“No more riding for a few days,” Azrael promised, brushing a kiss on Ursula’s ear.
Ursula, too busy remembering how to stand and walk without assistance, only nodded.
“Lord Azrael,” Suma said, approaching. “All is ready. I’ll have the men deal with the horses. Will you be going to the palace tonight?”
“Yes, Suma, I will. You saw the dispatch at the gate. I daresay Shonal will be horribly put out it I don’t make an immediate appearance.” Azrael checked on Ursula. “I’ll take four men as escort. See to Ursula; I believe she’s in need of a long, hot soak.”
Suma saluted and turned away, issuing orders to the men and servants.
“Milady?” the brunette asked.
Azrael smiled, draping an arm over Ursula’s shoulders. “I must appear before the king. No doubt it will be a few hours before my return. In the meantime, enjoy the hospitality of my house.”
Ursula quirked an eyebrow at the phrase but nodded. “Yes, Milady.”
Kissing the slave, Azrael hugged her close for a moment. Then she waved a servant forward, ordering a bath to be drawn.
Ursula stumbled at first but soon was able to hobble up the steps, the servant escorting her. She turned to see Azrael, Suma and three soldiers remount and clatter out of the courtyard.
“Milady?”
Startled, Ursula turned to the servant beside her. Before she had sense enough to correct his address, he urged her inside the mansion.
Chapter Nineteen
A red haze shimmered on the horizon by the time Azrael arrived at the palace walls. The sky overhead darkened, revealing a shroud of stars sparkling in the sun’s aftermath. The street was quiet as they rode along the wall; not many had cause to be near the palace except on business and rarely in the evening.
Rounding a corner, Azrael and her men saw torch light brightening their path ahead. They clattered to a stop before a gate.
“General Azrael, here at the king’s request,” Suma announced to the gate guards.
With evening fully upon them, the guards gave them much more than a cursory examination. A torch was called forth to better illuminate the visitors.
The sergeant bowed deeply once proper identification was made. “G’evening, Your Grace. His Majesty had word of your coming. He asks for you to attend him in his audience chamber.”
Azrael nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
He waved her through, calling ahead to the next checkpoint.
They now rode single file along a narrow outer bailey, high walls on either side. Above them, Azrael could hear the tread of booted feet, Shonal’s royal guard patrolling above, watching them.
A few lengths further, a second gate was open; here they endured another round of inspection until the guards were satisfied. They were finally given permission to pass and a soldier sent to the palace to announce Azrael’s arrival.
Once clear of the gate, Suma murmured, “Not very trusting, are they?”
Responding in an equal tone, Azrael said, “Apparently my uncle was correct. Have everyone keep their eyes open. I don’t expect anything untoward. Not yet.” Her gaze was dispassionate as she scanned the courtyard they entered, noting military strength. “Shonal’s always fancied himself as clever and sly. If there’s a true threat, he’ll have concocted some elaborate scheme rather than a forthright accusation and attack.”
“Aye, Lord Azrael. I’ll pass it on when we dismount.”
The courtyard was a large cobbled clearing before the palace. A handful of men and women awaited their arrival - servants, guards and stablehands. Additionally, Azrael saw archers on the walls and inside upper windows, watching.
Her shoulders fairly itched but she dismounted easily, tossing her reins to a stablehand. “See the horses get a mash,” she ordered. “We’ve been riding all day.”
“Aye, Your Grace.” The lad bowed.
Suma moved among the men, alerting them and bidding discretion. As their general mounted the steps, they followed, flanking her.
A steward glanced over the soldiers, a gentle tick in his right eye twisting it into a near wink. “Your Grace,” he intoned, bowing deeply. The handful of servants followed his lead.
Azrael raised an eyebrow at Suma. “While I thank you for the welcome, can we get on with it?” she asked, her voice warm to ease the sharpness of her words. “We’ve been riding most the day. The sooner I see the King, the sooner we’ll be allowed rest.”
Straightening, the steward’s tick was stronger. “Of course, Your Grace.” He waved two servants forward. “If you please, these will escort your men to comfortable chambers while you attend His Majesty.”
