Daughter of the Dark Moon: Book 3 of the Twin Moons Saga

by Holly Bargo

  “She looks radiant,” Corinne remarked, doing her best to ignore the slickness between her thighs.

  Indeed, Ari’valia shone as brightly as carnival lights in her vividly colored, flowing silks and bedecked with the traditional wedding regalia of a wealthy merchant’s daughter. The style put Corinne in mind of a barbarically amazing amalgamation of Indian and Chinese garb and accessories.

  “In her parents’ native country and tradition, the bride wears her dowry to signify her family’s wealth as well as to show the groom’s family that they have allied themselves to a family of good connection,” Uberon explained.

  “It was kind of you to settle that dowry upon her,” Corinne replied, blinking at the gaudy magnificence of it. “And to help out Samuel, too.”

  A heavy cape of deep blue fell from her brother’s broad shoulders, his newly established family crest embroidered in white and gold thread. His black leather boots gleamed. He cut a dashing figure in closely cut pants and shirt.

  “Why gold instead of silver?” she asked.

  “Humans prize gold,” he replied, although fae silver did not tarnish. “It’s a lingering preference from their history before falling through the portals.”

  Corinne nodded and wondered why Uberon had not offered to transform her brother to fae, although she decided not to ask him. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer. Uberon knew of her question and kept his silence.

  They followed the wedding guests, a much smaller party than had attended Sin’clannad’s nuptial ceremony. The more intimate ceremony seemed to suit Ari’valia and Samuel better anyway.

  “Your Majesty!” a page called out as he ran toward them. “Please, Your Majesty!”

  Uberon turned to face the pimply-faced teen. “What is it, Zeffros?”

  The boy hopped to a halt to avoid running headlong into his king. “An emissary from the Seelie Court is here. He requests your audience and says it’s urgent.”

  “Give my apologies to your brother and Ari’valia,” Uberon commanded, running his hand down his mate’s back. He looked back at the page and snapped, “Golsat, to me.”

  The gargoyle immediately left off what he was doing to attend to his king. Together, they headed toward the audience room where the emissary from the Seelie Court waited.

  As he walked toward duty, the king of Quoliálfur somehow assumed the icy, powerful mantle of the Unseelie king, a cold-blooded, cold-hearted, analytical being of immense power and neither compassionate nor caring. Watching his departure, Corinne shivered and understood just how he had held a continent in fear of him for tens of thousands of years.

  Without wasting time or energy on pleasantries, Uberon’s quiet question made the emissary wince and his already pale complexion lose even more color: “What is so urgent that I must neglect my mate’s brother at his nuptials?”

  The emissary summoned his courage and reminded himself that the Unseelie king had no reputation for killing messengers. At least, not yet. He withdrew a small scroll from a leather bag hanging from his shoulder and held it out. “A message from his majesty, King Mogren of the Seelie Court.”

  “You know its contents. Summarize.”

  “The Quoli have attacked and conquered the Lahn Ursai region.”

  “Did the Akh-sinh of the Lahn Ursai survive?”

  The emissary shrugged. “We have no word. King Mogren has lost nigh on twenty Dragon Riders and half the Palace Guard. Captain Thelan was gravely injured.”

  “And the moon-born?”

  “She remains at his side.”

  “What about Enders?”

  “He ordered the retreat.”

  Uberon cursed under his breath, knowing that the archivist would not have ordered a retreat unless he was convinced they had no chance whatsoever of victory. After all, he and that uppity Captain Thelan had invaded his castle to rescue the moon-born from Marog and practically decimated his own palace guard in doing so. Of course, they’d had the assistance of an enraged and ravenous dragon.

  Stupid Marog. The greedy boy always wanted more than his due.

  Already suspecting the answer, Uberon asked anyway: “What does Mogren ask of a king whom he does not recognize?”

