by Stacy Reid
“The dungeons of Mevia, Princess. Tell me all you know about them.”
2
Lachlan Ravenswood, an Archduke of the Darkage, inhaled the unique fragrance of the slight female clasped in his arms. The princess felt sublime resting against him. When Lachlan had spied her earlier, he had faltered, arrested by her stunning beauty. He’d stepped in her shadows, traveling with her for hours, learning and plotting. He’d discovered two things about her. She appealed to him despite being so petite, and the emperor of Mevia was her enemy despite the façade she presented. It was impossible for him to sense negative emotions as his fellow Darkans did, for he’d denied the existence of the malevolent charka housed inside his body. Even without a demon beast’s essence guiding him, he sensed that she feared the emperor, and, having spent several hours observing her carefully, he could identify the resentment and hatred which had burned in her eyes. It was that spit of fire amidst the fear that stroked his interest, but most compellingly she was a Serangite. Her mind was able to store a vast amount of information, dissect it and unravel its patterns. And also she was a telepath.
Would she aid him? That remained to be seen. The role she played in the empire remained unclear. Earlier she’d had a meeting with the Emperor and his General, but Lachlan had not spied on it, sensing at least three other Darkans in the shadows of the throne room. An icy rage had filled him, for they were not in Mevia at their king’s order. Hence they were traitors to his realm.
He would try to persuade the Serangite to help him explore the dungeons and would even use his blades if necessary, although he would prefer to use seduction as his tool. Lachlan tensed, analyzing his thoughts. It had been years since he’d bedded a woman or even had the desire to do so. The petite princess attracted him, but it was moot as his mission to uncover the dungeon of Mevia’s stronghold was his main objective, and he could afford no distraction.
She inhaled, unintentionally pressing her softness into his hardened frame. The top of her head met his chest. She barely cleared five feet and was curvaceous though her loosely flowing sari hid most from his gaze. Her face, however, was shaped like the finest porcelain. Delicate chin, small nose, gently rounded cheeks, beautiful lips, and eyes hardened like diamonds appeared as if a star itself had been fractured in their depths. He ignored the flare of arousal that tightened his gut and pressed the blade closer to her beating pulse. Her soft gasp rasped over him, stroking the arousal that seemed to pulse inside of him.
He didn’t trust his unfamiliar, extraordinary reaction to her. He should have ignored her presence, but he was racing against time. His kingdom had formed a recent alliance with Princess Saieke of the winds and mountains, and he was now honor bound to free Princess Saieke from the emotional pain that beset her because of her Queens Blades’ imprisonment. They had been taken by warriors of Mevia who had hunted the princess only a few weeks past. They had been her guards since she was a child, but she’d grown to regard them as family, ignoring the distinction of rank. Since their capture by the empire, she had been trying to rescue them. Lachlan owed her mate, Drac El Kyn, and he had called in his favor. Honor and friendship insisted Lachlan responded. Saieke’s Blades’ lives now rested in his hands, and he would complete his rescue mission successfully.
Lachlan had been in Mevia for precisely six days, but only in the palace for the last twelve hours. He had traveled through the kingdom in the dark, seeking those who had been rumored to construct the dungeons or anyone who had any knowledge of how to gain entrance. After endless searching and spying in the shadow space, it seemed as if the cells were a mystery to everyone in the empire. Yet he knew they existed.
The famed torture chamber of Mevia created fear even in Darkans. And for the civilians of Mevia who seemed to live in abject deference to the emperor and his warriors, talk of the dungeons were taboo. Infiltrating the palace required more caution because the emperor had traitorous Darkans working with him who scanned the shadows for intruders. But Lachlan had absolute control in wielding his shenkiri of shadows and had been careful to stay a step ahead of those of his kind in the shadow space.
