their marriage - or, indeed, their partnership as necromancer and cavalier - is sensible. That they’ve managed to remain in love (or at least very convincingly kept up the appearance of it) is nothing short of baffling. return to text ↩
25 Absolutely plausible, surprisingly, especially considering that this is an inter-House engagement and they both certainly have respective social and financial responsibilities. The most unrealistic piece of this is the idea that this would in any way deter their marriage, but I suppose Abella’s presence as an external source of conflict excuses that somewhat. return to text ↩
26 Dramatic. return to text ↩
27 Again I say - dramatic. return to text ↩
28 If I wasn’t certain that I was the only person who was ever going to read this, maybe I wouldn’t write this - but here we are. I miss her. More and more every minute. return to text ↩
29 What a misdirect. You can practically hear Sabaanas chortling to themself. return to text ↩
30 So unashamedly close to “one flesh, one end” that I have to imagine Sabaanas is attempting to draw parallel to - and, indeed, romanticize - the necromancer/cavalier relationship. Abella, of course, has a sworn cavalier already, and despite his apparent military prowess and social rank, Vieren is unsworn to a necromancer. Not unheard of, but uncommon for the Fourth. To model his declaration of love even partially after the vows taken by a cavalier is a misunderstanding and misapplication of the cultural significance of this bond. Likely an unintentional taboo. The nail in the coffin, then, for Sabaanas being of off-world origin. return to text ↩
31 The idea of Abella Trine wearing her signature messy bun to the Third House formal event of the year makes me so angry that I just had to stand up and take several laps before returning. What editor approved this return to text ↩
32 WHAT EDITOR APPROVED THIS. return to text ↩
33 Not how this works. Any points I gave Sabaanas for using stay instead of corset have been rescinded. return to text ↩
34 Unsure if this is physically possible, given the size of Abella’s bust. Certainly not how I’ve ever thought to approach it. return to text ↩
35 ‘Loins’ is just so rarely a word you want to associate with passion. return to text ↩
36 Ridiculously quick progression. A page ago they were still in the throes of dramatic miscommunication. Maybe Sabaanas considers that foreplay. return to text ↩
37 If I still had a body I think I’d be sick. return to text ↩
38 What an odd thing to say during sex, but also, what a genuinely fascinating approach to and way to provide a satisfying arc for Abella’s necromancy. Tract specialization as an exploration of the Third’s signature flesh magic is interesting. Tract specialization having practical use during a romance novel’s sex scenes is downright inspired. Every time I think I’m out, Sabaanas pulls me back in. return to text ↩
39 Nevermind. I’m out again. return to text ↩
40 One flesh, one end, even? return to text ↩
41 Finally! Some accurate Third necro behavior. return to text ↩
42 Insane way to propose. Even more insane that we timeskip past the wedding and straight into parenthood. All pretense of romance is left behind by the social strictures that demand the next necromantic generation. In that sense, perhaps Sabaanas is right on the money in their portrayal of the House system. On the other hand, no absolutely they are not. Much to consider as I plan the sequel. return to text ↩