Masterful Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 5)

by Rachael Slate

  The signal. He whipped his head toward the open window to his right.

  Relief pounded through his veins, until he switched his focus to Delia.

  Deimos had drawn a sword and poised it at her throat.

  “You centaurs are all so damned righteous.” Philaeus snorted and waved to his guards. “If you come across any intruders, execute them on sight.” He shifted to sneer at Hector. “I should have guessed this was but more of your fool-headed trickery.” He jerked his chin toward Delia. “Well, who is the fool now, centaur?”

  Delia tried not to swallow or breathe too deeply. The sharp edge of the sword pressed against her throat, pricking her skin. One false move and she would be dead.

  Gods, she hoped the centaur realized that.

  Since the Amazons had been successful and the nymphs freed, the only thing that mattered was getting out of here alive. One advantage she possessed was her warrior training. This was not the first time she’d had a blade pointed at her neck.

  The shock of surprise in her favor, she shot one arm back, the other forward, each hand spraying a tawny flare of thorny vines toward her targets. One wrapped around the sword and tore it from Deimos’s grasp. The other threaded around Philaeus’s wrist and bound it to the armrest of the throne, then proceeded to encircle him.

  Deimos employed some dark powers against her, clutching an invisible force around her throat, but Hector tackled him to the ground, slamming his fist into the male’s face.

  Lavra scurried toward the door.

  Delia hopped to her feet and snared another vine around the Queen’s ankles. She toppled forward and Delia seized one end of the vine, dragging her prize toward her.

  “You witless whore,” Lavra hissed, struggling against the bindings. “You will never win this war. You should have chosen better.”

  Smirking, Delia neatly wrapped the Queen, binding wrists and ankles, and oh, yes, gagging her curt tongue.

  Stepping over Lavra, she finished off tying Philaeus to that throne he loved so much, and then strode to Hector. The centaur’s knuckles were bloodied with Deimos’s blood and a feral gleam wavered in his eyes.

  “Hector, we must leave.” She treaded forward carefully. Centaurs might speak and act as humans did, but inside them was a beast capable of brutal feats.

  Sometimes, that beast was freed.

  Now was one of those times.

  She illuminated her hand, preparing to subdue Hector’s wild nature if she had to.

  He blinked, the haze clearing from his stormy depths. Brows bunching, he glanced down at his unconscious victim, then toward his soiled hands. Disgust and concern crossed his features. “I don’t know what came over me.” A tremble permeated his rich baritone, both awe and trepidation. “I’ve never lost control like that before.” He slid his gaze to her. “I was so consumed by you.”

  She stiffened. The feral blackness in his eyes remained, burning ever darker as he stared at her.

  Sweet Artemis. She seized one step back, keeping her hand raised in defense. “Not by me, Hector. By the lyssa.”

  ***

  Hector whipped his head and snorted. Nonsense. The lyssa was a madness which only affected unbonded centaurs denied their mates. He was clearly mated to Delia.

  He scratched at his bonding mark. Aye, true, a persistent, burning itch originated from the thin black band encircling his upper left bicep, but he’d lived with the discomfort for a decade and had grown rather accustomed to it.

  Delia must be wrong.

  He was the King’s heir—the calm, serious, and level-headed son. Not like his brothers, who succumbed to their baser surly, stubborn, and wild natures. He was reliable and dependable, and in Zeus’s name, he had never nor would he ever succumb to a crazed illness like the lyssa.

  He set his shoulders and scoffed. “Nay, lass. You’re mistaken. That was bloodlust, a thirst for revenge, and certainly not the lyssa.”

  Scanning past her, he observed her handiwork. “Nicely done. Unfortunately, we cannot harm them. Let’s leave this place before their guards discover us.” He offered her his hand, but she frowned at it as though touching him might make her go mad, too.

  His horse stomped, infuriated by his mate’s refusal. He stamped him down, swallowing thickly and refusing to allow even a glimmer of insanity cross his features.