The Princess Shilah was a weak link to the empire and weakness should always be exploited. She was ironically a powerful weak link, one that held the key to what he sought. Possibly. He pressed the blade closer to her neck letting its cold caress her skin, and its threat imprint in her mind. She posed no danger to him with her telepathy. It wasn’t that she was not dangerous. Far from it. She might be more fragile than other Amagarians, lacking their speed, strength, and their rapid healing capabilities, but Serangites made up for it with their mental prowess. But his shield, built through agonizing pain and loss, was impenetrable. He dipped his head and whispered in her ear. “The dungeons of Mevia, Princess. All that you know.”
The trip of her pulse vibrated against the fine steel of his knife. “The dungeons?”
“I believe that is what I said. You were recently there.” In what capacity he had yet to discover.
“I know nothing of the dungeons,” she snapped.
“You visited last eve.”
Every line in her body went taut. “You’ve been spying on me?”
He smiled at the outrage in her tone. “It is incidental that you captured my attention.” He had been analyzing the underground area where he suspected the entrance to the dungeon was located. It was a smooth wall of nothingness. There was no evident opening, yet those walls had parted, and the princess had spilled forth with a witch and several guards. Lachlan had tried to shadow step into that space and had found himself paralyzed for several minutes. “I grow impatient, Princess.”
With brutal deliberateness, designed to shock more than harm, he pressed the blade under her skin. Blood pooled and ran down her neck. Despite the danger to her, she slammed her head back, thumping his chest. She grasped his wrists, tapping her fingers across his pulse. Then he felt the soft flutters across his mind. He smiled. She was such a tiny creature. It was then he realized she was trying to fight back. How had she survived this long in the Empire? He was barely restraining her, and she could not escape his clasp.
Heat punched through him, and invisible hands yanked the blade down from her throat in a quick, powerful move, and that same force slammed him back with stunning might. Lachlan dug his heels into the floor, cracking the tiles beneath his feet as he resisted the blast of her ability, grounding himself to a halt.
She had telekinesis skills. Impressive. Most Serangites controlled only one of the four geneses—telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, and foresight. Unless the information gathered by his dark king on the other realms were incomplete. He filed it away and studied her.
The princess had a jeweled dagger held up in an attack stance, a strange blue light emanating from the blade. Her silver-white hair fell loose over one shoulder, exposing the slim line of her throat and the softness of her jaw. Lachlan hadn’t the heart to demonstrate how feeble she was against his power should he chose to unleash it. And as a woman who had the ear of the Emperor, he wanted no suspicion roused that an unknown Darkan was in their midst. He relaxed his stance, and with a deft flick of his wrist, sheathed his weapon. He tried to sound reassuring. Tried to appear non-threatening. “I do not wish a fight with you. I only seek information.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have no information to help you, stranger. My senses were masked by enchantment. No one can enter those dungeons without the Grand General Shenzhen or the Emperor’s approval.”
That was valuable knowledge. “A witch’s spell?”
“Is there any other kind?” she asked softly, her muscles telegraphing her intent to attack.
“Do not be foolish. I have no wish to hurt you.” The truth of it resounded in him. He was not a man who shied away from his brutality. Lachlan was a warrior and had always done difficult things for those he loved. Yet he couldn’t imagine hurting her. She seemed too defenseless, and it was never in him to prey on those weaker than himself.
He considered her
for an exceedingly long time, assessing every shift of her eyes, and the play of her muscles. Because he chose to bury his demon beast, he could not rely on the dark flavor of negative emotions to tell him when a prey lied, feared, or raged. Lachlan had made it a part of his abilities to assess his opponents, searching for those tell-tale signs to reveal deception. The princess, though frightened, radiated with innocent truth. “How long have you been in the Empire?”
A quick frown chased her features. “Almost three months.”
“And in that time how often have you been to the dungeons?”
She glared at him before answering reluctantly, “About five, and only the upper floors.”
“And each time you made it out, alive.”
She flinched, and his curiosity stirred. What had been her purpose? To read the thoughts of others while they were questioned and tortured? “Do you know the witch who cast the spell that enchanted the dungeon?”