Azrael frowned in thought. “I was informed to meet with my royal cousin in his audience chamber, not his personal rooms, yes?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then this is not a familial visit but a public one,” Azrael said. “My men shall escort me.” She watched the man redden and wondered if his eye would freeze, mid squint, forever half blinding him.
Stuttering for a moment, the steward finally was able to speak. “Well… That is your right, Your Grace.” He peered with his clear eye at the soldiers. “They’ll, of course, be required to turn over their weapons …”
“Of course.”
At a loss for an argument, the steward shuffled a moment before turning away. “Follow me, if you please, Your Grace.” Urgently waving the servants aside, he led the way into the palace.
Excessive opulence enveloped them as they followed the steward through the entry hall. It had been some time since her last visit and it appeared Shonal or his mother had been quite busy in the interim. Every surface sparkled, reflecting flame from torches and oil lamps. Statues, while eerily lifelike, were as highly polished, shiny phantoms placed artistically here and there. Even the potted plants had changed, no longer the assortment of ferns and flowers of her youth. Instead, thick green leaves sparkled, each leaf polished to a high luster.
Azrael snorted at the fuss Brahim would make if she decided to implement this type of decor. No doubt it took an army of slaves to keep the walls this pristine. She could hardly imagine the headache of polishing torch soot off the ceiling every day.
Past the entry, they entered what would have been the peristyle of a proper villa. Here, however, no night sky was visible; a ceiling capped the room far above. It wouldn’t do for the palace to be open to a well aimed catapult. Where the garden and fountain would have been were more potted plants and a number of marble benches and tables. Several curtained doorways lined the walls.
They were not alone here. Slaves and servants bustled to and fro in their duties; it was nearing the evening meal and many carried trays of food. Several of the Royal Guard lined the walls, their armor appearing golden in the light of braziers and torches. The benches and tables held scattered occupants, lords and ladies of the court awaiting attendance on their liege.
Azrael held herself calm, not grimacing as they passed through the peristyle. All eyes were on them and the first shocked hush gave way to a buzz of whispered speculation. She nodded acknowledgment to those who tried to catch her eye, but continued on without stopping. Azrael knew that to stop now would be tantamount to a wounded fish pausing in a tank full of starving sharks.
The steward led them to a heavily guarded doorway. “Duchess Azrael to see His Royal Majesty.”
Bowing, the lieutenant said, “Good evening, Your Grace. The King is expecting you.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Azrael automatically tugged the sword from her belt. She restrained a smile at the sudden vigilance of the guards, turning the blade and handing it hilt first to the officer. Behind her, she heard the rasp of metal on leather as her men followed suit.
Disarmed, she waited for the steward to precede them into the hall beyond. The itching between her shoulders intensified and Azrael took a measure of comfort in the proximity of her men. They had drawn closer to protect her with their very lives. She lifted her chin, a trickle of prid
e at their loyalty easing her heart.
The door opened on well oiled hinges, moving lightly aside despite its apparent weight. Leading the way, the steward darted into the room, wringing his hands, eye twitching mightily. Azrael and her guard followed at a more sedate pace.
Half again the size of the peristyle, the audience hall was cavernous. The ceiling was four stories distant, perhaps the largest hall in the world; most definitely the largest in the kingdom. Polished black granite covered the floor, a strip of white marble setting counterpoint as it lead a path to the royal dais. It was along this path that Azrael paced with her men behind. Scattered about the room were more statues and the like. Royal guards were positioned at all points of entry and it looked like archers could be placed on a balcony circling the room with little trouble. The dais rose a man’s height at one end, flanked by ten soldiers. Upon it were two thrones, only one occupied.
Shonal lounged indolently as his cousin approached, a sly grin playing across his lips. As his eyes flickered across Azrael’s guard, they narrowed, casting a sharp glance at his steward who bowed deeply. His council, a dozen men of varying ages, loitered nearby, watching the proceedings.
