by Jaci Burton
Braedon's lips curled upward. She supposed that was as much of a smile as he was capable of. Surely the stories of his grumbling personality were not true. No one could have as sour a disposition as he had been rumored to have.
He crossed his arms and regarded her. "So, your sister does not wish to marry me." It was not a question, yet she answered anyway. "No, she does not." Garick reached for her arm. "Trista, be silent!"
Braedon held up his hand. "Let her speak freely."
The hand gripping her arm loosened. For a moment she was afraid Garick was going to toss her onto the back of her horse and drag her out of the castle. She knew she was going to be in deep trouble with both her father and Garick when they left, but if this worked, her sister would be free to choose her own man.
"Trista, tell me. Did your sister send you here to inform me that she did not wish to marry me?" If she told him the truth, he could still ask for Solara to hear the words from her directly. She hated lying, but it was the only way. "Yes."
"May I speak, Braedon?" her father interrupted.
"Yes."
"It is vital you marry a D'Naath princess. Our lands are bound to be joined by custom and law, which can only be done with the marriage of a faerie princess and the king of Greenbriar. In joining, we have strength against the armies of wizards bound to take over our lands. I ask that you reconsider this foolishness spouted by my daughter and allow us to bring Solara to you."
"I am aware of the protocol, Fraynor. I am also aware that your daughter Solara has every right to beg release from our betrothal contract. And it appears that through Trista she has exercised that right." Braedon rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. Trista wondered if he did that while thinking. His mouth was generous, and she had a fleeting image of tugging on his lip with her teeth.
Shocked at the direction of her mind, she inhaled sharply and forced her mind to stay clear of such thoughts.
"Are all your daughters betrothed, Fraynor?"
"Nay. Trista here was betrothed to the King of Boreo, who as I'm sure you know suffered an untimely death several years ago."
"Ah yes, I had heard that."
Trista frowned. Something was amiss here, something she hadn't considered when she'd concocted her plan.
"It is true I am to marry a princess of D'Naath. Since one princess has invoked the right of refusal, perhaps I will take this one."
Trista's heart dropped to her stomach when Braedon pointed at her.
"No!" she cried, then clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes, mortified at her own outburst.
"Trista!" her father hissed in her ear. "Enough of your talk. I think you have spoken enough. It is my turn now."
Before she could turn and beseech her father not to take Braedon's suggestion seriously, he grasped her by the elbow and propelled her forward. She stumbled into the arms of the king.
He wrapped his arms around her to hold her upright, his body as solid as the trunk of the tall oaks in D'Naath's forest. Afraid to even look at his face, she gazed into his chest.
That is, until he tipped her chin upward with his finger. His blues eyes mesmerized her, made her forget things she should not forget, and made her all too aware of things she should not be thinking of.
"Aye, this one will do. After all, one bride is as good as another. Trista, princess of D'Naath, I claim you for my betrothed. We will marry in one month, allowing us time to get to know one another and for arrangements to be made."
She waited, holding her breath, for her father to deny the request.
Instead, he said, "You are most kind to accept my daughter Trista. I am honored to betroth her to you." Despite the warmth of the morning, a cold dread filled her body.
This could not be happening.
In less than a day, she was left behind while her father and Garick returned to Winterland. Her father left her strict instructions to do nothing to upset Braedon, then reinforced his warning by telling her that because of what she had done, she had sealed her own fate. The kingdom of D'Naath depended on her marrying him. She could not refuse to marry Braedon as he had already asked for her and her father had accepted.
She was stuck, trapped in a web of her own weaving.
This had not gone at all the way she had planned.
Chapter Nine
"Really, Noele, could you not have someone else perform these tasks?" Solara beseeched her sister, who rested on the mauve-colored chaise in her chambers. Elise and Mina sat with her, all of them gaping up at Solara.
Noele shook her head. "I trust no one to handle things but you. Is there some problem?" Yes, but not one she could discuss with her sister. "No, no problem. It's just that..." Just what? That she could not handle one more day of having Roarke underfoot? That he was like the devil's temptation, one that she could not resist?
Only this time the devil was doing the resisting. Not once in the past two days had he done anything to encourage her. Nor had they been alone. Roarke had made sure they either remained in public or that one of his guards accompanied them.
Really, she was much smaller than him. She could hardly pounce on and ravage him without his consent.
It was quite insulting, the more she thought about it.
"It's just that what?"
"It's Roarke."
She ignored the gawking stares of Elise and Mina and looked away from them, embarrassed that she had even brought up the subject.
"What is wrong with Roarke?"
"Nothing is wrong with him. Everything is wrong with him. I don't know. He treats me like a child, as if I couldn't make an intelligent decision if the very survival of the world depended upon it. Really, Noele, he is insufferable."
"Perhaps you care for him, and that is why it upsets you to be so close to him." Solara whirled at Elise's statement, dumbfounded as to how to respond. Elise smiled innocently, her golden eyes sparkling with warmth.
Leave it to Elise to state the obvious. Even if it wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"I do not care for him. Perhaps you could take over my duties, Elise?"
