“Aye,” said Ember. She swallowed hard, willing her lust to abate. Oh, how his ebony eyes and pale hair looked both odd and riveting. Heat mounted in her pussy, and she tried hard not to squirm on her chair. “I am the oldest of the daughters.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet a Daughter of Trinity.” His voice swirled around Ember, caressed her ears, and soothed each nervous thought within her mind.
“The pleasure is all mine, fine sir.” Heat flooded her face. She hadn’t meant her reply to sound so…so desirous. Can he sense my thoughts? Anger replaced her shame. No male, whether Man or Fae, had ever been able to fluster her, so why was he any different? Only those who let their guard down allowed a Gloaming Elf to influence their emotions and physical needs. She lifted her chin and added, “Perhaps you should introduce yourself to my sisters. They are more delicate than I.”
An intense pain sliced through her ribs. Startled, Ember glanced sharply at Dikartha, who shot her a furious look, elbow poised to jab again.
Soft laughter rolled out of Sir Greensleeve. “Fire and spirit intrigues me more, dear princess.”
Chagrined, Ember tossed him a haughty expression, and tried to ignore the handsome planes and lines of his face, and the glossy sheen of his long, flaxen hair.
The two representing the Mortals of the North were seated by her mother and father. It was often difficult to judge the age of humans, but Ember guessed the elder of the two to be in his fiftieth cycle. The younger one, a handsome man in a pretty sort of way, appeared at least three decades younger than his sire. Her mother had told her the story of how her Mortal grandmother had sold her into a marriage to young Kaedric. Ember’s father, the king, had posed as her mother’s cousin, Shai, whom the Mortals had known as Soren, now Dikartha’s husband. With Raya’s aid, the disguised King Roahre spirited her mother away and made her realize she’d known the truth about his identity all along.
Although a romantic story, and despite the fact the bridal money had been returned in full, Ember wondered if the two men still harbored dark feelings toward her parents. She caught the Kaedric’s gaze and looked away. No matter how much he pleased her eyes, her gut instinct advised her to be careful around him.
She sneaked another look at Kaedric. He still looked down the length of the table at her. A smile, like that of a ravenous forest wolf, stretched his strong lips beneath a honey-colored beard.
“It seems you have an admirer,” Sir Greensleeve whispered in her ear.
His breath stirred goose flesh along her neck and arms. “Perhaps,” she replied, slightly startled at his astute assessment. “However, I am not one to play with those who hide their fangs.”
Greensleeve’s laughter wound its way around her and tugged at her heartstrings. “If he distresses you, I shall provide a place of solace.”
“Only if Raya herself says it must be so,” Ember quipped. But what an enticing thought! She clamped her thighs together.
The Gloaming Elf’s laughter grew louder, drawing the attention of those at the table, including Kaedric’s, who frowned, his steely eyes quickly assessing the elf.
“Raya has more in store for you than you know,” Greensleeve said.
Something in the elf’s retort sent an arrow of fear into Ember’s soul.
Chapter Two
The meal passed with much laughter and wine drinking. Ember conversed briefly with Lady Evanesce, but the idea that the woman could read her soul prompted her to keep her answers brief and her eye contact even briefer.
“Sir Greensleeve,” Ember began.
“Please,” he replied, his gaze skimming her face, “call me Sarenkesh. I hate formalities and prefer my given name.”
The way his attention slid over her warmed Ember right down to her silken slippers. It wasn’t the leer of a man who wanted carnal delights, but the suggestion of it. Ember barred his magic and willed herself to be strong.
“Do you feel it necessary to cast your spell upon me?” she asked, lowering her voice. “You are quite pleasurable to the eyes without it.”
A huge grin spread across his face. “I admit, Princess, that I have sent my power to woo you, but even if I stop doing it, Gloaming Elves naturally exude desire and hint at carnal enjoyment. It is a part of who we are. I will, however”—he leaned closer to her so that she caught a distinct whiff of lavender—“promise not to cast any more magic your direction.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Sarenkesh.”
“Ah, the sound of my name from your sweet lips is enough to send me to the heavens.”
