Release (Hold #2)

by Claire Kent

  He held her against him for another minute, until he finally cleared his throat and asked, “Do you think you can walk now?” His body had tightened, and he gently straightened her up, so she wasn’t draped against him anymore.

  She blinked, barely able to think but feeling so much better she didn’t even care. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’ve never had a migraine, but they seem terrible.”

  “They are.” She was still aware of the painful throbbing, but it was bearable now, so she made herself start walking. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her mind. “What just happened?” she asked after a minute.

  “What do you mean?” His expression was bland, completely innocent.

  “It felt like you did something.”

  “I told you. Just massaged your neck. I thought it might help.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “It felt like more than that.”

  He gave a shrug and a little smile. “While I’d like to possess healing powers, I’m afraid they’re beyond me. Migraines make you spacey. You probably imagined it.”

  “Maybe.” She wasn’t convinced, but she couldn’t make her mind work enough to figure it out.

  “Let’s get you back so you can get your medicine.”

  She didn’t talk as they walked back. She was now able to mostly support herself, and the man just kept his hand on the small of her back, as assistance if she needed it. She liked how it felt there. She’d liked how it felt when he touched her, when she’d leaned on him.

  She’d never felt that way before, and she had no idea where it was coming from now.

  And then there had been that strange tug, one that felt like something even more.

  She definitely needed to get back to her room and return to her senses.

  They made it to the edge of the woods—not far from the back entrance—and then they stopped in unison, both of them obviously realizing the same thing.

  “We’ll have to go in separately,” she said. “We can’t be seen talking.”

  “I know. Are you going to be okay?” His eyes were scanning her face, and it felt like he could see deep inside her, all the way to her core. “You’ve had a hard day.”

  He couldn’t have known how hard it really ahd been.

  “Yes.” The migraine was starting to intensify again. The relief she’d felt at his touch obviously couldn’t last. She wondered who in the universe this man was. “What’s your name?”

  “Hall.”

  “Oh. I’m Kyla.”

  “I know who you are.”

  The words sounded strangely significant. They made her shiver and flush, and then the throbbing of the migraine made her dizzy. She reached out to cling to his shirt when her knees almost buckled.

  He gently brushed her hair before he dropped his hand, as if he’d remembered he shouldn’t be touching her.

  “What did you do to me?” she asked, still trying to figure out what had happened earlier.

  “Nothing.”

  “It was something.”

  “It was just your imagination.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “You’re in no shape to argue,” he said, stepping back slightly from her.

  That was true. She needed to lie down, give herself a shot. “What were you doing outside the walls?”

  “Taking a walk. I don’t like to be penned up, even in a palace.” He smiled and met her eyes.

  The last bit was true. She could see it in his expression. But the rest of what he’d said was a lie. She knew he was hiding something, lying to her.

  She couldn’t trust him. He was dangerous. And she definitely shouldn’t be clinging to him this way.

  She let her hands fall to her sides. “I’ll go in first. You wait a few minutes.”

  He nodded. “Feel better.”

  Again, there seemed to be more going on in his voice and expression than she could figure out, but she just didn’t have the strength to stay and unravel it. “Goodbye, Hall,” she mumbled, limping out of the shade of the trees and toward the back entrance of the palace.

  There was just one guard there, and he was used to her going out and taking walks. He wouldn’t suspect she’d been talking to someone she shouldn’t be, touching someone who wasn’t allowed to touch her.

  She was so distracted by Hall that she’d almost forgotten her near trauma earlier. And that was troubling in a different way. No man should be able to make her forget something like that, even for a few moments.

  It would be best for her to avoid Hall in the future, but she couldn’t help but wonder when she would see him again.

  ***

  Hall watched Kyla cross the courtyard, and then disappear into the palace through the small door.

  His head was still whirling, filled with her—her pain, her relief, and a fresh kind of sweetness he hadn’t tasted in a really long time.

  He’d been stupid to open a channel with her. Even with her migraine, she’d recognized that he’d done something. It was dangerous. He didn’t know her well enough to trust her, and there had been no real need to expose himself to her like that.

  For decades now, the Coalition had been rounding up Readers, using the gifts of those who were willing, and then killing or imprisoning the others. Readers could tap into other people’s minds, and that was a skill too powerful for the Coalition to ignore.

  But Hall could do more than that. His mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had all been Readers, but the gift had transformed into something else in him. He could do more than read what another was feeling. He could turn it around—make them feel something different.

  The Coalition would never allow him to exist if they knew.

  Which was why it was even more important for him not to do something as foolish as use his gift on Kyla, when it wasn’t a life-or-death situation. She’d been in so much pain. He’d wanted to make it better.

  And, honestly, he’d wanted to taste her ever since he’d first seen her, sitting in the midst of a wild, sensuous Court, completely untouched by it.

  Now, he couldn’t wait to taste her again.

  Two

  The migraine drug always knocked her out, so Kyla slept all afternoon.