"I need Elise to help me elsewhere," Noele interrupted. "Besides, neither she nor Mina are old enough or experienced enough to run a castle."
The twins were merely two years younger than her. And yet Noele was right. They hadn't yet been trained. She, at least, had received basic instructions on the daily goings on. And she had to admit that the past few days she had learned much under Roarke's tutelage.
What she wanted to learn from Roarke, he would not give her. Her training in the fine art of lovemaking would have to come from Braedon of Greenbriar, a thought which turned her stomach. She had never met the king, and the thought of anyone but Roarke touching her sent shudders of revulsion down her spine.
"Come, sit with us while I read to Noele," Mina said. "Really, Solara, you complain too much. Your time here is limited as it is. Surely you can bear up under whatever perceived torture Roarke bestows upon you."
And leave it to Mina to be insulting. "I am not tortured by him. I am merely perturbed at his attitude." Mina fluttered her copper wings and stood, peering out the window at the guards training below.
"Roarke is a male. They are annoying. One must learn to deal with that, I suppose." Noele laughed, color rising to her cheeks. For the first time in days Solara saw her sister smile. Perhaps the torture would not last much longer. Once Noele was past the sickly days of early pregnancy, she would want to take over her duties again, thereby freeing Solara from Roarke's scrutiny.
"And speaking of duties, shouldn't you be seeking out Roarke to see what he has planned for you today?" Noele asked, setting down the needlepoint she'd been working on.
She'd sooner conjure up some magic and turn him to stone. "Yes, I suppose I should." Noele stood and reached for her hands, squeezing them gently. "You may think you handle your troubles alone, sister, but remember that we are linked. I feel what you feel, I know what you know.
Destiny will find a way. Be patient."
Noele may think she knew everything, but Solara had kept her thoughts and actions where Roarke was concerned locked up inside herself.
After she left Noele's chambers, Solara thought about what her sister had said. Destiny, fate, it was all a ridiculous notion. Her life was set in stone and could not be changed. Even if it could, the elvin warrior she wanted would never suffer dishonor to follow his heart. He was too steeped in ritual, in how things had always been done, to even consider the notion that perhaps there was another way.
Well, he might not choose her, but by the stars she would make certain he knew exactly what he was giving up.
It was time to put her plan into action.
*
Roarke finished overseeing the repair and refitting of several of their battle weapons, confident that should a wizard attack occur, they would be prepared. Next he had to find Solara.
A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he searched the hall and courtyard for her. Clearly, she had been avoiding him since that night in the falconry.
Not that he blamed her. He had acted stupidly, nearly taking what was not his to take. No doubt she was confused by his abrupt change in attitude again.
If confusion reigned anywhere, it was deep within himself. He wanted Solara to the point of distraction, yet honor and duty forbade him from having her. The struggle he battled within himself was one he shared with her. And that was not fair. To her, or to himself. So he vowed to keep his distance, instruct her in her duties and go about his business instead of sniffing around her like a dog scenting a bitch in heat.
'Twas the most difficult thing he'd had to do. Every waking moment of his day was spent wanting her, aching for her. Walking around with throbbing cock and balls was more than a bit distracting, and yet such was his typical day.
Perhaps tonight in his chambers, he'd stroke his shaft and obtain release. Surely that would abate some of his pain. Already, thoughts of what he could do with Solara if she were his entered his mind. Yes, tonight, he would let his imagination run free, envision all the wicked things he wanted to do to the faerie princess, and release the tension threatening to explode.
But right now, he had to force back the hardening of his shaft and search out the elusive faerie. He found Isolde in the hall and she told him that she had last seen Solara heading toward the gardens.
The late afternoon sun beat down on his body, making him wish he could strip off his clothing. Instead, he wiped the sweat from his brow and weaved his way into the gardens.
She was not near the flowers, so he ventured further into the secluded recesses. Here, herbs and vegetables were grown, far away from where most of the castle inhabitants could be found. Tucked away here, they were safe from trampling along the well-used walkways. The seedlings were protected in the shrub-covered enclosure.
The sound of her voice emanated from the back row of plants. A lilting, faerie song escaped her lips, its notes melodic and haunting.
She had a beautiful voice, her song resonating with the poetry of unrequited love. Ignoring the stirrings of the music, he meant to call to her, then stopped dead when he spotted her.
On her knees in front of the herb seedlings, she bent over and reached outward for a weed. She had discarded her overdress. Her scarlet hair was unbound and willowing behind her in the slight breeze.
Clad only in a flimsy shift, one strap spilled over her left shoulder, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of a creamy breast.
A rush of lust tightened his breeches as he hardened painfully. A haze of near madness filled his blood and he realized a desire to toss her onto her back and slake his arousal within her hot cunt.
He shuddered at the vision and fought for control. Wanting to catch her attention so he could state his business and make his exit, he was loath to do so for fear she would see his erection pressing tight against his breeches.
She must have heard him, because she looked up, capturing his gaze. She held the flowering weed in her hand, and lifted it to her nose, her eyes drifting partly closed as she inhaled its sweet fragrance. Then she had the audacity to smile at him! A wickedly sensual upward curving of her lips that made him think of hot nights and long, silken limbs wrapped around his back.