  The emissary’s eyes squeezed shut at this delicate juncture, for he suspected the king of Quoliálfur held grudges and knew that he would not likely forgive the insult recently suffered. Opening his eyes, he flinched from the icy silver gaze and replied, “He requests military assistance from Quoliálfur.”

  “And what of the Daimónio Refstófae?”

  “King Murcio’s assistance is being solicited even as I speak with you now, Your Majesty.”

  “Mogren reneged on his offer to assist them in their time of need,” Uberon said. “Why should I believe he will honor any obligation to a country he declines to recognize?”

  The emissary gestured toward the scroll in the king’s hand. “King Mogren officially acknowledges the nation of Quoliálfur and you as its rightful king.”

  Uberon nodded. “And guarantees against his duplicity? What of that?”

  “I cannot speak for the king.”

  “Then why are you here, if not to speak for him?”

  The emissary bowed, hoping the show of respect would assuage any harsh feelings the cold-natured fae might direct toward him. “King Uberon, I am charged with presenting the need of the Seelie Court to you and seeking your assistance. My authority extends no further.”

  “What else?”

  “What?”

  “If you are charged with the responsibility of securing my cooperation, then you are also authorized to make certain trades or concessions in order to appease me.”

  The emissary nodded. “I—I and my family are bidden to remain here as hostages.”

  “You and your family?”

  “Aye. My mate and two children accompany me.”

  “Mogren must be desperate indeed to risk your mate and children.”

  “All of the Seelie Court is in need. The Quoli advance and we cannot stop them alone.” He gestured vaguely to indicate Uberon’s kingdom as a whole. “You are the only one who is known to have erected a barrier the Quoli cannot cross.”

  “What do I get out of this?”

  “King Mogren is ready to transfer half the Seelie Court’s treasury to—”

  “I have no need of his wealth.” It occured to Uberon to demand that the moon-born be made his subject, but he knew that request would not only meet refusal, but it would also hurt his mate and enrage his cousin. Enders was fond of the moon-born who was mother to his own mate. He cared little for the refusal, but had no desire to incur his mate’s disgust or hatred. Enders’ wrath would be annoying, probably damaging, and not worth the petty satisfaction of having offended Mogren.

  He considered the dilemma, for the Seelie Court truly had nothing he wanted, except the patronage of the archivist. Looming over the nervous emissary, he said, “Return to the Seelie Court with your family. I have but one request: the archivist must agree to spend ninety days a year for the next millennia in Quoliálfur in service to me. His mate is welcome to accompany him and stay as our most honored guest.”

  The emissary gasped. “But—but the archivist is not a subject of the Seelie Court. King Mogren cannot command him.”

  “Those are my terms. Do not return unless you have his agreement.” Uberon stated and turned on his heel. Golsat, who had remained silent through the exchange, followed close behind.

  “Why request the archivist’s presence?” the gargoyle asked once the doors closed behind them.

  “He owes me.”

  A low buzz of speculation greeted his arrival in the great hall where the banquet continued in full swing. He took his seat next to Corinne, who leaned toward him and asked, “What was that about?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  She settled back in her chair and allowed the festivities to distract her until later when she lay hoarse and panting in Uberon’s embrace. He hadn’t been kid
ding about enjoying the procreative part of their union.

  Rolling over and idly toying with one small nipple on his hard chest, she took a moment’s pleasure in the way it beaded in reaction to her touch and then asked, “So, what was that impromptu meeting all about?”

  Uberon grinned and allowed his mate to lull him into divulging what she wanted to know. He would have done so anyway, but this was much more enjoyable. He ran his hand down her side, following the dip of her waist, the rounded flare of her hip, and back up again to stroke the plump softness of her breast. Two could play at that game. He hissed as her other hand grasped his still semi-aroused penis and began stroking it to fully turgid readiness.

  “The Seelie Court wants our help,” he replied, allowing his fingers to dip between her slender thighs already wet and slick with their combined fluids. She moaned and lightly squeezed his cock. He hissed again, his breath catching in his throat from the pleasure that streaked through him. “I declined their trade.”