“The flowery words you so freely speak are enough to make me laugh.”
Sarenkesh burst out laughing again. “You are full of fire, Princess.”
As they verbally sparred, Ember realized Sarenkesh had turned out to be an entertaining dinner companion. His rapier wit kept her and Dikartha giggling so that Eternity and Enigma shot curious looks their way. He grew more interested in learning about her, and Ember discovered she wanted to know more about him too.
However, King Roahre interrupted them as he called down the table. “Shall I ask the musicians to play for us?”
Murmurs of approval filled the chamber.
The king conversed with a servant, and within minutes, musicians gathered at the back of the dancing area and struck up a jaunty tune. Ember’s father held his hand out to his queen, and together they moved out onto the floor to dance.
Shai whisked Dikartha away, leaving Ember alone with Sarenkesh. Sir Hestbone asked Enigma to dance, and Eternity allowed Beron to tug her over to the others.
“Princess Ember,” a voice rumbled next to her. “Would you allow me the honor of dancing with you?”
She looked up. Kaedric stood at her seat, his hand extended. Dread settled over her like cloying, black smoke.
“Oh, my apologies,” Sarenkesh spoke and slid his chair back. “The princess has already agreed to dance with me.” He took Ember’s hand and helped her to her feet.
Kaedric favored him intense annoyance which sent a chill throughout Ember. “Perhaps later, sweet princess,” he said, his tone clipped. His gaze shifted to Lady Evanesce. “Lady?” He bowed to her. “May I?”
“I am very tired from the journey,” she stated. “Mayhap another time, good sir.”
Ember noted the guarded look in the Fae woman’s eyes. She could only imagine what the Fae woman saw in Kaedric’s soul.
“Cold?” Sarenkesh asked as he led her away.
She hadn’t realized that she’d shivered. “No, I just—”
“Do not care for those with hidden fangs?”
She smiled up at him. Gloaming Elves were taller than most elves. Her eighteen hands of height still forced her to look up into Sarenkesh’s face.
“I prefer menfolk to be honest and forthright, even it if is not what I want to hear.”
“Pray tell you may not desire Master Kaedric to be sincere with you, Princess.”
She laughed as the strains of the tune swept them into the fray. “You are probably right.”
The faerie orbs drifted just above the tallest of heads, the soft golden light providing a warm atmosphere. The tune changed to a gentle melody that forced everyone into a close embrace. Sarenkesh’s hand found a place on the small of Ember’s back. She settled one hand upon his shoulder, and he took her other hand to lead her around the dance floor in graceful circles. He rubbed his fingers gently on her waist. Ember fought the waves of magic penetrating the fabric of her gown. She caught Kaedric eyeing them across the chamber and averted her gaze. The man would prove unsavory for the rest of the evening, she was sure.
“I understand that tonight’s discussion is important.” Ember leaned back slightly and peered up into Sarenkesh’s face. His dark, fathomless gaze pierced something deep within her. Realizing his natural magic had begun to work upon her once again, she pushed the sensations away and steeled herself against them.
The Gloaming Elf smiled. “I am not at liberty to say, Princess, but you are the center
of the matter.”
“Me?” Something cold wiggled through her mind. “How so?”
He shook his head. A thick lock of white-blond hair slid over one shoulder. “Just know that you should be prepared.”
“You have me worried.”
“As you should be, dear princess.”
“But why tell me this much only for me to fret over it?”
Sarenkesh’s smile turned sympathetic. “Better to be prepared than to have it come as a shock.”
She allowed him to pull her closer, and took comfort in his gentle embrace. His warm hand on the small of her back sent butterflies of anticipation flittering through her heart. Ember was used to having her way with men, but no one seemed able to quench the hunger that burned within her. She looked up into Sarenkesh’s eyes and wondered if he could take her to that special place she so desperately wanted to reach.
Her parents whirled past them, their expressions strained, which captured Ember’s attention. The points of her father’s ears were pale, a definite clue something troubled him. The queen’s shimmering gown cast a prism of colors around her as she danced, but her usually animated face looked as bland as porridge. Her sisters laughed, both throwing their heads back, enjoying the dance, oblivious to the fact something would possibly change Ember’s life and perhaps theirs, too.
