by Holly Bargo
A whispered word to the castle secured its unique protection. Corridors developed dead ends and circled around to dump wandering guests in the places they started. The private rooms occupied by the king, queen, and their wards disappeared: no door led to them that any trespassing visitor could find. By clever manipulation of rooms, doors, and hallways, the castle kept all visitors confined to the area Uberon designated for their use.
When unable to retreat physically, Uberon affected the cold, remote, haughty personality of the feared and dangerous Unseelie king that parents around the world still used to threaten their unruly children into obedience. Corinne considered discussing his aloof behavior, but decided against it after slitted eyes focusing on one overly fawning cavalier sent the unctuous man scurrying back to a departing ship.
Two days before the ball, a ship from Fyrgia disgorged its cargo on the the narrow shore. Sitting in her official drawing room, decorated in silver, lavender, and dark green at Uberon’s orders to complement her coloring, Corinne received the newest visitor.
“The Honorable Cedric Oyochea, heir to the Baron of Burrel of Fyrgia,” the latest suitor for a favored ward of the Quoliálfur king introduced himself.
“You’ve come far,” Corinne replied from the throne with Golsat standing guard beside her. She took pleasure from the recent geography lessons in knowing exactly how far the man had traveled. “Welcome to Quoliálfur.”
“When may I meet the ladies?”
“Only three are of marriageable age and one of them is already betrothed,” she replied without answering his question. “We’ll be holding the wedding soon and all our honored guests are invited to attend.”
The human nobleman nodded, but his expression congealed into disappointment followed by determination.
The parade of hopeful suitors, never more than a trickle of guests, concluded with the Honorable Cedric Oyochea’s arrival. Corinne drafted Hibr into service as an escort for the sisters, ensuring that he not only spent time with his betrothed, but that he never saw her alone. The day before the grand ball, Uberon, Corinne, and their guests gathered in the Maltani temple the newly minted captain’s ex-patriot countrymen had built over a century ago.
Tropical flowers bedecked the temple and released their sweet, heady fragrances into the sultry air. Wearing a toga trimmed with gold embroidery, Hibr met his bride-to-be at the dais, and they joined hands beneath the oculus. An elderly Maltani with floor-length gray hair wearing a drapery of red stone beads met the captain’s steady gaze. Then he turned his gaze to the human bride. Falling upon her lifetime of training, she fixed her gaze on her bare toes. Jeweled bands encircled her throat, wrists, and ankles, gleaming through the sheer, filmy layers of fabric drifting about her body like a cloud. At the elder’s quietly murmured command, Hibr took Sin’halissar’s hands in his. He murmured something indistinct and the girl lifted her gaze to his. She gave him a shy smile, eyes shining. Hibr returned her smile with an expression of sure approval and a slow nod.
The elder, having schooled his expression to neutrality at the sailor’s willingness to exile himself from his homeland by mating outside his race, raised his face and hands toward the sky and began praying in a sing-song voice beseeching the gods for blessings upon Hibr and his heart’s true mate, the human female Sin’halissar. As the elder spoke, the light streaming through the oculus brightened. Captivated by the light, Corinne reached for Uberon’s hand, grasped it, and squeezed. The bright white light flared, then shattered into countless glowing shards of crystal brilliance as the crescendo of the elder’s prayer crested on a triumphant shout. The glittering powder settled on the guests gathered within the temple dusting them with the arcane blessing.
The bride and groom raised their joined hands. The elder pulled out a short-bladed knife and severed long locks of hair from Hibr and Sin’halissar. He deftly braided the strands into a long, thin cord and tied it around their wrists. With his gnarled hands hovering over their bound wrists, the elder murmured holy incantations. The cord began to smoke. The acrid scent of burnt hair singed the nostrils of every person in the small temple. Having been coached by her betrothed, Sin’halissar endured the pain of the burning cord by biting the inside of her cheek until blood filled her mouth. Sweat beaded on her face and trickled down her back. Hibr’s bi-colored hair, darkened with sweat, dragged against the coarse weave of his toga as he turned his face to glare at the elder. His lips peeled back from his pointed teeth and he growled, “Finish this.”