  She shook out her glowing hands, the illumination dissipating, and they stole through a side door into an empty corridor. Throughout the castle, stomping boots and clashing weapons echoed as the guards chased the ghosts of the rescuers.

  Delia ahead of him, they trekked through the castle, searching for an exit. Kyme’s plan had depended upon the concealment of their true purpose, but now that they’d been found out, they had to rework a new escape.

  There would be no sauntering out the front gates.

  If he were alone, he might attempt barreling through the blockades, but Delia was with him. Aye, she was a seasoned warrior, but she was also his mate, and he would leave nothing to chance. If any harm befell her…

  They would both be dead.

  “This way.” He tugged her into the opening on his right, down another set of winding stairs. Padded footfalls echoed toward them. He froze, weighing his options. To scurry back up the stairs would leave them just as lost.

  So then, fight it was.

  He nodded to Delia, who shifted into a fighting stance, blade drawn and arm poised, ready to strike.

  A figure emerged, hooves clanking to a halt.

  Hooves?

  Another centaur? Cautiously, Hector stepped forward from the shadows, making his presence known, his nostrils flaring to pick up any animosity.

  Before him stood a massive centaur, his hide shining a burnished mahogany. He wore an embroidered leather strap across his chest and one shoulder, and metal arm bracers on his forearms. The enormous male’s mismatched eyes widened as he took in Hector’s form. “Ho there, have you seen a nymph, with fiery red locks and a temper to match?”

  Hector quirked his lips, already liking the male. “Nay, I have not. Are you part of the rescue?”

  “Rhoetus, at your service.” The male dipped his head. “I’ve been aiding Kyme with the layout of this castle.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Map’s in here.”

  Fantastic news. “My name is Hector, and this is my wife, Delia. We’d be most grateful if you could point us in the direction of an exit.”

  “Lord Hector?” Rhoetus straightened and scanned his perusal across Hector’s form, nodding to himself.

  Hector resisted the urge to run a finger along his collar, uneasy about this assessment. His first impression of the male faltered. Something was off. “We’ve not met before. Which clan do you belong to?”

  At this, Rhoetus steeled his shoulders, chest puffing. “I hail from Krete, and after this mission is finished, I would much appreciate an introduction with your father.”

  Krete? His jaw gaped and he struggled to close it. Never, in all his six hundred years, had he heard even a whisper of their long-lost brothers. He’d concluded, along with everyone else, that the centaurs of Krete had faded away.

  “If you’ll forgive me, I have a nymph to find.” Rhoetus grinned and pointed toward the left branch in the corridor behind him. “Follow that passage. Five hundred feet in, you should come to a grate that will open up to the outside. Luck be with you.”

  “I thank you.” Hector recovered and inclined his head at the male while they passed each other.

  As soon as Rhoetus had disappeared from view, Delia whispered, “Krete?”

  “Aye,” he scratched his jaw, “apparently so.” Unease tightened his chest. Does my father know? ’Twas the burning question. If no, the news would come as a shock. If yes, then what the bloody hell had Hector been training for his entire life? How could he ever be expected to rule a Kingdom when he wasn’t even aware of how far that Kingdom reached?

  It made no blasted sense and, admittedly, it stung.

  Because nothing, nothin
g, happened in Cheiron’s lands without his knowledge.

  The revelation struck him down, likening him to no better than a child fumbling to learn the rules of a game when no one would inform him of precisely what those rules were.

  “Hector?” Delia placed a gentle hand on his arm, drawing him from his brooding.

  They neared the divide in the corridor. Left, straight, or right. He veered toward the left, but Delia didn’t follow.

  “Kalyca? We must turn left.”

  She pursed her lips, focused on the right. “I know, but everything in me says to go right.”

  ***

  Delia couldn’t explain the pulsing pull toward the right. It was as though a thread of power lured her in that direction. And not because she didn’t quite trust the centaur from Krete. No, this was something else.

  Ignoring Hector’s protest, she shifted to the right, passing through the corridor. A wooden door creaked ajar, revealing a soft glow emanating from within. Beckoning.