The melody transformed again; this time, the harps created most of the sweet notes. She and Sarenkesh passed the edge of the dance floor closest to the meal table. Snippets of the captain of war’s angry words reached Ember, his red face testament to his argument with Kaedric. Lady Evanesce wore a frown, and Enigma looked uncomfortable as she waited for her dance partner to return his attention to her.
“Ah, I see that Master Kaedric has irritated others as well,” murmured Sarenkesh. “The man is such a bore. It is sad that he represents the Northern Mortals.”
Thunder rocked the great hall. Startled cries followed, and the music halted. Dazzling white sparkles materialized between the dancers and the meal table. A blinding column of light formed. Ember leaned against Sarenkesh, shielding her eyes. The tower of illumination solidified, and everyone dropped to their knees with bowed heads.
Ember had only seen the Goddess Raya one other time when she was just old enough to comprehend who the goddess was and how she played such a huge role in the lives of the Fae. Fear rippled through her. She now knew Sarenkesh had prepared her for a reason, but if Raya was involved, the situation was of the utmost importance. How did she play a part in what the goddess had planned? Ember wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“Rise,” a female voice boomed throughout the hall.
“Gracious Raya,” said King Roahre, stepping forward. “As always, it is an honor.”
The goddess towered over them. Ember feared no one except for the gods. Raya’s presence inspired awe in the bravest of warriors and the most vicious of creatures. Two large blue-black panthers twined around the goddess’s legs, their golden gazes ever watchful of the dinner guests. Ember remembered the goddess had been lovely, but now that she could truly appreciate physical beauty, Raya’s comely face and body rivaled that of any Fae or Mortal woman.
Raya nodded. Her mass of hair, the color of new gold coins, swayed around her hips. “King Roahre. You knew this day would come.” Her gaze swept the crowd, and her eyes blazed with the blue of a brand-new sky. “One of the Daughters of Trinity has been chosen for a quest. Come, sit. We must talk of the plague that is upon our world.”
“Plague?” Ember tossed Sarenkesh a stricken look. Her voice rang out across the chamber. When Raya’s attention shifted to her, Ember pressed closer to Sarenkesh’s side. He drew her to his body, his hands resting possessively on her waist.
“Ah,” Raya’s voice filled the great hall. “’Tis good to see the favored one. Come here, child.”
“Fear not, dear princess,” Sarenkesh whispered next to her ear. “You are, after all, the most favored.” Gently he pushed her forward.
On trembling legs, Ember approached the goddess, craning her neck to look up. The goddess’s gaze sliced to her core. One of the panthers padded forward, purring, and rubbed its large head against Ember’s shoulder. Intimidated by the massive feline, she tentatively scratched the creature’s ears. It rewarded her with a pleasured trill. She smiled and continued to stand before the goddess.
Up close, Raya’s power and aura was all-consuming. Ember worried her bladder would fail her, and her legs shook so hard she wondered if some sort of magic had changed her bones into Cook’s sweet jam. The aroma of apple blossoms and ozone surrounded the goddess. Raya leaned over and kissed Ember on the mark she’d given her. A brief fiery sensation erupted in Ember’s temple. She grimaced, but just as quickly as the burning occurred, it vanished.
“There,” said Raya with satisfaction. “Now the mark I placed upon you at birth will glow with my power, and those who see you in the coming weeks will know which of the Daughters of Trinity you are.”
“Why are you here?” Ember whispered, a quiver in her voice.
“To send you to defeat the Ebon Weapon, of course,” Raya replied with amusement. “Everyone sit down.” She clapped her big, slender hands. “Bring more wine for all, but bring me ale!” She looked over at Sir Hestbone. “Captain of War, explain to the king and queen what threatens our world.” The goddess took Ember’s hand, engulfing it in hers, and led her to the table. The panthers followed and curled up together on the floor nearby. Ember sat in her usual chair, but Raya shoved the huge centerpiece of fruit aside and stepped up to situate herself in the table’s center where she could see everyone. A servant moved forward, head bowed, and offered her a goblet of ale. Laughing, Raya reached for the enormous pitcher slung over the servant’s shoulder by a leather strap and took a long gulp from it instead.
