Kral took us through the wide aisles between stalls, ostentatiously lauding the might of the Dasnarian horses, emphasizing the fecund, willing mares in such florid formal terms that the muscles in my cheeks began to ache from suppressing the grins that wanted to crack free, and my lungs full to bursting with trapped laughter.
By the time he’d taken me through the extensive tack storage, waxing on eloquently about the value of the elegant multistrapped bridles for bringing out the best performance in a mare and the best saddle to maximize a comfortable seat, particularly when riding a frisky, even fractious filly, tears of repressed mirth leaked from the corners of my eyes.
He’d imperiously dismissed all the stable lads as unworthy of the Ambassador’s elite presence, a gambit I didn’t love, but appreciated when no one witnessed Kral pulling me into an unlikely cramped closet behind rows of oiled saddles. The pitch darkness of the space had me stretching out my hands to prevent a collision with something unpleasant, but no sooner had the latch snicked into place than Kral pulled me back against him, snugging my ass against his raging erection, his hands everywhere at once.
“Ah, cvan, I missed this,” he growled, sinking his teeth into the side of my neck, sending all blood flow from supplying my brain to flood my groin instead.
“No marks,” I gasped, remembering that it was important, but not exactly why because yes, yes, yes—he felt so good and I ached to have him inside me. Or, okay, yes, his brutal grip on my body. That worked, too. He spun me about, pressing my spine against some wooden shelves, brushing aside the rest of the silk shirt and filling his hands with my breasts above the tight vest.
“This outfit,” he muttered, dropping his mouth to follow the path of his hands, “you planned it to drive me insane, yes? I hate it here. I’d forgotten how much. And not having you only makes it that much worse. Tormenting me with what I cannot have.”
“You seem to be having it just fine.” I worked to free his cock, not easy with him bent over to feast on my bosom with teeth, tongue, and hands, driving both of us wild. We might as well have starved for each other for months. “Here. Wait—let me.”
He let me go long enough for me to undo the series of buckles on my leather pants but lost patience as I shimmied the tight fit of them down my thighs. “Enough,” he grunted, spinning me again and taking my wrists to guide my palms flat to the wall. I’d barely oriented to the new position when his fingers delved into my cleft from behind. I choked on the cry of agonized pleasure, biting back calling his name in a prayer that would bring far worse down on us than a punishing deity.
“Like fire, like water,” Kral murmured in my ear, biting the rim and soothing with his tongue as he stroked me below, his other arm wrapped around my waist to hold me still. I wanted to spread my legs, but couldn’t, trapped by the tight leather. “So hot, so wet. Mine.”
“Please, Kral, let me—” I lost it on a groan as he pushed a finger inside me, then another.
“Plenty of room. You let me, little mare. I’ll cover you so well that you’ll never again snicker at the might of Dasnarian stallions.”
At another time, such talk would have had me rolling with laughter, but something about the continuation of the previous jokes, all under cover of discretion I barely knew how to practice, only intensified it all. Not a game. Life and death. Don’t laugh. Don’t cry out.
Oh, Danu. And don’t scream his name when he thrusts his thick cock into you. Though I was wet as I’d ever been, the constriction of my closed thighs made him huge in me, dragging against my burning tissues with such friction that a sob forced out of me and I dropped my head to both quiet myself and suck in air as he drew back, giving me enough space in my body for a desperate attempt to draw breath.
Aborted when he thrust in hard, forcing out all the air I held on a high keen of unbearable pleasure. He clamped a hand over my mouth, and I smelled my own arousal on his slick fingers, licking, then biting their fleshy pads so he snarled in my ear.
“No sound, hystrix. Shh. Listen,” he hissed in my ear, slowing to pump in and out of me, the tension building so that I shook with it, the grit of stone digging into my hands, the world narrowing to his rough-dark voice and the hugeness of him filling me. “So fucking beautiful. So dangerous. And mine. My lovely Jesperanda. No matter what.”
The force of his thrusts lifted me to my toes and higher, his flexing thighs catching the backs of my own and raising me, the thick-thewed arm around my waist keeping me steady. I lost my mind entirely, mewling against his hand, biting down hard with each sharp-edged stab of pointed ecstasy.
