Lucan looked at Liane, and then he turned his gaze to Isadora. “I was not there, of course. The fall happened long before I was born. But I can tell you what little I know, if you wish.”
“Please do,” Liane said almost sweetly.
Lucan had eaten only a bite of his dessert, and as he began to speak he pushed the remains away. “As often happens in such circumstances, the warriors and wizards of the Circle had become overly confident. No one could challenge their strength, not physically and not magically. The King was a mere puppet who answered to the commands of the Prince of Swords.”
“The Prince of Swords?” the priest repeated in an interested tone of voice.
“Leader of the Circle of Bacwyr,” Lucan said.
“Why was the King not the ultimate ruler?” Sebestyen asked.
Lucan smiled slightly. “The King was chosen by blood, the Prince by strength and destiny. No man can defeat the rightful Prince in battle, not with swords or fists or weapons of any kind.”
“Who is the current Prince?” Liane asked. “I have never heard of such a position, or of a man who cannot be defeated.”
“There has not been a Prince of Swords since the fall of the Circle. It was the defeat of the Prince that started the downfall of the Circle and ultimately all of Tryfyn.”
Isadora pushed her own dessert away. She had been silent throughout the meal, but something about this man got under her skin, and she felt compelled to respond when a moment of silence fell. “So, despite your talk of invincibility, even your Prince could be defeated.”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“What sort of man could defeat the strongest amongst you?”
“No man can defeat the Prince of Swords.”
“You just said—”
“The Prince was killed by a woman,” Lucan said before she had a chance to finish her sentence. “A witch who seduced, influenced, and finally betrayed the man she claimed to love. She poisoned him, and he died in agony.”
The bitterness in his voice as he said the word witch was potent and filled with hate. Everyone at the table looked at their dessert and hemmed and hawed. No one informed Lucan Hern that he was dining with a witch this evening, and of course as they planned to woo the man to their way of thinking, they would not.
His gaze locked to hers, and when that happened her stomach fluttered and clenched. No, she admitted reluctantly, that was not her stomach reacting so strongly to the power of those eyes. Her reaction to Lucan Hern was strictly that of a woman to a man. She tingled. Her toes curled in the fine, borrowed slippers. It seemed that her breath came differently, harder, more shallow, as if the man stole her very ability to breathe.
Isadora yanked her eyes away and briskly pulled the dessert back to her. She had not responded this way to any man but Will in her entire lifetime, and she would not allow it to happen now. Even if she were ready to consider a physical association with the opposite sex again, she refused to fall victim to the charms of a man who likely left a multitude of moaning, naked women and broken hearts in his wake. A man who looked as if he had never heard the word no. A man who was much too confident for his own good.
A man who made it very clear that he detested witches.
Chapter Two
“You like him; I can tell,” Liane said as Isadora adjusted the bedcovers over the empress’ ever-expanding belly.
“I don’t like anyone,” Isadora answered in a calm voice. Liane had changed into her nightgown, but Isadora remained dressed in the borrowed gown and jewels. She couldn’t wait to get out of the binding clothes that were not her own, brush out her hair, and return the jewels that did not belong to her.
“Don’t lie to me, Isadora,” Liane said as she snuggled down into the soft bed. “The only thing in this world I know better than my husband is sex. Lucan Hern wants you, and you want him.”
“I don’t want anyone,” Isadora insisted.
Liane’s smile faded. “Now, I know that’s a lie.”
Isadora reached around to work the clasp and remove the necklace she’d worn in her role as Liane’s “cousin.”
Liane waved her hand dismissively. “Keep it, and all the rest. The blue suits you in a way it doesn’t suit me.”
“I can’t possibly—” Isadora began.
“It’s a gift,” Liane snapped. “Has no one ever given you a gift?”
Isadora’s hands fell, and the necklace remained in place around her throat. “Not in a very long time,” she admitted. She knew that these jewels were not Liane’s favorites, and in comparison to the other imperial jewels they were insignificant. But they were much finer than anything she’d ever owned. Will had never been able to afford jewelry.