“Your Royal Majesty,” the steward intoned to the floor. “Your Royal cousin, Duchess Azrael, General of the Third Army.”
Azrael bowed, her men kneeling before their king.
Shonal’s smile soured as he noted the woman didn’t go to her knees as well. He waved the steward away. “Begone, Darsis. My cousin and I have much to discuss.” Ignoring the old man as he fled, Shonal rose to his feet and descended the steps. “Cousin! It’s long since I’ve seen you. How fare you?”
“Tired and dusty, my liege,” Azrael answered, her smile just as false. “We’ve been riding since morning from uncle’s villa.”
Shonal stopped two steps above the floor. “I trust you found Neito well? I’ve not seen him since last Solstice.”
The woman nodded. “He is well,” she said. “As is our cousin, Nils. I did not have much time to speak with them, however. My desire to answer your summons caused me to leave prematurely.”
“Ah, yes,” Shonal said, his expression one of amused regret. “My apologies for taking you from your home so soon upon your return. It wasn’t my desire.” He waved at the men watching. “My council appears to be a bit nervous about you. You were away when my father passed on and have yet to officially swear fealty.”
Raking her gaze over the gathered officials, Azrael enjoyed the fact that many couldn’t meet her eye. “Had I known it would cause such consternation, I would have returned sooner, my liege.” She dropped to her knee before her cousin. “I’m prepared to swear fealty immediately to ease the hearts of your council.”
Shonal glanced swiftly about his men, his expression as startled as theirs. Dissembling, his smile returned and he laughed aloud. “That will hardly be necessary just yet, cousin,” he insisted. “Rise! I’ve begun preparations for a banquet tomorrow evening. You can give your fealty then, before all doubters as witnesses. What say you?”
Azrael frowned a moment, searching for a trap. Slowly, she gained her feet and bowed once more. “I would be honored, my liege,” she said.
“Good!” Shonal said, coming down the final steps to slap the woman on the shoulder. “It is good to see you, cousin! Let’s drop the formalities, eh?” Putting an arm across her shoulders, he steered her toward a table laden with food and drink. “You and your men must break your fast and tell me how things fare in the northern parts of my kingdom.”
Nodding, Azrael waved her men forward and began regaling the king with tales of her activities the last two years.
A single candle illuminated the bedchambers, a golden glow casting shadows upon the wall. The bed was freshly made, Azrael’s robe draped at the foot. All that was needed was her mistress to return. Ursula pulled a shawl closer about her shoulders as she waited, wondering when Azrael would come back from the palace.
This house was built up rather than sprawling about as the villa. Three stories held public rooms on one level, the owner’s personal quarters on the second and slaves and servants on the third. Murals and mosaics decorated walls and floors, reminiscent in many ways to the villa. Ursula considered that it was a means of making Azrael feel at home, since both residences were similar.
Rising from the stool, the slave padded to the window to look upon the courtyard. She’d nearly fallen asleep twice now. It wouldn’t do to be caught napping when she was supposed to be waiting for her owner. Looking much the same, it didn’t appear that Azrael had returned. At this rate, the moon would be well risen before her arrival.
It had taken some time before Ursula could convince the servants that she was a slave rather than a lady. Since none had been apprised of her status all had assumed she was high ranking. She finally had to bare her shoulder and the slaver’s tattoo before they’d believe her. Still, deference had been paid to her since she was Azrael’s body slave. Apparently, Midia had been right all those weeks ago when she’d said that they were of a higher station than the rest of the slaves in their owner’s care.
The bath had been luxuriant. A shelf held several types of oils and perfumes and Ursula argued for long minutes with herself before deciding against any of them. She didn’t know when her mistress would return and needed to be prepared. Perhaps later, she could experiment with the available scents. Afterwards, she took a late supper in Azrael’s quarters. Upon further exploration, she found a small room with a cot, table and chair. Assuming that to be for the personal slaves, she deposited her bags there before rushing off to ready Azrael’s bed.