  Fondling him, Corinne pondered his words for a moment made delicious by the touch of his fingers on her skin and between her legs. She managed to retain coherent thought, but realized her brain wouldn’t hold out for long before it melted into sizzling pleasure. “What did you ask for instead?”

  Uberon smiled at his mate’s clever perception and ducked down to capture her mouth with his, claiming her with dominating strokes of his tongue. As he rolled her onto her back and nuzzled the delicate skin beneath her ear, he answered, “Mogren can’t be trusted. I asked the archivist to agree to spend ninety days a year here for the next millennia.”

  Since her first and only experience with the king of the Seelie Court left a bad taste in her mouth, Corinne did not object to his characterization of the Seelie king. “Why would Enders agree to that?”

  Uberon kissed a wandering path down her neck and spent several minutes worshipping her breasts with his mouth, reducing her mind to warm goo. He gave her the same answer he gave the emissary: “He owes me.”

  She clung to her mate as he journeyed down her body until he feasted upon her sex, hands twining in his long hair, nails dragging against his scalp. Her eyes rolled back as a climax crashed over her. She cried out when he surged forward and crushed his mouth to hers, sharing the combined taste of their earlier release as he drove into her again, filling her body, heart, and mind in ways that no romance novel ever adequately described.

  She could only hope that Samuel gave his bride a smidgen of the pleasure Uberon gave her. If so, Ari’valia would be a satisfied woman.

  CHAPTER 25

  “You would hold me hostage?” Enders snarled at Uberon from across a small table in a sunny drawing room. It bore two tumblers of ice and a pitcher of iced tea, lightly sweetened and flavored with fresh lemon, for which the king had developed a fondness due to his mate’s preference for the beverage. “How dare you?”

  “Nonsense, Enders.” Uberon waved his hand in a languidly dismissive gesture he knew would annoy the other fae. “I could use your insight, and I’d appreciate it if you would condescend to tutor my mate. She is still quite ignorant of our history and traditions. Besides, she quite likes Daniellisande.”

  “Insight, eh? You never needed that before.”

  “Not since the early years of the Unseelie Court,” Uberon amended. “But I have a new laboratory here and find myself falling back into old habits. You bring a different and learned perspective that I will find useful.”

  Enders took a sip of his beverage and grimaced. “Ugh. What is this vile brew?”

  “Corinne calls it iced tea. She’s quite fond of it. Would you prefer ale?”

  “Yes, I would, thank you. And how is your pretty mate?”

  “She’s well, thank you. And yours?”

  The archivist’s austere features softened. “Doing better. She miscarried last year.”

  Uberon nodded, appropriately solemn. “You have my condolences on the loss. Corinne has yet to conceive.”

  Enders raised an eyebrow and smirked. “But not for lack of trying.”

  “Of course not.” Uberon took a sip and savored the refreshing flavor. Really, Earth did have some wonderful things. He wondered how well the cacao plants he imported on his last visit would fare in the climate and soil of Quoliálfur. His mate missed chocolate. The lemon, lime, orange, and grapefruit trees flourished. He considered where tea cultivars would grow best. Fetching tea from Earth grew tedious.

  “Uberon.”

  The king blinked, surprised that he had allowed himself to be distracted from the topic at hand. He did not usually allow his mind to wander.

  “Our mates do tend to affect us that way,” the archivist commented with a trace a smugness in his voice.

  “Another reason I need a sharp mind around here.” Uberon bared his teeth. Enders did not mistake the expression for a smile. “Besides, you owe me.”

  “I owe you?”

  “’Twas you and that damned Thelan who brought my castle to its figurative knees, who destroyed my kingdom for the Seelie Court to claim.”

  “Rather it was Marog who caused it. If he hadn’t abducted Catriona, none of that would have happened.”

  “You could have retrieved her without destroying my castle and my kingdom.”

