“I’ll have Myrddin take her to Paderau. There, we can study her. If she has any value to us, then she lives. If not, then I expect you to dispatch her without question before we return to Talaith.”
“With pleasure, Your Majesty.” Marissa curtsied, sweeping the floor with her gowns. Zakael was safe, for the time being.
Marissa hurried to her rooms, anxious to find Zakael. The plan was simple. The plan should have worked. The plan had gone entirely awry somehow, and Marissa had to find out why.
Lady Celia burst into her rooms before Marissa had a chance to send her maids away. With a forced smile, Marissa greeted her favorite lady-in-waiting.
“Your Highness.” She bent to one knee, which alerted Marissa that they needed privacy.
She led Celia to her sitting room and enclosed them in a web of Mari too powerful for even Lliandra to penetrate. “What is it, my darling?”
Celia pressed herself against Marissa, her soft lips seeking the crown princess’s. Irritated, Marissa pushed Celia from her. “You came here for a tryst? I told you never to abuse your privileges with me.”
“I haven’t. I wouldn’t.” Celia dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a delicate fingertip. Her pink tongue licked her lips. “I missed you. It won’t happen again.” Once composed, Celia said in a breathless torrent, “The empress finally approved our trip to Paderau. We leave at first light tomorrow, which, as you know, means midday for the empress. Who, by the way, will not be traveling with us, but a few days behind. I think she wants more time with her latest acquisition. I hear she won’t be bringing him with us, though, because of a feud between his family and Duke Anje’s. No matter, we’ll be going, and I will be your traveling companion.”
Marissa’s thoughts spun in a tempest. Gossip traveled fast at court, but not in the space of her walk from her mother’s apartments to her own. Which meant Lliandra was already making plans to travel to Paderau.
Celia tugged at her hands. “I haven’t told you the best part.” She lowered her voice despite the wards. “Your mother is considering Lord Herbret’s petition to court Princess Sabina.”
“No!” Herbret had been trying for the better part of a season to win over Lliandra, but for some reason her mother played coy with the disgusting runt. The petition wasn’t absolute approval and Lliandra could revoke it at any time, but, if approved, it opened the door to betrothal negotiations. “Does Sabina know?”
“Not a wink. I will bask in delight when Herbret claims that stuck up bitch on her wedding night. She’s probably frigid beneath that Summerlands sun kissed skin.”
Sabina had no ShantiMari, which made her less than worthless in Marissa’s opinion, but Herbret’s determination made her curious about the exotic beauty. On more than one occasion, Sabina had rebuffed Marissa’s subtle invitation to her bed, which stung. She, too, would like to see the haughty Summerlands princess brought down a rung or two.
“Celia,” Marissa cooed, knowing her favorite had also tried to bed the lovely Sabina, “that is not behavior befitting a lady of your rank.” She stopped herself from stroking the girl, instead choosing to punish her by refusing affection.
Heat filled the room, and for a moment, Marissa wavered in her decision, but there were more pressing concerns to be dealt with.
“My darling, wicked girl.” Marissa breathed against Celia’s lips. “We must find new ways to amuse ourselves on the journey to Paderau.”
Celia shuddered against her. “I am yours, my lady. Body and spirit.”
Marissa tweaked her lady-in-waiting’s nipple. “Yes, and you must remember that. Always. Now, go. I have matters to attend.”
As the girl was leaving her room, a pout to her pretty lips, Marissa called after her, “Tomorrow, wear the jade gown.” A smile broke across her lady-in-waiting’s face, and she skipped from the room.
Once certain Celia was gone, Marissa hurried to her vanity, where she retrieved her supplies. She arranged a flint and strip of fabric beside the small crystal bowl and took three deep breaths. With her mind calmed, she lit the fabric and dropped it into the bowl. Smoke drifted up, then across the mirror, composing her message to Valterys. Short and to the point, the vaporous threads read: Zakael silent. Concerned.
Within the space of two heartbeats, his reply formed in the mist: Silent here as well. Not to worry. Ravenwood?