Solara sat back on her heels, as if waiting for him to speak. But he could not find his voice. She hadn't righted the strap of her shift, and in her sitting position the swell of her breast peeked above the top of the garment, her nipples straining against the silken fabric.
Could he die from such a painful erection?
Why didn't she speak? Clearly, he was unable to at the moment. And he feared if he moved he might actually lose his control and ejaculate. His cock throbbed, the sensitive head rubbing against his breeches. Despite his attempts to the contrary, his mind conjured up images of Solara walking over to him, unlacing his breeches and taking his shaft in her heated mouth, then sucking him until he exploded down her throat.
And yet she continued to watch him, her green-eyed gaze focused on his face. She hadn't uttered a word, as if she expected him to make the first move.
"I...I..."
Brilliant. Now he sounded like a lovesick boy who'd just had his first glimpse of a tit and couldn't form a coherent word. The faerie exercised some kind of magic over him, making him unable to utter intelligent words.
"Is there something you're trying to say, Roarke?" She fixed him with an innocent batting of her eyelashes, but clearly the vixen had spellbound him somehow.
Had the mere sight of a half-naked breast caused a total loss of his ability to speak? "I...I have work for you."
"I see. And what is it that you would like me to do for you?" Suck my cock. Ease this tormenting ache in my balls. Lie down upon the grass and spread your sweet thighs so that I might sheathe myself in you. "There are accounts we need to go over."
"Can it wait? I'm pruning the seedlings."
"Can't someone else do that?"
She huffed and crossed her arms. "You were the one who told me that I should see to the seedlings myself."
"Oh. I did, didn't I?" Now he sounded like an imbecile. "Very well, then. I shall go over the accounts myself."
He should turn and walk away. Their conversation was over. But she looked so delectable sitting there on the ground, her scarlet wings combating for wild color with the fierce green grass, he stood rooted to the spot.
Solara shrugged and turned her attention to the seedlings and dirt. "You do that. I still have much to do.
First I must finish up here, see to the evening meal, check on Noele, and then I feel in need of a bath." Truly he was about to turn away, but the mere mention of her bathing conjured up those blasted images in his head again. He coughed to clear the dry lump in his throat. "I see. Well, I will take my leave of you now."
"Very well."
She didn't even look up at him. He walked away, feeling for all the world like he'd just been spurned by a woman whose attentions he sought.
This entire charade grew more ridiculous by the second.
He had work to do. Yes, work would occupy his mind.
And he would not think about her bathing!
*
Solara smiled as she watched Roarke stomp away, supremely satisfied by his discomfort. He'd left his emotions unguarded, and she felt every tantalizing moment of his frustration as he'd watched her. His desire matched her own, his need as fierce and uncontrollable as hers.
Touching his emotions was dangerous. She knew she should not pry into his mind, into his soul, and yet the opening he'd left surprised her. Like an irresistible temptation, she felt compelled to seek out the truth.
Yes, he'd hidden his desires quite well, at least internally. But the hard evidence of it could not be hidden from her. One look at his erection had her mouth going dry, her nipples beading against the thin material of her shift. Moisture gathered between her legs and she fought to keep her hand from straying there to massage the ever-growing ache.
An ache she would have to relieve herself,
despite her wish to take Roarke's hand, place it on the curls of her sex and beg him to release her from the torment.
With a sigh, she realized this game she played would have more than one victim. Yes, she would teach Roarke a lesson, but she would also painfully face the same realizations as he.
But she vowed to continue, a plan for tonight already forming in her mind. She had seen the way his eyes darkened when she mentioned bathing this eve, and she would make sure that he was in a position to watch her.
It may agonize them both in the process, but she'd show him that he had much to lose, the least of which was his damnable honor!
Chapter Ten
Roarke had endured quite enough from the faerie vixen today. First the episode in the garden, then at the evening meal. She had spent time with one of his guards, clearly amused at everything the man said.
His blood boiled, roaring in his ears every time her lilting laugh sailed across the hall. She tormented him on purpose, he knew it.
And the guard who dared openly flirt with a woman betrothed to a king would find himself demoted and shoveling horse shit tomorrow.
Tired of the ridiculous display, he had left immediately after eating, determined to spend the remainder of the night in his chambers. Once there, he was unable to relax, pacing back and forth within the confines of the small room until he drove himself mad.
If he wanted to, there were many women who would be more than happy to slake his lust. Not one to go long without female companionship, he had always been able to find a willing woman to spend a night with.
Or he used to. Since he met Solara, the thought of being with another woman did not appeal to him. He had not lain with a woman in months.
With a disgusted curse, he left the chambers, determined to forget all about Solara by visiting the pub and getting soundly drunk.
He sat with a few of the guards, listening to their ribald stories of the latest wench they had tumbled, refusing to think of a certain wench he could have had on multiple occasions and yet foolishly walked away.
Goblet after goblet of mead dulled the sharp ache inside him, yet his thoughts still focused on a scarlet-haired faerie with golden green eyes and creamy breasts that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.