“King Roahre,” began Sir Hestbone, “and Queen Honey. We diplomats come to you because a threat unlike any we’ve seen in ages has arisen.”
“What threat is this?” Roahre’s vivid emerald eyes dimmed with worry. “Is it war?”
“War is imminent,” Jorgus rasped.
“Be silent, old man,” said Raya.
Jorgus paled and stared at his wine goblet.
“It isn’t war…yet.” Hestbone reached for his chalice. Holding her jug out, Raya offered him ale. He smiled at her, accepted the ale, and continued, “However, unless we solve this new dilemma, war will sweep across all the lands, including Verdfauna. We have no idea what the Ebon Weapon is, but the Mortals from the South have threatened everyone with it. They insist they can control this weapon, and unless we bow to the rule of Man, the Southerners will unleash it upon us. They claim they will defeat Man in the East, West, and North as well as all the Fae races.”
“But why?” Queen Honey asked.
The goddess’s laughter surrounded the table. “Sweet queen, you are ever the purest of souls. Why does any one person wish to control another? Whatever their reasons, they will surely do it unless all races act now.”
“With all due respect, beautiful Raya,” said Roahre as he tapped his fork nervously against his food trencher. “What is your interest in this matter?”
“To protect all faeries, of course, and”—she looked pointedly at Ember—“my most favored.”
The king frowned, but Queen Honey gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What does Ember have to do with this?” she asked.
“She is the key to solving the riddle to the Ebon Weapon.” Raya shifted her position on the tabletop, drawing one knee up to her bosoms and wrapping her arm around it. She sipped from the ale pitcher and then said, “Just as you were destined to marry King Roahre and join Man and Fae together through your blood, Ember is destined to seek out the Ebon Weapon and prevent the bloodshed of the Fae races.”
“But I thought our children were part of my destiny,” Honey pressed, unshed tears in her voice. “They were to continue the magical line that blends Mortals with Fae.”
“And they are.” The g
oddess’s gaze landed on Beron, Eternity, and Enigma.
“I’m sorry,” said Honey. “I don’t approve of this.”
Ember took note that Raya did not include her in her response. Emotion gripped her throat. She reached for her wine and drank, hoping to ease the discomfort.
“War is never a welcome vice,” Sir Hestbone replied, “but if Ember can help us, then perhaps all races can avoid war and tyranny.”
Sir Sarenkesh Greensleeve cleared his throat. “Messengers have come to Twilight Vale with the same ultimatum. Even our most powerful in magic have been unable to determine the identity of the Ebon Weapon.”
“’Tis true of Mist Valley as well,” Lady Evanesce chimed in, her voice as soft as dandelion fluff. “We are a peaceful race and wish no ill to befall anyone, Man or Fae.”
“What say you, Masters Jorgus and Kaedric?” King Roahre looked at them as if they were worthy of suspicion. “Do you have an ax to grind with the Fae?”
“No.” Jorgus wheezed and then coughed into a cloth napkin. “Our disagreement with you has been buried for years, and all is forgiven. We are here out of concern for our kingdom. Now that we Northerners have accepted that the Fae truly exist, and although we might not always agree with the ways of the Fae, neither do we wish to relinquish our freedom to anyone, regardless of race.”
“My father speaks the truth,” Kaedric added with assurance. “The messengers who visited the villages of the North set fire too many of the smaller towns as an example of what their weapon can do.”
“Fire?” echoed Roahre. “Have the Southerners harnessed a demon through black arts?”
Kaedric shook his blond head. “We’re as mystified by the meaning as the other diplomats.”
Something in the way the man spoke bothered Ember. She didn’t trust him, but if he couldn’t be trusted, would he be here before Raya now? Tempting a goddess’ wrath was foolhardy at best.
The Dragon God's Kiss Page 2