  It wasn’t all that unusual. She had migraines at least a few times a month, and sometimes she pretended to have one so she wouldn’t be dragged into the superficial political or diplomatic issues her sister spent her days on—which were nearly all a waste of time, and yet managed to take up a ridiculously long amount of time.

  Better to spend the day in her room than to be forced to sit, bored and useless, listening to other people talk.

  By sunset, the drug had mostly worn off, and Kyla had to decide whether to go down to Court for the night.

  It was the last day of the week, Feast Day, which meant the most indulgent and debauched Court session of the week. Patrice would choose her new weekly partner, and everyone else would spend all night eating, feasting, and debauching themselves.

  Patrice was usually pretty tolerant about Kyla bowing out, but this was the one evening of the week she was expected to make an appearance.

  Her migraine was gone. She felt groggy and tired, but not in pain anymore. And Hall would be down there tonight. She wanted to keep her eye on him. He might be chosen for Patrice’s partner this week.

  For no good reason, that idea bothered Kyla. Probably because she was so suspicious of Hall. She didn’t trust him around Patrice, and she didn’t like the idea of him devoting the entire week to pleasing her.

  Determined to attend, if only to watch him, Kyla bathed quickly, and then brushed her hair as she decided what to wear.

  When there was a tap on the private door at the back of her suite, Kyla knew who it was.

  “Come in, Patrice.”

  Her sister stepped into the room, looking as radiant as ever and smiling at her sister. “You look like you feel better. I was just coming in to check on you.”

  “Yes, I feel better.”<
br />
  “The guards told me about what happened earlier—with that man.”

  “Oh. Yes. Nothing happened, and he’s been banished.”

  “Good. I told them to beef up security anyway. We can’t have tourists here who act that way.”

  “Most of them don’t.”

  “As long as you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “So you’re going down to Court.”

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  “Good. I was afraid you’d want to sit it out tonight, and you won’t want to miss what the chef has been preparing for us.”

  The food was always scrumptious—every night of the week and even more so on the last day of the week.

  This evening, Patrice wore flowing silk robes of crimson and indigo, her flaming red hair brushed smooth and flowing in a shiny fall down her back. She was gorgeous, with her vivid blue eyes and fair skin and long, slim build. When she was younger, Kyla had been intensely jealous of her sister’s looks. Now she was just resigned.

  Where Patrice burned like a magnificent fire, Kyla faded into the background. She had sandy hair that sometimes looked blond and sometimes reddish, but mostly just plain old light brown. Her eyes were a boring blue-gray, and her body soft and curvy—despite the amount of walking she did—instead of sleek and lithe. She would never look like Patrice, and it was really just as well, since she preferred not to get that kind of attention.

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Kyla walked over to her wardrobe and stared at the piles of evening gowns. Patrice might have inherited the entire wealth, property, and title of their family, but she was generous and constantly supplied her sister with new clothes. Usually, Kyla just grabbed the first thing she saw, but today she scanned over the options, wondering what would look best on her.

  “You should wear that rust-colored silk. You look gorgeous in it.” Patrice came over to stand beside her, reaching out for a long gown that draped over one shoulder, cinched with a sash at the waist, and then slid slinkily down the legs. The fabric was thick and lush and shimmered with a subtle smolder, like a dying fire.

  Kyla couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn the gown, but if Patrice said it was good, then it was. “Okay. Thanks. I will.”

  While she slipped on the clothes, Patrice watched her thoughtfully. “Please say you’ll choose a partner today.”

  In the Court of Evalon, after Patrice made her choice for the week, the ladies always chose their partners. Sometimes just for the evening, sometimes for the week like their Lady Governor, and sometimes for a lifetime, if they happened on one they really liked.

  “It’s not for me,” Kyla murmured softly, trying to sound gentle and not impatient. She was tired of having this conversation with her sister.

  “But it’s getting to be embarrassing. I’m the Empress, and my own sister refuses to follow our old customs. People will think something is wrong with you.”

  “I don’t care what they think.”

  “But I care. What you do reflects on me. You know that’s true.”

  Of course, it was. But Kyla couldn’t imagine how having a celibate sister could impact her sister in any serious way. Everyone loved Patrice. “I’ll think about it,” she said at last, mostly to end the topic of conversation. “And, by the way, you need to be careful about calling yourself the Empress.”

  “I am the Empress.” Patrice squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. She was regal, authoritative, breathtaking.

  “I know—in spirit. But by the letter of Coalition law, the Empress doesn’t exist anymore. And they’re not going to like it if news gets back to them that you’re defying them. They’ve mostly left of us alone, since they don’t think we’re a threat, but they’re going to have more of a presence here if they think there’s a rebellion brewing.”

  “There’s no rebellion brewing. But just because they won’t let me be called by my rightful title doesn’t mean that’s not who I am.”