Showing no remorse for having delayed this bonding of souls between Maltani and human, and the pain that delay inflicted, the elder lifted his upper lip in a sneer that did not interrupt the slowly spoken incantations issuing from his mouth. Watching the proceedings and hearing the whimpers that Sin-halissar could not stifle, Corinne decided she’d had enough. Toeing off a shoe, she set her bare foot against the naked stone of the temple’s floor and felt the slow shudder of connection with the foot of the mountain from which Uberon’s castle had been carved. She begged the mountain for a favor and it obliged.
The elder hissed as the stone beneath his own bare feet flared white with sudden volcanic heat. He looked up and noticed the queen glaring at him. Her own upper lip curled in a silent sneer and she bared her teeth at him.
What hurt you do to her, I will do to you tenfold.
The Maltani elder hissed as the thickly calloused soles of his feet began to sizzle on the hot rock. Locked within the ritual, he could not abandon it. The incantations flew from his lips as he hastened to finish the mating ritual that bound Hibr’s life and soul to Sin’halissar’s.
The elder’s concluding shout vibrated with anger and pain. Two Maltani rushed forward to carry the lamed elder from the temple as the last ashes from the burning cord drifted to the temple floor. Uberon called for a healer, who detached himself from the crowd to tend to the newlyweds’ burns before tending to the elder’s injury. Corinne slipped her shoe back on and smiled with grim satisfaction.
“We gather in the great hall of Castle Quoliálfur for the wedding feast!” Corinne proclaimed, having been informed beforehand that the bride and groom would retreat to a private place to consummate their union. She thought they would head for the captain’s cabin on the Sea Hart which had returned to her new berth just days before.
A company of Quoliálfur guards directed the procession of guests following Uberon and Corinne to the great hall. Golsat and the handful of other gargoyles who served Uberon closed ranks around the bride’s sisters, keeping them safe on the march back to the castle. The king and queen occupied the head table. The bride’s sisters took their seats at another table flanked by the forbidding gargoyles. The guests seated themselves, gawked at the king’s wards, and gossiped among themselves.
In a corner, musicians played spritely music for the festive occasion. Servants carried in platters of hot and cold foods and pitchers of wine. The fragrances of food and perfumes and flowers and sweat mingled into a heavy, pungent miasma that affected Corinne’s appetite for the worse. However, she made a successful pretense toward eating and, like a good hostess, ensured that everyone ate their fill.
With windows thrown open to catch the cool night breeze blowing off the ocean, Corinne placed her hands in Uberon’s to lead the dancing. Noticing his mate’s flagging endurance, he transferred the duties of host to Golsat and excused Corinne and himself for the night.
“Thank you,” she murmured with sincere gratitude. They reached their quarters and she crossed the bedchamber to lean out of an open window and take deep gulps of fresh air to settle her churning stomach. “I hadn’t realized how badly people smell.”
“Immersion bathing presents a difficulty for many,” Uberon reminded her. “Most must make do with washing from basins.”
She shuddered with a modern woman’s distaste. “I’m glad the castle has hot springs.”
“The castle takes great care to pamper you,” Uberon observed as he came up behind her and ran his hands over her bare sh
oulders and the delicate sweep of her collar bones. “It keeps your skin soft. Smooth. Glowing.”
She exhaled and felt her knees soften as he bent down to press sweet, sweet kisses to the satiny skin revealed by the gown in which Uberon had clothed her.
She’d gasped when it first wrapped around her, clinging snugly to her body from the flare of her hips to the fullness of her breasts. “You can practically see my nipples!” she had exclaimed, even though she knew Uberon selected the fabric and color to frame the intricate whorls and curlicues and lines and curves of the soul bond made manifest.