  Enders shrugged, not debating the point. He had his reasons for his actions and did not deign to justify them to anyone but himself. Or Daniellisande. But he’d not been mated to the moon-born’s daughter when he did what his colleague accused him of doing.

  “When I split from the Seelie Court, you did not support me,” Uberon added.

  “When you split from the Seelie Court and took a third of its population with you, I thought you were wrong. I still think you were wrong.”

  “So, destroying the Unseelie Court was your way of restoring order?”

  Enders shrugged again, unwilling to apologize or justify his decisions. “You still haven’t convinced me why I should agree to your demand.”

  “Maybe it’s because I miss you. We were once as close as brothers.”

  “Hah. Not likely.”

  “Then perhaps I would like my mate to have a friend who is her equal.”

  “That’s closer to the truth.”

  “Then because I ask it. You love the Seelie Court and its people. I have no care for them and its downfall to the Quoli will not disturb me. Refugees who wish to resettle here must swear fealty to me as they would if they settle in any other foreign nation.” Uberon took another sip and bared his teeth. “I’m sure you don’t want to see that happen.”

  “You always were a cold and calculating bastard.”

  “That’s why you like me.”

  “I haven’t liked you for a long, long time. But I do respect you, Uberon.”

  “Then we have an accord.”

  “Aye. I’ll inform Mogren.”

  “Bring your lovely mate when you return. Corinne will be glad of her company.”

  Enders nodded. He paused, tilted his head to the side and asked, eyes burning with curiosity. “How did you carve out this kingdom from the Quol and hold it?”

  Uberon took another sip and favored Enders with a genuine smile. “That’s my secret.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “I don’t like it.”

  Uberon blinked and waited, because Corinne hadn’t finished speaking yet. Shrill cries of seagulls filled the silence.

  “I understand the need. I understand why you’re going. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  He nodded, understanding her sentiments. “Beloved, as long as I have lived, I have come across few entities that could be described as truly evil. The Quol comes close. It may not be pure evil, but it is pure hunger that consumes everything in its path. It does not love, cannot care. The spirit that animates it advances in the form of the Quoli. They dare not venture far beyond the jungle, but they are the force that spreads it. Where the Quoli go, so does the Quol.”

  She nodded, having nothing to say that would affect t
he outcome of their discussion. Uberon placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head back. He pressed a tender kiss upon her mouth, then straightened and held her gaze.

  “I cannot, in good conscience, allow the Seelie Court to succumb to the Quol.”

  She sighed.

  “I will take a small company of gargoyles and we shall accompany Enders to Lahn’Ursai. Daniellisande will remain here with you. Golsat will also remain to support and advise you as needed.”

  “He wouldn’t leave Han’al anyway.”

  “Not likely,” Uberon agreed.

  Corinne clutched at his shirt with sudden desperation. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

  “Nothing will keep me from returning to you. Nothing.”

  Uberon wrapped his arms around her, giving her what comfort he could. And she did take comfort in the ferocity of his promise, in his bright passion for her, in the absoluteness of their connection. She loved his sly humor and how the very humanity of her nature inspired him toward compassion.

  She made him strive to be a better man, for all that he denied being a man. Because men were human and he was fully fae, fully male, fully hers.

  The silver and diamonds embedded in her skin warmed.

  What had his influence upon her yielded? Locked inside her own skin, her own mind, she could not discern any great difference. Perhaps that was good. Perhaps Uberon did not want her to change. Perhaps …

  But no matter, she returned his hug, wrapping her arms tightly around him as though never to let him go.

  She felt his lips against the top of her head, heard him inhale the scent of her and fix it upon his memory. She did the same, inhaling the fragrance of her mate—fresh, slightly musky, wild—and lifting her face upward for his kiss. Then he released her and she, perforce, let her arms fall to her sides.

  “Rule in my stead, Corinne, my beloved. You are the queen of Quoliálfur.”

  She nodded, eyes filling with tears.

  “You have listened and learned as scribe. Now it is time to put that knowledge to use.”