The sentinels were no match for him, so the exercises were all but wasted.
Lucan thought of Isadora while he fought with the inadequate opponents. The woman had invaded his dreams last night, unexpectedly and quite strongly. In his dreams she wore the ring he sought...and nothing else. As he had suspected, her body was angular and fetching, perfectly proportioned and welcoming. In the dreams she had laughed. How odd that he remembered so clearly something as insignificant as a woman’s laughter, almost as clearly as he remembered the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hip.
He called an end to the exercise and walked to a basin of water that had been provided for bathing in this courtyard. Splashing the water over his face, he dismissed all thoughts of the empress’ cousin beyond the necessary. How childish, to carry the memories of a dream with him through the day.
There was nothing childish about what he would accomplish here. He would take Isadora into his bed, they would share power as only a man and woman intimately joined can, and she would give him the ring he had come here to collect. And then he would leave this place.
Honor dictated that if he got what he had come here for, with the emperor’s help, he should provide that which the emperor himself sought: Circle warriors. Sebestyen was the rightful heir, the only legitimate son of the previous emperor, so siding with him seemed the right decision in any case. It didn’t matter that the emperor was an obnoxious tyrant.
Inside the palace, Lucan chose to run up the stairs from the ground-floor Level Ten to Level Four, rather than taking the lift that could very easily carry him to his destination. Even though the emperor had explained the machines on Level Eleven, which powered the lift and the lights that were set into the walls, as well as fans that ran during warmer times of the year, Lucan didn’t trust the contraption. It wasn’t natural.
Besides, running up the stairs was good exercise. He certainly wasn’t getting a sufficient workout sparring with the inadequately trained sentinels.
His warriors could take this palace in a matter of hours. Lucky for Emperor Sebestyen, Lucan wasn’t interested in gaining control of the palace. He just wanted the Star of Bacwyr and the position of Prince of Swords, so he could bring peace to his own country.
Inside the quarters that had been assigned to him, Lucan stripped off his clothes and tossed them aside. Franco would be along soon to pick up the soiled clothing and see that the palace laundresses cleaned them well; someone had already readied his bath. The tub was situated in the small sitting room attached to the bedchamber, and the water steamed enticingly. He grabbed the soap and stepped inside, sitting in the warm water and leaning back against the tub, splashing a few drops of water onto the floor.
It was a large tub, a luxury he had not expected to find here. Of course, Sebestyen was anxious to impress, so Lucan felt certain he saw only the best of the palace and its luxuries. The food and wine, his assigned rooms, the abundant candles and artificial lighting, the constant attention of ministers and servants alike—he felt as if he were being ardently wooed by a wealthy suitor. If his reason for being here were not so momentous, he might take a moment to enjoy what the emperor offered. He had no time for luxuries, and never had.
Dipping down to wet his hair, Lucan closed his eyes and remained submerged for a long moment. While he was underwater, the knowledge came to him in a flash. He was not alone.
He sat up quickly and drew a long knife from the sheath that was strapped to his calf. And found himself face-to-face with the woman he had dreamed about last night. In his reality, she was fully dressed. Pity.
Isadora stood over the tub. She did not even flinch when Captain Hern drew his blade in a threatening manner. “You bathe with a knife?” she asked, her voice calm.
The hand that grasped the knife’s thin handle dipped into the water once again. The motion was smoothly made, so that there was barely a ripple on the water’s surface.
“Yes.” When the weapon had been returned to its proper place, Captain Hern leaned back and relaxed. “I did not expect you so soon. Forgive me for being unprepared. Make yourself comfortable in the bed, and I’ll be along shortly.”
His arrogance was so absurd, Isadora found herself smiling. “I am not here to entertain you. I came to talk.”
The disappointment was as evident as the arrogance. “I feel quite sure that you and I have nothing of interest to talk about.”
“Then perhaps you should simply listen.” She refused to be intimidated by Hern’s state of undress or the fact that the portion of the body that was revealed above the water was extraordinary. Lucan Hern was large and hard, all sculpted muscle and masculine grace. There was nothing soft or ordinary about this man. Still, no man or woman should make her feel this way, atwitter and uncertain and nervous.
Wearing one of the emperor’s sisters’ castoffs, a rose colored gown with an absurdly full skirt, Isadora took Liane’s advice—in her own way. She became someone else for a while.
She pulled a padded stool to the side of the tub and sat demurely. The ring Liane had given her last night still would not come off her finger. You’d think something that fit so tightly it was stuck would be uncomfortable, but that was not the case. She found herself fiddling with the ring, and Hern’s eyes were drawn there. She ceased the fidgeting that revealed her nervousness and looked him in the eye.
Last night she had judged from a distance that those eyes were blue or green. Today, so close, she could see that they were both, as if the colors had melded into a stunning shade of dark aqua. She had always believed that you could tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes. There was nothing magical about that, just common sense. Did the person look at you when they spoke or listened? Did their attention wander? Was there life in the eyes or darkness? Or worse...nothing at all? Hern’s eyes were lively and bright, and never wavered. They were the eyes of a strong and confident man.