Now that she leaned against him, her back to his front, at the window overlooking a sheer drop down the mountainside, her mate pushed down the revealing bodice of her gown. Head resting against his chest, she heard the strong thump of his heart and the catch of his breath when he slid his hands beneath the soft mounds to support their delicate weight. Her knees began to melt as he rubbed the sensitive nipples, bringing them to hard points that begged to be rolled and plucked. Uberon obliged and moisture, hot and sweet, soaked her thighs.
“Uberon,” she moaned, arching into his touch and reaching up to bring his mouth to hers. He leaned over her, his long hair cloaking pale, ruby-tipped skin from view as he drew her away from the window. Pressing his lips to hers, he continued to fondle his mate’s breasts as the scent of her arousal wreathed him. A flicker of his will dissolved their clothing into nothingness. He swept Corinne into his arms and carried her to the bed where he continued to kiss, lick, and caress until she wept with the desperate yearning to be claimed.
“Mine,” he whispered as he slid inside her sensitive body. Already he felt the ripple and clutch of her inner muscles as she slipped headlong into the first orgasm he would give her that night. “Mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed on a sigh that hitched as he drove her to another climax on the heels of the first. “Uberon!”
“My beloved. Forever.”
The heat and discomfort of the party forgotten beneath the pure pleasure of her mate’s touch and the refreshing waft of night air, Corinne accepted and received her mate’s passionate claim with joy.
CHAPTER 20
The festivities lasted ten days, during which Corinne dove into a crash course in learning how to be a hostess. Golsat assisted, for which he earned her everlasting gratitude. She and the two eligible Merogis daughters accompanied a cohort of suitors eager either to acquire a lovely young wife, an assumed alliance with the Quoliálfur king, or the young woman’s generous dowry. Or all three.
For their part, the two sisters followed their strict training and conducted themselves with demure modesty. Swathed from neck to toes in loose, colorful silks, they offered their swains no teasing glimpses of skin. Golsat’s fierce glare caught many of those same suitors’ gazes lingering upon the creamy expanse of branded skin exposed by the outfits worn by their hostess. A couple bolder, less prudent men suggested that the queen visit them.
Both suffered immediate consequences, their genitalia withering and turning black and putrid, an odiferous rot that removed them from the gene pool. They left in haste and disgrace to endure the ignominy of failure. Although Corinne protested her innocence regarding the cruel retaliation, the remaining suitors kept a very polite and respectful distance from her thereafter.
Except for the Honorable Cedric Oyochea. He alone dared ask the queen to dance at the grand ball held two nights prior to the culmination of the event. He lifted his arrogant gaze to meet the king’s pale icy eyes after he bowed to the queen and asked for her hand in a dance.
“It’s just a dance, Uberon,” she whispered. “He can’t do anything too obnoxious with you watching.”
Uberon nodded, his reluctance evident. Corinne placed her hand in the nobleman’s and he led her to the dance floor. They took their positions and proceeded through the steps of the stately dance. Oyochea maintained a correct and respectful distance and his hands never wandered inappropriately. Every word he uttered upheld punctilious civility, although his heated gaze flickered to the tempting display of cleavage and the soul bond manifested in silver and black diamonds sprawling across her skin.
“Your Majesty, your beauty outshines your wards tonight,” Master Oyochea complimented with a greasy smile, gaze dipping to the creamy expanse of silver-chased, jewel-encrusted skin rising above the low neckline of her bodice.
“Thank you,” Corinne murmured in polite response, but without returning his smile. Because civility dictated she continue the conversation, she said, “I am pleased at the turnout for the ball.”
Oyochea nodded. “Misses Sin’clannad and Ari’valia are radiant and most desirable, especially being favored of His Majesty.”
The steps of the dance separated them, which gave Corinne a few precious seconds to think of a response that would not offend. When the steps brought them back together, she said, “That favor ensures the girls’ welfare. They are dear to us.”
“And it shows,” the courtier remarked. “You have them well-guarded.”