“I do not.”
Another truth. “Why do you visit the dungeons?”
Her breathing fractured slightly, and the pulse at her throat fluttered, yet her eyes held steadily on his. “I read the thoughts of selected prisoners for the Emperor.”
Ah…a lie. “Did you lie to me just now princess?”
Her lips curved slightly. “I owe you no truths or loyalty, stranger.”
“I could take it from you, should I wish it,” Lachlan murmured, his intrigue multiplying.
Her chin lifted, and her hand tightened on her weapon, and those strange but beautiful eyes dared him to try. For some reason, her defiance made him want to smile. “You will keep this encounter between us, Princess.”
She arched an elegant brow. “The emperor will not be kind when he hears of your presence in his kingdom.”
“Precisely. Now if I believed you would reveal that I am here, I would be forced to silence you. Instead, we could be friends.”
A scowl settled on her face. “Is that so?” she demanded caustically, using her free hand to touch the spot where he’d nicked her skin.
“The enemy of my enemy?” he asked smoothly, sinking into that empty hollow place that would allow him to snap her neck without remorse. “Do I have reason to believe you will inform the emperor of my presence?”
He watched her carefully for signs of deception.
“I cannot reveal you if I am ignorant of your identity,” she said hoarsely, gripping the edge of her blade, appearing more frightened than manipulative.
“Then we have an understanding.” He dipped into the slightest bow, then moved toward the windows. Lachlan shoved them open and stepped through.
With a gasp she hurried over, her eyes wide with disbelief as she peered down into the courtyard more than fifty stories below them. She glanced up, her eyes frantically searching the darkness for him. He was right there, at one with the shadows and darkness.
“Who are you?” she whispered, no doubt thinking he had left.
The soft question seemed to brush directly against his cock, startling him. He didn’t have time for a liaison and hadn’t had time for almost two hundred years. How odd this slip of female could even for a moment rouse his senses. Pushing her from his thoughts, he roiled with the darkness into the Emperor’s throne room, the place where he’d observed a few guards dragging the witch who had spilled from the enchanted dungeons with the princess. Hopefully, it was her who had crafted the spell, and if not, with persuasion, she would direct him to the right witch or try unraveling the spell herself.
After determining that none of his kind lingered in the darkness, he stepped into the throne room’s shadow space. The emperor paced the floor, his robe flowing about his legs, his eyes flat and cunning. The witch kneeled on the jade tiles, blood in a round pool at her feet. Her raven black hair was a tangled mess, and cobalt blue eyes burned with hatred and anguish. Three guards surrounded her, their swords held about her head, waiting on their emperor’s command.
“Lord Zhang, I ask for mercy,” she said softly, the despair in her tone clutching at Lachlan.
“Mercy? I gave you one task. Control the Darkan beast that had been summoned to a corporeal form. And you failed. I believe another witch with greater power will be better employed.”
A dark primal, instinctive part of Lachlan’s soul stilled. They had somehow managed to pull the chakra from one of his people onto this plane? The beasts that resided in all Darkans were pure mystical energy with their own cunning and intelligence. Only the most powerful of their kind were able to tap into that abyss of unrelenting strength and summon the beast inside to a corporeal form. And only the Darkan host could control that beast. How was it possible that the witch could call it forth and then control it?
The very suggestion shook his soul and an emotion that felt perilously close to fear slithered through him. The concept of anyone possessing the power to harness the will of their people was terrifying and had far-reaching consequences.
“I am with child,” the witch continued, resting her hands against her stomach in a protective gesture.
It was then he saw the gentle swell below her flowing caftan.
“Oh?” The Emperor said, a look of cunning settling over his features. “And why should that be of any import to me? Unless, who might be the father?”
She lifted her head and met the Emperor’s curious gaze. “Another witch from my coven.”
Lachlan sensed that she lied, and he stepped into her shadow assessing her.