She could be no less confident. “The emperor has commanded that I give myself to you no later than tomorrow night. I don’t understand why you would request me when Level Three is filled with women who are trained in the ways of sexual relations and would be more than happy to oblige you.”
His eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise. “You have come to ask to be released?”
“Yes.”
“Where I come from, the women I invite to my bed are honored. They are pleased to be chosen. In fact they often vie for my attentions and do their best to catch my eye.”
Isadora leaned slightly forward. “In case you have not noticed,” she said sharply, “you did not come from here.”
He took a moment to digest that reply. “I repulse you.”
Isadora sighed deeply. She could lie and say yes, but in truth she did not find the man at all repulsive. Besides, she suspected he would know if she lied. “No, but I am not a concubine who will be ordered to a man’s bed because he commands it.” She cocked her head and studied his face. “If you expect any woman you desire to come not only willingly but anxiously to your bed, why did you give the emperor a deadline of three days?”
“The emperor was annoyingly protective of you when I first mentioned the possibility of our alliance. Even though I insisted that I want only you, he tried to persuade me to choose another.” He leaned forward. “I always get what I want, Isadora.”
Not this time. “Emperor Sebestyen is not at all protective, as you can see. In fact he shortened the timeline so you would not have to wait so long. He has given me until tomorrow night to become your harlot.”
“We need not wait until tomorrow, when you are here now.”
Isadora closed her eyes in frustration. Why had she thought she could reason with this maddening man? “I will not be ordered into your bed, or any other.”
His smile was brilliant. “You wish to be courted,” he said with confidence, as if he had discovered all the secrets of the universe.
“No.”
The smile faded quickly, and Isadora realized that it was possible no o
ne had ever told this man no before.
“If you refuse to lie with me, then why are you here?”
“The emperor threatened to kill me if I didn’t do as he, and you, commanded. I have come here to ask you to tell Sebestyen that you changed your mind, or else lie and tell him you bedded me and are satisfied.”
Those blue green eyes darkened and hardened. “He threatened to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“That was never my intention, Isadora.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Will you do as I ask?”
He looked her in the eye again without smiling, without the arrogance she had come to expect from him. “I will give the matter some thought.”
“I am placing my life in your hands,” Isadora said. “If you tell the emperor that I came here and asked that you lie to him, he will kill me.”
“We can’t have that, now, can we?”
He seemed quite unconcerned about her or her reservations, so she threw another obstacle at him. “The concubines on Level Three take medicines that render them unable to conceive. I have taken no such medication, and there is not enough time for anything I take now to be fully effective. Would you leave me here to give birth to your child? Do you scatter your bastards wherever you go?”
“The Circle wizards have divined that my first son will be born when I am thirty-eight years of age. I am presently thirty-six, so you are in no danger of finding yourself carrying my child.”
She scoffed.
“You do not believe in magic?”
“No, I most definitely believe in magic.”
“You are afraid of magic, then.”
“No. I simply refuse to take a risk of this sort because a wizard, who may or may not be powerful enough to be accurate at all times, predicted the birth of your first son.” She leaned slightly closer. “What of your first daughter?”
“You’re quibbling over words.” Moving smoothly and without warning, Captain Hern stood.
Isadora backed away and closed her eyes tightly, but not before she’d seen the man from head to toe, naked and magnificent and aroused. Most definitely aroused.
A drop of water fell onto her gown, and then another, and then another. “Open your eyes,” Hern commanded in a soft, deep voice that was very close. “You’re a widow, so I suspect I possess nothing you have not seen before.”
Isadora did as he asked, slowly obeying his command to find his face inches from hers. Naked, smiling, and dripping wet, he had bent down so that he could meet her eye. Even wet, his black hair curled a little, hanging damply to his shoulders. This close she could see the individual hairs of the stubble on his jaw, though he had shaved that morning. She could see the small lines around his eyes, and the little wrinkle on his brow, and the shape and hardness of his high cheekbones.
“If I do as you request, what will you do for me in return?” he asked.
Isadora kept her eyes on his face. The cheekbone was a safe enough place to look upon. “Must you receive something in exchange for nobility?”
This time his smile was softer, and new lines appeared on his face. “No, but I feel I should receive something in return for willingly giving up the woman I dreamed about last night.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You did not dream of me.”
“Ah, but I did.”
She was not the kind of woman men dreamed about, and she knew it well. “There are prettier women in the palace, many of them,” Isadora said in frustration. “The women on Level Three are trained to offer pleasure in ways you can only imagine, and you could have your rooms filled with these women each and every night.”
“Why do you insist on all but throwing these concubines at me?”
Her frustration won out over all else. “Because your request makes no sense! It is not at all logical! Why me? Are you only attracted to women who do not want you?” For a moment she thought she had gone too far. Hern’s smile was gone, his face was harder, less amiable. “Why you, indeed?” he finally said. “Who can explain why a man is drawn to a particular woman?” One finger brushed against her cheek. “I am drawn to you, Isadora. I want you, and I am a man who always gets what he wants. Always.”