  Obeying, she stepped inside.

  Instinctively, she braced with knife in hand for an assault, but the only thing in the room was a spritely nymph with a mischievous smirk curving her full red lips. The two twisting plaits of her flaming hair swung in time to her subtle swaying as she perched on a stool. Fiery redhead?

  “Why, hello.” The nymph cast Delia a bright smile. “I was so hoping to meet you before you left.”

  Delia twisted half around, pointing toward the corridor. “There’s a centaur search—”

  The nymph swept away her statement. “Let him search. I’m not ready to be found yet.” She winked and chimed a laugh. “My name’s Minthe, and you’re Delia.”

  “How do you know who I am?” She might have been concerned, but she sensed no malice rising from the female.

  “My mother told me you would come.” She peered past Delia as hooves clattered in the doorway. Hector. “Him too.”

  Delia arched a brow at her husband. “Hector, this is Minthe.”

  He mirrored her raised brows, but tilted his head toward the nymph. “A pleasure.” Then he cast narrowed, quizzical brows at Delia. “Is she the one the centaur…”

  “Yes, indeed,” Minthe quipped. “Never mind him, because I have instructions for you.”

  Anxiety pulsed through her veins and Delia held her breath.

  “Your Amazon Queen has banished you, but all is not lost. Should you prove yourself worthy, you will be welcomed back.”

  “No.” She gave a violent whip of her head. “I will not kill him.” Even if it meant her permanent banishment, she’d made peace with that decision.

  Minthe shrugged off her strong protest. “Not that. I am speaking of something else.” She leaned forward and waved them near. They obeyed, stepping hesitantly. “Listen closely, for every hope of the world lies upon your decision.” With a flourish, she withdrew a wide belt fashioned of solid gold from behind her.

  Delia gasped and sank to her knees. It couldn’t be.

  Hector coughed into his fist. “Is that…?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Minthe smiled. “This is the famous girdle belonging to the first Queen Hippolyta. Whoever wears it…”

  Delia swallowed hard. “Is the true leader of the Amazons.”

  ***

  Hector rolled his shoulders as they departed the nymph’s chamber. As the future sovereign of the centaur race, he was accustomed to making difficult decisions.

  This was bloody madness.

  Also, it wasn’t his choice to make. He glanced sideways at Delia. That girdle would grant whoever wore it the authority to lead the Amazons. Minthe had placed the decision of whom to bestow it upon in Delia’s hands.

  With the girdle, the current Queen, another Amazon, even Delia herself, might claim the throne.

  What did she wish for? Since meeting his true wife, he couldn’t deny that the threads which had suffocated him for years had finally released, and now steadily wove the tapestry of his future.

  He wanted this.

  He wanted her.

  There was nothing to forgive, only a future to forge. Together. If she would but have him.

  Yet he wasn’t a fool, either. Many paths lay before Delia, and choosing him was perhaps not the most tempting.

  Unless he convinced her otherwise.

  “Listen.” He shot out an arm above her head, blocking her. “Before you make any decisions, why not take a day or two to contemplate your options?” He lowered his voice, dipping his head to hers. “Let me at least have a chance to argue on behalf of all my virtues.”

  Her pink tongue darted across her full bottom lip, a good sign she’d grasped his meaning. His horse pranced about, impatient to claim her.

  His offer might make no difference. It might alter nothing.

  Or it could change his world.

  He wasn’t a gambling male. No, Hector, first son of Cheiron never bet on any outcome. He weighed carefully each consequence and made his choices with wisdom and care. Never daring to be wrong.

  Standing before his mate, in this darkened corridor, he tossed aside all caution.

  For her, he would risk everything.

  Slowly, she lifted her lashes, her breath hitching. “Yes, I will go with you.”

  No further encouragement required. He grinned and clasped her hand, linking their fingers. Swiftly, they hurried through the passageway to the grate Rhoetus had promised. It was there, and they made their escape through it, out into the cool night air, away from the barking soldiers who chased the trail of the Amazons and nymphs.