Movement caught her eye and Ursula’s heart sped as five riders turned into the courtyard. Considering what she’d overheard regarding the king, she heaved a small sigh of relief that Azrael was safely home. Anxious, the brunette threw the shawl from her shoulders and ran to the door, calling for servants to prepare their mistress’ bath as she dashed down the stairs.
The steward here, Edric, opened the door and greeted the general. “Milady! Welcome home! Your men are bedded down in the stable and a room has been prepared for Captain Suma. Would you have your bath now?”
Azrael tramped into the foyer, her weary smile brightening as she saw Ursula’s arrival. “A bath would be very welcome, Edric, thank you.” She turned to her men. “You’re dismissed. Join your fellows in the stable for tonight and prepare for guard rotations on the morrow.” As the three dispersed, she regarded Suma. “Shall I have a bath brought to your rooms?” she asked.
“That would be most generous, Lord,” the blond man said, closing the door behind them. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Until morning, then.” Azrael watched him stride away, a fond grin on her face. “Ursula,” she said, pulling the willowy brunette into a hug. “Attend me.”
“Yes, Milady.”
Azrael sat in contemplation, the muslin sheet pooled about her waist, body cooling from its pleasurable exertions. Ursula was cuddled beside her, drowsing in the safety of her mistress’ arms. The slave stretched and sighed, her breath whispering across Azrael’s chest. Smiling, the dark woman hugged Ursula close, brushing hair away from her lover’s sweaty brow and kissing her. Despite their recent activity, she was amused to note a thrill of arousal as soft lips responded to hers.
With a chuckle, Azrael broke off the kiss and held Ursula close once more, relaxing as she felt arms tighten around her middle. “Gods, I love …” Startled at herself, Azrael prevaricated, “I love the way you make me feel, Ursula.”
Ursula felt her mistress stiffen a moment before easing again. Uncertain of the cause, she ignored it, smiling instead. She brought her hand up to caress Azrael’s throat. “Thank you, Milady.”
Capturing the hand before it could stray, Azrael squeezed it. “Ah, what did I say earlier?”
The slave ducked her head with a shy smile. “To call you by your given name when we’re alone.”
“And that name is?” the dark woman asked,
her tone reminiscent of a tutor she’d once had.
Ursula blushed. “Azrael,” she murmured.
Everything about the slave was honey, including her voice. Azrael’s mouth went dry as she tilted Ursula’s face upward. “Again.”
“Azrael.”
The voice was musical, the tones striking deep into the recesses of Azrael’s heart and soul. Her head dropped closer, eyes closing, lips hovering just out of reach. “Again,” she whispered.
Ursula could feel her mistress’ heart thumping. “Azrael,” she responded in kind, drawing the name out until her mouth was taken in a fiery kiss.
Sleep was not forthcoming.
Azrael stared out the window of her bed chambers, seeing the almost imperceptible change of color in the sky as the sun made its way to the eastern horizon. Beside her, Ursula slept, a faint smile on her face. Occasionally, Azrael would reach over to touch her; caressing a bared arm or thigh, running fingers through dark hair, tracing a jaw line with her thumb. The resultant sigh and squirm almost gave her cause to wake Ursula for another bout of love making. Instead, Azrael tortured herself with pulling away, letting the slave return to her slumber while she burned with need.
It was frightening, this need. Once Azrael had accepted what was happening to her, it seemed the dam of her emotions had burst and was now overflowing. She’d never felt such intensity, not even as a youth with the fair Lenore. Azrael shook her head, recalling how she’d almost told Ursula of her love only hours before.
What would a slave know of love? It was ludicrous to think that Ursula, held against her will, could become romantically attached to her mistress. Azrael knew that her slaves loved her but this was a different emotion than theirs. Ursula no doubt felt the same way as Midia or Felicia - a deep caring love that would never be the same as the one she’d feel for her future husband.
Or the one Azrael felt for her.
Not liking this turn of thought, Azrael eased out of the warm bed, grabbing up her robe. Donning it, she stepped into the sitting room, pleased to note that embers still glowed in the fireplace. She stirred the coals to life and added wood until flames crackled before sitting down to brood.
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