Marissa hesitated. She’d done as he asked to ensure Duke Anje wouldn’t stand in their way, but with Myrddin on his way to Ravenwood, she wasn’t sure if her plan had succeeded. Valterys needn’t know that until she was certain.
Success. The sword is yours to claim.
Be safe.
Marissa smiled wryly at the suspended words. Always.
She pressed her hand against the cool glass of the mirror, imagining Valterys doing the same in his room at Caer Idris. She didn’t regret telling him of the secret child Lliandra sent away moments after her birth, nor did she regret the plans they’d made to destroy the empress. What Marissa regretted most was the anguish she’d caused Valterys when he learned of her relationship with Zakael.
No one could understand the bond she had with Valterys. Certainly not Lliandra, who, when Marissa was but five seasons old, had beheaded her father. After that, a succession of lovers walked the halls of the Crystal Palace until one day Valterys came and stayed. In him, Marissa found the father figure she’d been seeking, and his attention filled the emptiness she’d lived with since her father’s death.
With Valterys came his son, Zakael. Marissa was just a young girl then, Zakael a handsome young man. Despite his being an eligible bachelor, Lliandra forbade him from courting any of the ladies who roamed the palace. Marissa became his near constant companion. A playmate to pass the lonely days and nothing more. But to her, he was the world. Smart, charming, and full of wicked ideas that often got them into trouble. For Marissa, it had been immediate love. Heartbreaking, life changing, desperate love. She’d never told a soul about her feelings for Zakael, nor did she ever give any outward indication. She’d understood enough about court life to know that if she did, he’d be taken away from her, possibly forever.
So she’d waited. On the very day Lliandra destroyed her relationship with Valterys, Marissa had allowed Zakael to take her maidenhead. When Lliandra retaliated against Valterys and forced Zakael into her bed, Marissa remained stoic. She’d seen too many lovers come and go to worry that Lliandra’s retribution would last. Then, one day, when Zakael was banished from her mother’s court, Marissa sought him out. Now fifty seasons, Marissa had been Zakael’s lover for over half her life. His Dark powers sustained her in a world of Light.
Marissa blew gently against the smoke, dissipating Valterys’s message and ending their connection. A terrible excitement rushed through her, one that wouldn’t be satisfied until Zakael’s Dark Shanti penetrated her entire being.
On impulse, she sent another message to Zakael. Silence. The sick thrum of fear she’d been pushing to the back of her consciousness crept forward until it cloaked all her senses in a feeling of helpless foreboding.
“Your Highness,” a soft voice said beyond the closed door, “it’s time to ready you for dinner.”
Marissa waved the smoke from the mirror and snuffed out the fabric before putting the bowl in its cupboard. “Enter,” she commanded as she released the Mari barrier around the room.
Two bells later, Marissa was in the ballroom, dancing with her sisters. To all the court, she appeared carefree, a young woman enjoying herself. Inside, she was a tempest of emotions. Lliandra had refused to tell her if Myrddin found Zakael, and that stud of hers was giving her serious cravings of the illicit kind.
Herbret pranced by with a delightful young lady in his arms, smiling to Marissa as he passed. His feeble attempt to make Sabina jealous didn’t work, as the Summerlands princess’s attention was elsewhere. Marissa almost felt sorry for Herbret.
“Sabina, you’ve been here almost a season. Have you decided on a proper suitor yet?” Marissa a
sked the gorgeous creature.
“Not yet, but I’ve been assured I haven’t met every worthy bachelor in the kingdom, so there is still hope.”
“I told her she needs to wait until we get to Paderau. There will be more men to choose from, and not just from the East,” Tessa, Marissa’s youngest sister, assured them. “If only she had ShantiMari, she would be a perfect match for our cousin Hayden, don’t you think?”
Sabina didn’t flinch at the mention of her worthlessness. Nor did she smile, but a flicker of indignation in her deep brown eyes caught Marissa’s attention.
“Hayden is the most sought-after bachelor in the East. As third in line to the Obsidian Throne, he must choose his bride carefully,” Eliahnna, Marissa’s other sister, said in her quiet voice. “There is protocol to follow.”