“Now, back to Lucan Hern,” Liane said with a growing smile, as she rested her hands on her rounded belly. “I will expect a full accounting of his attributes and his skill as a lover.”
Isadora laughed. “Don’t be absurd.”
“You won’t share your exploits with a poor woman who has been confined to bed and ordered not to partake of such pleasures?”
“I have no plans to take a lover, and if I did, it would not be that insufferably overconfident Captain Hern.”
“He has large hands,” Liane mused.
“That means nothing,” Isadora replied. “Besides, he has an obvious distaste for witches.”
“Then don’t tell him you’re a witch. I believe he has already noticed that you are a woman, and when it comes to sex, that’s all that matters.”
Isadora had closed herself off from her emotions for a long time, and she didn’t intend to allow them to rule her now. Maybe the day would come when she’d want to take a lover. Not a husband to take Will’s place, not a man to love and lose thanks to the Fyne Curse, but a sexual partner. Until tonight she had not even considered doing such a thing, and she refused to admit that Lucan Hern’s presence had anything to do with the sudden consideration.
“Did you notice the way he moved?” Liane asked. “The man doesn’t have a clumsy bone in his body. I suspect he’s quite good in bed.”
“That doesn’t concern me,” Isadora insisted, and yet again there was an unwanted response deep inside her body, a response that until this time only Will had elicited.
“I wish only to live vicariously through you.” Liane pouted, but her eyes grew hard. “All you have to do is lie with Lucan Hern and share with me the details of the encounter. Will you not do me this one, small favor?”
“You want me to sleep with a stranger for your entertainment?”
“It isn’t as if you don’t need a man in your life, Isadora,” Liane said impatiently. “I have never known a woman who needed to have an orgasm more than you do.”
The fun immediately went out of the conversation. “You go too far, Liane.” Not that the empress had ever cared about going too far in any respect.
“I only want what’s best for you, Isadora. I would not wish for you the life I led when I first came to this palace, where any powerful man who desired me could have me at the snap of his fingers, but neither do I wish for you a life of celibacy. Sex, done properly, is one of the true and simple pleasures of life, for women as well as for men.”
The conversation would continue all night if Isadora told the empress that she could not sleep with another man while she still felt bound to her departed husband. They’d had that discussion before and never came anywhere near an agreement.
“I’ll think about it,” Isadora said as she repositioned the covers once more and smiled down at the pregnant woman on the bed. The emperor would join his wife soon, when his meeting with Captain Hern was over. The two men had adjourned alone to a private chamber near the ballroom after the evening meal was done.
Well, Lucan Hern was alone. Emperor Sebestyen was surrounded by armed guards, as always. These days, Columbyana was not a safe haven for anyone, not even the emperor. Especially not the emperor.
If he did not need this man, he'd have him killed here and now. Luc
an Hern was trouble. What kept the Tryfynian alive was the fact that if they joined forces, he and the rest of his kind would be trouble for Arik and his rebels.
Sebestyen sat back in his chair and studied First Captain Hern. Hern was big and austere and had the build and facial expression of a true warrior. He was the sort of man Sebestyen usually went to great lengths to avoid. Still, every man had a weakness. All he had to do was find Hern’s and use it.
Their discussion of war was brief and unsatisfactory. Hern refused to commit himself one way or another, though he did at least listen to Sebestyen’s reasoning with proper interest. There had been a time when such a lack of commitment would’ve led the man to Level Thirteen, but not today. Today, Sebestyen needed the Tryfynian too much. It galled him to need anyone this way.
“During your stay, anything you need or desire is yours,” Sebestyen said, calling upon his most cordial voice. “If your quarters are not to your liking, we will find something more suitable.”
“My assigned rooms on Level Four are sufficient,” Hern answered without emotion.