  Kyla gave up on tying her sash and turned toward her sister. “Seriously. It’s dangerous. If the Coalition Council finds out, the best case scenario would be they post soldiers and officials here—even in Court. Just think what that would do to our tourism earnings. People come here to forget about the Coalition. We can’t have them breathing down our necks. Promise me you won’t call yourself the Empress with anyone but me.”

  Patrice laughed and leaned over to kiss Kyla’s cheek, as blithely beautiful as ever. “You’re so cute, worrying like that. You always were unnaturally serious.” She tied Kyla’s hanging sash and then patted her on the hip. “There. You look beautiful. Now go downstairs and try to have fun. Find yourself a man.”

  Kyla released a long breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her sister was hopeless. She could only pray they stayed off Coalition radar. She did look nice, though, since the color of the gown brought out the reddish glints of her hair and made her eyes look bluer. She wasn’t planning to find a man, though.

  She wondered if Patrice would choose Hall tonight.

  ***

  When she entered the throne room twenty minutes later, the festivities were in full swing.

  The banquet was laid out on the table—the best of meats, breads, and exotic fruits available to them through their sophisticated replicators, as well as an array of decadent desserts. The wine had been served for more than an hour now, so people were laughing and talking riotously. The musicians in the far corner were playing traditional Evalonian melodies on the lute, harp, and horns. The dancers would come out later.

  It was a feast for all five senses, but Kyla was immediately hit with the perfume—from far too many Court ladies gathered together in one enclosed space.

  The scent slammed into her like a wave, making her head throb with a dull ache. Not a migraine, fortunately. Just her normal Court headache

  She’d just arrived, but she could already tell it was going to be a long night.

  She went to take her seat on the far end of the royal table on the dais. Because of her relationship with Patrice, she should have sat near the center, but she’d given that seat up long ago. She didn’t like to be the center of attention, and at the end she could stay mostly out of sight. The rest of the attenders and visitors were spread out among round tables that filled the large room, with a section roped off on the right side for the Potentials.

  As soon as she sat down, Kyla’s eyes moved automatically to the Potentials section. She scanned the faces quickly, until her gaze landed on Hall.

  He was watching her. He looked handsome and sophisticated in silver and charcoal silk and velvet, and he appeared relaxed and confident, unlike the tense excitement she could read in the auras of the other Potentials.

  When he noticed her looking at him, the corner of his mouth twitched up, and he gave her a very slight wink.

  She looked away quickly, embarrassed for no good reason and afraid someone would see.

  She shouldn’t be looking at Potentials, and they definitely shouldn’t be looking at her.

  After a few minutes, the horns interrupted the chatter of the room with a fanfare, causing everyone to fall into silence. Then Patrice entered, smiling graciously and giving a practiced flutter of her hands when the room burst into applause.

  It happened every night, and the room was particularly enthusiastic this evening, given the quality of food and wine being served.

  The first thing Patrice did on Feast Days was choose her partner. The room quieted quickly as she walked over to the section of Potentials.

  Kyla found herself holding her breath as her sister walked from seat to seat, making a great show of studying each man and occasionally asking them questions.

  She paused in front of Hall and said something, but the question was too soft for Kyla to hear. She closed her fingers into a fist, wondering why it mattered so much to her. It didn’t matter if Patrice took Hall as her man for the week. She’d toss him aside afterwards, the w
ay she did every other man.

  Patrice spent a long time in front of Hall. She even reached out to touch his hand. Kyla shuddered, her stomach churning.

  She needed to resign herself to her sister having Hall. She got everything else she wanted. Nothing had ever been Kyla’s, and it was fine. It was the way of the world—every world. You just couldn’t change the turnings of the universe, and those turnings had made Kyla a younger sister.

  She had nothing to complain about. Her life was better than most. She’d always been comfortable, never been deprived or hurt. To want any more was silly and selfish.

  When her sister moved on, she let out her breath. It wasn’t decided yet, but at least Patrice hadn’t chosen Hall immediately. She might come back for him, though.

  Kyla watched and waited, her eyes shifting briefly back to Hall, trying to read his expression. His eyes met hers again, but this time he looked curious, as if he was trying to figure something out.

  Hopefully, he wasn’t trying to figure her out. She had no idea what he might see if he looked too closely.

  When Patrice had gotten to the end of the row—studying all twenty-four of the current Potentials—she extended her hand and laid her fingers on the forehead of a very handsome man with thick brown hair and sexily drooping eyes. He’d just arrived yesterday. This was his first week, and he was already chosen.

  Kyla should have known to expect it. Patrice always had liked men like that. Hall was too intelligent for her. Too much was going on under his surface. Patrice had never liked that in a man.

  Trying to hide how ridiculously relieved she felt that Hall hadn’t been chosen, she looked back toward him. He was watching her again. It was unnerving. What could he possibly hope to see? When he met her eyes, he gave her a little smile, as if he were amused, pleased by something.

  What the hell could he be pleased about? He’d been rejected by Patrice again. He wouldn’t be a Potential if he hadn’t been hoping to be her consort. He should be as disappointed as all of the other Potentials rejected this week.