“You and your rules. They’re so boring!” Tessa stood up with a sweet pout to her lips. Her blonde curls refused to stay pinned in place and swirled around her head. “I want to dance. Who will be my partner?”
“I would be delighted.” Sabina took Tessa’s hand and led her to the center of the room.
Tessa loved to dance almost as much as she loved to fight. For certes, she would someday make a grand general for Marissa’s armies. Her gaze swept over the ballroom, settling on the young lover at Lliandra’s side. Back straight, hands on knees, he watched the proceedings with a slightly terrified look. Lliandra was notorious for beheading her lovers if they didn’t produce an heir. The idea sent a tremor of excitement through Marissa.
He bent to whisper to Lliandra, and after her nod of approval, he slipped quietly from the room.
Marissa excused herself from the group and dashed around the dancers to follow him. She needed to have him. To take something precious from her mother. She didn’t think of it as treason, but survival. Lliandra was withholding information from her and should be punished.
She stood alone on the veranda, breathing in the heady scents of the summer night. Jasmine mingled with a briny tang from the sea. Rosebushes, heavy with their charges, drooped around the columns and lattices. The smells intoxicated her, and but for her mission, she might have lingered. She scanned the area, but the young man had disappeared.
The most obvious place to find him would be the orchards, where privacy was afforded by the lushness of the trees. She practically skipped through the dimly lit gardens in the hope she’d locate her prey. Several times, she had to stop and greet a courtier or minor noble before continuing in her search. The desire to have him burned through her, culminating in an anxious need nestled at the apex of her legs.
At the farthest end of the castle grounds, he stood with his back to the orchard, facing the ocean. Silhouetted by the crescent moon, he looked like an apparition. A catch in her breathing brought her up short, despite her bravado. Lliandra could have them both hanged if they were found together.
When she stepped out from the trees, he turned toward her, a frown creasing his brow. “Princess.” He bowed low. “I sought some quiet. Forgive me if I’m intruding on your peace.”
Marissa put out a hand to stop him from leaving. “Stay, please. I confess I am seeking solitude, but you are a welcome distraction.”
He bowed again but not as low. Then, turning back to the ocean, he said, “There is an element to the sea that beckons my soul.”
“Oh? I suppose it has its purpose, but I’ve never felt especially drawn to the water.” Marissa moved beside him, closer than etiquette allowed.
“I suppose there are other wonders of the world you’ve seen that call to you. I am not much traveled, and the sea is all I have.”
“There is one place,” she admitted, “far to the north, where volcanoes meet with ice.”
His body trembled slightly, and Marissa swayed into the tremors.
“They say the fires of Dal Ferran were started with those volcanoes. Surely you’ve never been?”
“Not only have I been to the volcanoes, I’ve seen the fires for myself.”
“You jest, Princess. Only those consumed in Hell have seen Dal Ferran’s fires. I would think you’re destined for the starlit nights of Dal Tara.”
“So you think I should be a goddess? I should reside with the most venerated of Aelinae? Tonight, I am simply an Aelan.” She looked up at his profile, at the strong jaw and commanding brow. He was lovely. She could see why Lliandra wanted to breed with him. “Is it awful being here?”
A slight smile broke the line of his lips. “Not all of it.” He glanced down at her, sadness wrought across his features. “But I admit, I didn’t think it would be quite like this.”
“You mean you didn’t know you’d be a slave to my mother’s appetites? Oh come now, certainly you’ve heard the rumors?”
“Rumors, as you know, have some basis in truth, but still, I had hoped it would be different.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss his last comment. “Don’t get me wrong, anyone would be thrilled at such an opportunity.”
“But you wish you had a choice in the matter, is that it?”
Again, the little smile. “Yes.” He turned toward her, keeping a discreet distance between them. “I was sent here by my parents in the hope I could bring honor to our family. If I don’t produce an heir, I might as well move to the deserted islands off the Ullan coast. They have no need for me since I’m the third born. But my ShantiMari is strong, and Valterys is my uncle, so they had hoped I’d be the one to create the Eirielle. It’s ridiculous, really. Everyone knows that’s just a myth.”