“Most of the palace guard is dedicated to their protection,” Corinne admitted.
The dance steps separated them again. When they came back together, he agreed with her: “Such treasures should be well-protected. Do they not have younger sisters?”
“Yes.” Corinne’s hackles raised as a frisson of warning tingled down her spine. “They’re confined to their quarters tonight.”
The courtier simply smiled again and commented, “I am sure they will become beauties like their older sisters, and just as valuable to the king.”
The set ended. Oyochea returned her to Uberon’s side with a deep bow and a supercilious smile. Corinne gave him a gracious nod, heeding her mate’s warning that she was not to bow (or curtsey) to anyone. The nobleman turned on his heel to await his turn to take one of the Merogis girls on the dance floor.
Corinne wiped her palms on her skirt. She felt soiled for having touched her hand to that man’s. Turning to Uberon, Corinne said in an undertone, “There’s something off about that guy.”
Uberon placed his hand over hers and answered, “I cannot read his thoughts. ’Tis most unusual, although I have come across a handful of humans whose minds did not yield readily to me.”
“Do you think, perhaps, he has other abilities?”
“Possibly. He bears watching.”
Corinne agreed.
Oyochea solicited her hand for two more dances. Nothing in his overt behavior drew suspicion, but her instincts trilled warnings that raised her hackles. She kept an eagle eye on the two young ladies whom she chaperoned. Though she noticed blatant flirting by various gentlemen with the two girls, the girls conducted themselves with restrained decorum. The palace guards stationed about the ballroom and other public rooms ensured nothing untoward occurred. Corinne mulled over the courtier’s comments and delicate probing regarding the younger sisters and wondered about the security of the family’s private rooms. Even the castle’s machinations could be circumvented by someone devious and determined enough.
“Uberon, can you ward the door to the girls’ room?” she asked.
He nodded. “Certainly, beloved. None shall pass through the door, except the girls and their maids.”
“Thank you. That will keep the lecher out if he tries to compromise one of my girls.”
A faint smile graced Uberon’s expression as he contemplated his mate’s protectiveness toward the girls. She would make a good mother if they were ever so blessed. Regardless, he would enjoy the effort of procreation and ensure that she did, too.
The clock chimed and Uberon stood. The musicians lay down their instruments. Everyone turned to stare at the imposing king.
“Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight. I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Tomorrow morning, I shall confer with Sin’clannad and Ari’valia as to their preferences. Selected gentlemen will then be invited to private interviews with them, at which time you may offer your proposals or bid them goodbye.”
&nb
sp; You don’t really care whether they enjoyed themselves, Corinne accused him, a small grin playing about her lips.
No, but even I can observe polite civilities.
She chuckled aloud, keeping the sound soft and quiet.
Two gargoyles detached themselves from their posts and flanked the girls, who obediently allowed their guards to escort them to their room to retire for the rest of the night.
“Make sure none but the girls enter or exit their quarters,” Corinne reminded the guards, never suspecting that such strictly raised, obedient, traditional young ladies would jeopardize their reputations and marriage prospects by venturing out with a man, especially a man whom they did not know.
“Aye, my lady.”
Once the girls had left the ballroom, Corinne rose and placed her fingertips upon Uberon’s forearm. He inclined his head in a regal nod to acknowledge his guests and then escorted his mate to their chambers, leaving the servants to ensure guests returned to their rooms in orderly fashion.
Corinne rolled her shoulders and heaved a sigh. “I never would have guessed how exhausting this was.”
“Do you regret it, my dear?” he asked as he loosened the lacing of her gown.
“No. Saving them was the right thing to do, even if they chose a path different than what I intended.”
Bending down, he pressed a kiss to the top of her shoulder. She shivered and sighed.
“No. They deserve the choice.” She shivered again as her mate eased the bodice of her gown down and his warm hands cupped the soft, tender weight of her breasts. “Uberon, you know what that does to me.”