Sebestyen took a deep, calming breath. Hern’s rooms on Level Four were more than sufficient, comprising the finest and most elaborate visitor’s chamber in the palace. In long years past, Kings and Queens had resided in that very room, and yet for Hern it was merely sufficient.
“If you give your approval for your brother to marry, we will of course be happy to assist with the details of the wedding.”
“My brother wishes to marry one of your whores,” Hern said without anger or derision. “I hardly think an elaborate wedding will be necessary, if I decide to give my approval.”
A knot of anger formed in Sebestyen’s stomach. Heaven above, he wanted to see this man dead. No offer was good enough, his hospitality was taken for granted, and the man did not fear the emperor before him, as he should. A lift of his hand, a silent signal, and Hern would be dead. Pity he needed the man alive.
“You’ve traveled a long way,” Sebestyen said. “I’m sure female companionship would be welcomed after such a journey. Do you prefer fair-haired women as your brother does?”
“Unlike my brother, I do not choose my women based on an attribute so superficial as the color of their hair.”
Of course, the blasted Tryfynian had to make things as difficult as possible. “I’ll arrange for you to have a tour of Level Three. Any of the women there will be happy to spend the night in your bed, and you are welcome to as many of them as you require.”
“No, but thank you for the offer. I’m sure it’s well-intentioned.”
No? What man turned down the opportunity to browse the emperor’s fabled Level Three and choose whomever struck his fancy? Perhaps Lucan Hern, for all his size and apparent manliness, didn’t care for women at all.
A spark of something new flashed in Hern’s usually impassive eyes, an unmistakable light of interest that caught Sebestyen’s attention. “I’m sure the women on Level Three are fine, beautiful, enjoyable females, but unlike my brother, I am rather discriminating when it comes to the women with whom I share my bed.”
Sebestyen lifted his eyebrows slightly. Hern’s refusal of the offer of Level Three and the odd reaction that followed was meaningful in some way. The man was not a eunuch, and it was obvious that something—or someone—had caught his attention. The captain’s face was not quite so apathetic as it had been all evening.
“If you have special needs, I promise you that nothing you require is out of the realm of possibility.” With any luck, Lucan Hern’s special needs would be so perverted they’d make for fine blackmail.
“Your wife’s cousin, Isadora,” Hern said. “Is she married?”
When Liane had first proposed her little outing and the deception involved, Sebestyen had said no. But of course, Liane had gotten her way in the end. She was enormous, unable to engage in sexual relations, overly emotional, demanding, petulant, and given to tears for no good reason. And he could not deny her anything.
“Isadora is a widow, I believe,” Sebestyen answered in a calm voice.
“Newly widowed?”
Sebestyen shook his head. He did not know the details, but he had heard Liane and the witch talking on occasion. They chattered, as women were wont to do, when they did not know he was nearby. “No. Her husband has been gone for several years.”
Hern relaxed. “There is no other man in her life at the present time?”
Should he tell Hern that Isadora was a witch? That she was not a cousin, but a servant? A slave, if he were to be completely honest. She’d been captured and brought here against her will, and she did as he commanded. “No,” he answered simply. “There is no man in her life.”
“Good.” Hern placed his hands on his thighs and straightened his already-straight spine. “I want her.”
Of all the possibilities... “Surely you would prefer a woman more experienced and genial than my wife’s irritable cousin.”
“Only Isadora has caught my eye.”
“But you have not yet seen the other pleasures this palace has to offer,” Sebestyen argued.
Hern leaned slightly forward. “If it meets with your approval, my lord, I would like to make a proposal. We both know that the Circle of Bacwyr would be a great asset to you in your war against the rebels. In fact, it could put an end to the conflict quite quickly. While others among the Circle have been speaking to Arik and his representative, I am First Captain, and I will be the one to make the final decision on with whom we will fight. The Circle will not be divided.”
Sebestyen needed this man to make the right decision; his rule, his very life depended on it. “And if I’m hearing you correctly, Isadora in your bed will make the decision for you?”