“No man can have everything he wants,” she said, trying to sound as if she was completely unaffected by that finger on her face. She had not been touched gently by any man since Will’s death, and the caress stirred something that would be best left unstirred. “It isn’t the natural way of the world, not even for a man like you.”
She expected an argument. What she got was a kiss. Captain Lucan Hern, naked and aroused and completely insufferable, laid his mouth on hers and moved his lips very gently. He did not touch her anywhere else, and when she pulled away, he did not draw her back.
Even after he backed away and grabbed a towel to dry himself, she felt those lips on hers. Not only that, she felt a response deep inside that told her she’d been too long without a man. She spoke to Lucan Hern about what was not natural. Surely it was not natural to need and want something this deeply and not take it.
But instead of taking anything, she stood quickly and stepped toward the door between the sitting room and his bedchamber, keeping her back to the naked man. “Will you do as I ask?”
“I will consider your proposition.”
Before she exited the sitting room, Isadora glanced back. Lucan was busy drying himself with the towel. The knife he had drawn from beneath the water was still strapped to his muscular calf. Was he never without a blade on his person? No, she decided, he was not. He was a warrior, a man who embraced death and destruction—the destruction she was trying so hard to distance herself from in order to regain her power.
He had no scars. Not one that she could see. A man who lived by the sword should have scars. Was he so talented with the blade that none other had ever touched him?
She walked briskly toward the door that would lead into the hallway, anxious to escape, but Hern’s voice stopped her. “Enough consideration,” he called. “I will expect you here tomorrow night, as the emperor commanded. Wear something blue. The pink doesn’t suit you at all.”
As Isadora stepped into the corridor of Level Four, she slammed the door forcefully. She had the distinct feeling she’d just made matters worse.
Sebestyen stood back, quiet and still, as his wife and the witch conversed in low, hushed tones. They did not yet know that he had arrived.
Liane was his, and he did not wish to share her, not even with a witch she called friend. Watching them smile, listening to them speak, he felt an outsider in a place that should be his. They spoke of womanly things that would likely not be of interest to him, and yet he experienced a rush of what could only be called jealousy.
His wife had slept with a number of men before he’d claimed her as his own, and yet he never felt jealousy over what had passed during that time. She had never cared for any of the men she’d serviced. She had, in fact, killed a few of them without a qualm, when it became necessary. But this friendship...it bothered him deeply. Liane shared a part of herself with Isadora Fyne that he himself had never touched.
Marriage had been so much easier when he had not loved his wives.
Even pregnant and irritable and moody, Liane was beautiful. He looked at her, and the world shifted a little. He touched her, and all the problems of the country seemed insignificant. The problems that plagued Columbyana weren’t at all insignificant, but when he concentrated on Liane, he could forget war and betrayal and his ambitious bastard half-brother. For a while.
Sebestyen missed the physical alliance he and Liane had always shared, before love and after, but oddly enough he was not at all tempted to take his own gratification elsewhere, though as emperor he was entitled to do just that. He’d tried to find a substitute for Liane, once upon a time, and it hadn’t worked out as he’d expected it would.
After the baby arrived and they sent the heir to Level Two to be fed by a wet nurse and educated by the priests, his previous relationship with Lian
e would resume. If the priests had the next emperor in their control, they would care little for the woman who shared the current emperor’s bed. It would be best, however, if they never knew that she also shared his heart.
Sebestyen didn’t understand what Lucan Hern saw in Isadora, not when there were so many other women in the palace to choose from. True, many of the women were as pregnant as Liane, thanks to the interference of that witch Sophie, but he had replaced them with others. Why her?
He wasn’t blind to Isadora’s finer physical attributes, but she had a harshness about her that did not appeal to him. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it didn’t seem at all real. She was not agreeable, not in the way a bedmate should be. She was not soft and compliant, as any man would surely want his woman to be.
With any luck, she’d annoy Lucan Hern, and Sebestyen would have an excuse to be rid of the witch once and for all.
And if that luck was very good, Hern would become so annoyed he’d do the deed himself. Perhaps if word reached the warrior that he was sharing his bed with a witch, Isadora Fyne would disappear.
When she was gone, and the baby was housed on Level Two, all here would be as it had once been. He and Liane would make love every night, and they would discuss matters of state and nonsensical things in their bed.
And he would share her with no one.
Chapter Four
Isadora kept her head high, but her chin trembled slightly. She should’ve known the emperor wouldn’t trust her to make her own way to Hern’s quarters. Two of his most disagreeable sentinels bracketed her, escorting her from the doorway of her own small room, to the lift that was reserved for those of a high station, to the corridor of Level Four.
She could fight them both, if necessary. She could bring them to their knees, wound them, even kill them. Her magic had grown strong enough, of late, to accomplish just that.
The Star Witch Page 5