The emperor held her stare. “There is a rumor you allowed a Darkan between your thighs. One whom you met at the Inn in Taryllion. And now you are with child.”
She whitened, and Lachlan tensed. She had survived the wastelands? Taryllion was violent and lawless—thousands of miles of land which separated the borders of the seven kingdoms of Amagarie. It possessed flat lands that seemed to stretch endlessly before mountains rose behind them, dark and intimidating. Many did not know of its underground city built deep inside the caverns of the wastelands, made up of exiles from the seven kingdoms, thieves, and assassins. Ironically, it had an Inn, where all factions could dine and drink, and even bed down for the night without fear of losing their lives. That savage and lawless place operated with a code—anyone within the Inn’s wall was safe.
And she had met a Darkan there.
The hands that pushed her dark hair from her forehead trembled. “A Darkan can only impregnate a mate, and I’m no one’s mate,” she said, grooves of strain bracketing her mouth.
“Ah...but you did allow one to ride between your thighs, my sweet Amirah.”
She remained silent. The emperor flicked his wrists, and the guards sheathed their swords.
“I believe I have further use for you, my witch. You will be kept here until the child is born. If it is the child of a Darkan it will stay here...and you will be allowed to leave.”
A ragged moan of pain and denial slipped from her. She struggled to her feet, and Lachlan wanted to howl at the damage. Those with power should never abuse those weaker than themselves. And they had toyed with her. Cutting into her skin with their blades. She bled from a multitude of cuts. If she had been fated to die, a clean death would have done the job.
She dipped into a clumsy bow and then departed. He followed her, cloaking himself in absolute darkness. Three guards also followed at a discreet distance. She made her way several floors down, before turning left along a long lonely corridor. The witch stopped at an iron door and waited. One of the guards inserted a key, the door swung open, and she entered.
It was a small airless room, the lone window high almost to the ceiling. Stark, cold, grey concrete constructed her prison. A lone narrow cot was pushed against a corner, and the room was void of a fireplace. She hobbled over to a small table, took up a pouch, opened it and collected a pungent smelling herb. She slowly mixed the herb into some liquid she had in a chalice, muttered under her breath, and drank it in a long swallow. Before his eyes, a few of the smaller cuts stopped bleeding, but she still appe
ared pained. A chill blanketed the room, and she grabbed the thin quilt and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders, lowering herself onto the edge of the cot.
Harsh, broken sobs spilled from her. She did not tarry in her sorrow, squaring her shoulders and resting hands on her stomach. “I’ll not fail you,” she promised softly. “How stupid of me to run from your father when I sensed his might. He is a power to be reckoned with my darling, and he can help protect us from the coven, and the emperor. I am so petrified to reach out to him. His kind are monsters.”
The small mound of her stomach rippled, and a choked laugh escaped her. “But not you, my sweet, you are no monster,” she murmured. “Half of me is within you too.”
A dark curiosity bloomed, taking root too rapidly for him to crush. Lachlan stepped from the shadows.
She paled alarmingly, came to her feet slowly, facing him, breathing roughly. Her power rode the air, and the walls of the room contracted and settled. “Who are you?”
“I am an Archduke of the Darkage.”
Raw fear chased her features. Her eyes flared wide before she inhaled deeply. “Lies. I sense no demon within you. But you stepped from the shadows. How is this possible?”
He ignored that demand. “What work do you perform for the emperor?”
Her eyes flashed. “I am here under duress. I do not willingly do anything for him.”
A truth. “How did you pull the chakra from within the Darkan?”
The pulse at her throat fluttered madly, and she whispered too low for him to decipher. Her power swarmed over his skin like insects. Lachlan remained still, drawing the shadows in the room to coalesce around her. They twisted at her feet like snakes and her breathing fractured.
“If you try to cast a spell, I will not hesitate to rip your tongue from your head. And if you lie to me, I shall peel the flesh from your body,” he said without any give or mercy in his heart. “Speak.”