The missing pieces clicked into place for Marissa. Lliandra hadn’t picked this man on a whim. She was trying to make another anomaly. One Nadra wouldn’t take away. One she could control. She’d tried with Zakael and how many others?
“You poor lamb,” Marissa cooed, pressing herself against his chest. “How terrible it must be.” Her pelvis tilted up, meeting the erection beneath his trousers. A low moan escaped his lips. “I wish those prophecies had never been made. Light, Dark, what does it matter? We should live together in harmony and combine our power to better the lives of all the people of Aelinae.”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I told my parents, but they insisted I come here to be the empress’s concubine. It’s humiliating.” A look of fear crossed his stern features. “I apologize, Princess. I didn’t mean to imply that I was ungrateful.”
Marissa shushed him. “You have nothing to apologize for. Please, always speak freely with me. I value your insight.” With a slight tilt of her head and lift of her breasts, she looked both consolatory and alluring.
Indecision flicked behind his eyes before he sighed against her. “Thank you. I could use a friend.” His gaze traveled from her eyes to her bosom, resting there for several moments. She inhaled deeply, bringing her breasts closer to him, and watched the bob of his Adam’s apple with silent triumph.
When his gaze returned to her face, a look of hunger clung to him.
“Princess,” his voice was low, full of wanting, “since I’ve been here, serving the empress, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Me?” Marissa fluttered her lashes and put a hand to her lips. “But we’ve hardly spoken.”
“I know. I was too nervous to say anything to you, and being that I was commanded to share your mother’s bed, I didn’t think you’d find me attractive.”
She feigned surprise, her voice a sultry taunt. “Surely you’re not telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
He stroked her face with a fingertip, leaving a trail of hot desire in its wake. “I know it’s treason, but when I’m with her, I think only of you.” His lips touched hers, tentative at first, until she swooned into him.
His Shanti snaked around them, pricking at her skin, fanning the flame that already threatened to burn out of control. “This is wrong. We shouldn’t be here,” Marissa whispered when he paused for a breath. Her hands expertly fumbled with his trousers, untying the strings and pulling them loose. “We could be hanged.”
His cock jumped at the
word, and he shivered. “Then perhaps we should stop.”
Her hands wrapped around the deliciously smooth hardness of his shaft. “Should we?”
A deep growl was his answer. His head sank to her bodice where he nipped at her breasts through the fine fabric of her dress. Her Mari dug into him, eliciting a delightful cry from his lips. Tired of the game, she drew him to her. “Take me as you’ve been imagining.”
He spun her around until she was perched upon the seawall, her skirts a billowy cloud of silk and cotton. The rough stone cut into her skin, exciting her further. She leaned back until her head dangled over the edge of the wall, with nothing between her and the sea. A rush of adrenaline pounded through her in pace with the crash of waves. He cradled her head in his hand, pulling her up to a half sitting position.
“Careful, Princess. You don’t want to tumble over the edge.”
“Oh, but I do. Bring me there, my darling. Push me over the edge,” she replied a bit too coquettishly, but he didn’t seem to care.
His lips, harsh and deliciously brutal, found hers. She opened her mouth, inviting his tongue to dance within the depths. Like a man starved, he devoured her mouth. She moaned and wriggled, her legs wrapping around his waist. With a solid thrust, he entered her, sending sparks of fire and ice throughout her overexcited body. Each touch was a smooth caress followed by a tantalizing slap.
Her mother’s lover was well versed in the art of lovemaking. He knew how to bring her to the brink of desire and leave her there, dangling, yearning. His free hand plunged inside her bodice and released her breasts to the warm night air. Her traitorous nipples hardened to chiseled nubs. She needed more. Craved more, always more.
She grasped at him, pulled him closer, deeper. Their mouths locked in a frenzy of desire, their ShantiMari swirling in a tempest around them. With each pump, she pressed her legs against him—harder, faster, more—but he was still too gentle. The stone wall allowed for little movement and she was at the mercy of his pace. It wouldn’t be enough.
The Stones of Resurrection Page 5