  Hector tugged on Delia’s hand, leading her to the Amazon camp. They crossed the narrow stream and approached the meadow. This time, no guards greeted them. Instead, hundreds of voices buzzed as the rescued nymphs gathered in large groupings throughout the area.

  His heart sank as he regarded them. There would be no carting his mate off to a secluded cave for a fortnight and ravishing her.

  The Amazons might have organized the rescue, but the nymphs gathered on centaur lands, and many of them had been displaced because of the hostility between the Lapiths and centaurs.

  This chaos before him was his duty and took precedence over any whims he might have had. These people needed a leader. They needed him.

  Hector strode forward into the midst of the crowd and raised one hand. Slowly, the humming halted, a few hushed whispers cascading along the ebbing murmurs.

  Silence spread and everyone regarded him. He lowered his hand. “On behalf of King Cheiron, I would offer our most sincere apologies for the ordeals you have endured at the hands of our enemy, King Philaeus. I assure you, you are now under centaur protection and no further harm will come to you. We will do everything within our power to relocate your homes and restore anything you may have lost.”

  As he delivered his speech, Kyme and Arsenius moved through the crowd toward him. The small, fierce Amazon warrior stepped spritely to his side, winking at him, while her formidable mate nodded once and crossed his arms, casting a glare at the gathering.

  “Well-spoken, centaur,” Kyme chirped. “We rescued more than eight hundred nymphs, so I hope you have room.” She snickered, but grew serious. “Where should we begin?”

  Hector scratched his jaw. “Start by arranging them according to their natures. I will consult a map of centaur lands and determine where best to place those who wish to stay. We will also give them the option of traveling to new lands.”

  “Of course,” she murmured and bobbed her head in acquiescence, then waved several other Amazons around her and dispensed assignments.

  Delia joined the Amazons. Hector made for the main tent, spreading a parchment scroll across the long table. The map displayed centaur territory, and he studied it, surveying for meadows and streams, and other popular habitats of the nymphs, marking them with a quill.

  Sighing, he dropped his head into his hands. This would take time.

  A long time.

  At least the nymphs would be safe.

  Two days had p
assed and Delia barely had a moment alone with Hector. They were both far too busy with organizing the nymphs. Hundreds had been displaced, and finding new homes which were agreeable to them was not an easy task. Some of the nymphs had habituated their rivers or forests for centuries. The Dryads—tree nymphs—were especially reluctant to leave behind their beloved woods.

  King Philaeus had left them no choice. They must start over.

  Not unlike herself and Hector. While she spent little time alone in his company, she spent a great deal of time observing him. As a leader, he bore his authority with a noble benevolence. His commands were obeyed precisely and without delay. His subjects respected and admired him.

  With his brothers, he exhibited the same carriage of leadership, yet his affection for them shone through.

  This morning, his youngest brother had returned with troubling news. The Lapiths had not only imprisoned the nymphs, they’d managed to thieve their powers as well. Petraeus told them of a cavern filled with vials of the essences of nymphs.

  The leaders had gathered inside the main tent to discuss the discovery. Kyme rested beside Arsenius, and standing behind him was the dark-haired Thereus. She, Hector, and Petraeus reclined across from them. A wave of tension ebbed through them. Not long ago, Petraeus had attempted to steal Thereus’s mate. Yet no one blamed him for the incident. He’d simply been protecting Melita.

  Sadly, she was beyond any of their protection now.

  Petraeus cautiously avoided the concentrated glare burning into him from Thereus, perusing instead his eldest brother. “Does this mean Delia is both your wife and your mate?”

  “Aye.” Hector nodded.

  “Leave it up to you to do everything backward from the rest of your brothers.” The youngest brother smirked.

  Hector cocked one dark brow. “You mean, in the correct order? Wife, then mate.”

  His brother scoffed and Delia concealed her smile. Only honorable, rule-following Hector would differ so greatly from his brothers, most of whom hadn’t been able to resist the urge to claim their mates first, and marry them after. Some not even making it to the altar, yet.