“A willing Isadora, within the next three days.” With that Hern stood, ending the meeting.
It was Sebestyen’s place to call an end to this session. It was his right and his privilege. But instead of bristling at Hern’s arrogance, he smiled as he slowly rose to his feet. The Tryfynian could have Isadora, if it meant the support and the swords of the Circle of Bacwyr. But when the war was over and his reign was without opposition, the insufferable man would die.
Each night before bed, Lucan did the exercises that honed his body and his mind. He shed all his clothes in order to remove any obstacles that might come between his body and his spirit and the powers of the universe, and performed the hroryk elde, a deep meditation combined with slow, controlled poses of strength and grace. Usually his mind was blessedly clear as he performed the ritual, but tonight Isadora crept into his thoughts.
The ring she wore was certainly the Star of Bacwyr. Zebulyn had told him he would know the power when he saw it, and he had. The Star fed the magic that encircled Isadora. It was the reason his eyes had been drawn to her all evening, the reason she remained strongly and clearly in his mind, even now.
Lucan did not have inborn magic, but the wizards had taught him what they could. He had not been a good student when it came to languages, though they had tried. Spells and incantations disturbed him, and he had never embraced that craft.
But he had learned to see, as the wizards had instructed him. It was more than a warrior’s instincts, his ability to discern what was true and what was not. It was a hard-won gift, one that took concentration, meditation, and strength to accomplish. Tonight he had been prepared when he’d walked into the emperor’s dining hall, and he had seen an incredible power enveloping the empress’ cousin. The Star was power, she possessed the Star, he must possess her.
Esmun was a fool for spreading his seed and his sexual energies with abandon, but then the youngest Hern son had always been a fool. As a child, as a man...Esmun meant well, and he did have his own strengths, but where women were concerned he was without control. There was power in sex when it was property practiced. Power given and power taken. Energy of a commanding sort was exchanged to strengthen both participants, if the choice was properly made. Esmun followed his cock when it came to choosing his bed
partners; Lucan followed his spirit.
It wasn’t as if Isadora didn’t want him. She might deny it in a foolishly feminine way that was likely meant to make him want her all the more, but she did find him attractive. She wanted to be in his bed as much as he wanted her there.
When the exercises were done, Lucan crawled into the bed in question. He remained naked, as he had been as he’d practiced the hroryk elde, but his weapons were within reach. His door was bolted, and he had experienced no trouble since coming here, but one could not be too careful. In any case, he always slept with his knives close at hand.
His blades would not help him in his current quest. The Star he had come here to collect could not be stolen; Zebulyn had reminded him of that fact many times. It must be freely given in order for the magic to survive and to thrive. In order for Lucan to become the next Prince of Swords, as he was destined to be, Isadora would have to give him the ring off her finger.
He had to be very careful until then. Over the years he had been prepared for this moment in many ways. There was much deception here—and he needed no magic to see that truth for himself.
Beware the witch.
The words echoed through his mind as he fell toward sleep. The woman who had enchanted and killed the last Prince of Swords, so long ago, had been a witch, and he would not forget that fact. Filthy, untrustworthy creatures, witches.
Lucan blew out the candle at his bedside and smiled in the dark. Charming the Star of Bacwyr out of Isadora would be pleasurable enough.
Isadora quickly removed the gray and blue gown and stored it in the wardrobe in her chamber. Next the jewelry was removed. The necklace first. It was beautiful, but just heavy enough to become cumbersome after several hours around her throat. The bracelet was next. Like the necklace, it chafed her skin, and she was glad to remove the piece and place it in the box the jewels had been stored in for so many years.
When she tried to remove the ring she wore on the middle finger of her right hand, it refused to budge. It didn’t seem too tight; it wasn’t at all uncomfortable or binding. But try as she might, the ring wouldn’t slide off her finger. Maybe something in the meal she’d eaten tonight had made her fingers swell a little bit. Tomorrow would be soon enough to remove the last remaining piece of the set.
The Star Witch Page 3