Until I unraveled, thrashing mindlessly in his grip, feeling him so deep inside me it seemed he’d invaded every part of my being. Until I throbbed with him in every blood vessel, this man I shouldn’t want so very badly. Kral, my blood whispered with each pulse. Kral, my heart thumped. Kral, my soul wept.
“Jesperanda,” he grated in my ear. “Cvan.”
And convulsed, mouth hot on my neck, wet, fierce. A kiss without teeth.
Surprisingly tender.
He lit a candle stub so we could reassemble ourselves into a semblance of propriety, my task more considerable than his, and I briefly envied how easily he tucked himself away again. Fortunately my shirt laced again with only a little trouble, the vest having held the rest of it in place, the loose sleeves and ribbons accommodating to a man’s impatient hands.
“There.” I finished and posed. “Does this look right again?”
He cupped my breasts, the lines of his face sharp in the slim flickering light. His thumbs brushed my taut nipples through layers of silk, not teasing, but more tasting. My need, however, was apparently no less for the recent fucking, because I had to close my eyes against the surge of it. I’d become unexpectedly vulnerable to him. Thin-skinned. As if I bore a bruise only he could touch and the slightest brush of his hand or flick of his icy gaze made the place throb with feeling. And, just like a bruise, though it pained me, on some level I also couldn’t seem to resist testing it. Did it still hurt? Yes. Still? Yes.
“ ‘Right’ is not the correct word,” Kral said quietly, dropping a kiss on my temple, and I had to dredge up the memory of what question he answered. “You look like a cross between a sword fighter and an emperor’s concubine. Lethal, lewd. Compelling. Beyond enticing.” He dropped his hands to my waist under the snugged-in vest, caressing the flare of my hips. “I think it was a mistake to bring you here.”
“It wasn’t exactly your choice,” I pointed out.
“Perhaps not at the time,” he conceded, “but now I have something of one. In this place, I may not wield the power of the Emperor, but I have enough to send you away. Perhaps to one of my estates. I could keep you there. Safe. Protected. It’s killing me that I can’t protect you here.”
My blood simmered delightfully under his stroking hands. But not enough to addle my brain. “My mission in life is not to become your rekjabrel.”
“What is your mission in life—to run around from job to job, man to man?”
Not a good time to mention my recent brainstorm of switching to women exclusively, to simplify my life. But good to revisit at least my current mission.
Determine if Ami’s annoying friend who visited her before we did can be found. Do not engage. Recon only.
What do they know of a special jewel, how badly they want it, plans to acquire, plans to use. The why is critical.
“I like my freedom. You try to lock me up, I’ll escape.”
“I’ll make you my wife.” His lips brushed my temple. So sweet. “Between us we’ll find a way. You’ll have power, wealth you never dreamed of. With an alliance with your queen, we could—”
I put a hand on his chest, enough power behind it to back him up a step. “Is that what all this lovey-dovey seduction is about—your scheme to become Emperor in Hestar’s place?”
He scowled, putting a hand over my mouth. So not sexy under these circumstances. “You put us both in grave peril saying such aloud. Even
hidden here, we could be overheard.”
I bit down hard, and he yanked his hand away with a quickly muffled curse. “And yet you’re willing to risk peril by fucking me here.”
“It was your idea,” he whispered, harsh in the shadows, holding up his hand. “You drew blood.”
“Good. I hope it stings,” I replied evenly. “Maybe that will serve as a reminder that I’m not a bynde in whatever plan you’re working. Tell you what, leave me out of it. With a friend like you, I’m only adding one more enemy.”
I pushed past him, reaching for the door, and he caught me around the waist. Not punishing, but embracing. He buried his face in my hair. “I apologize, hystrix. Truly. Don’t abandon me.”
Holding myself rigid, I contemplated that. The great and powerful Kral apologizing? Probably another power gambit.
“No words?” He sounded truly concerned, big hands on my back, pressing me to him. I did not unbend. Or speak. When the silence dragged on, he released a long breath. “I’m not in the habit of sharing my thoughts and secret plans with anyone.”
“Not even your mother? I understand she schemed plenty.”
He lifted his head and cupped my jaw in his hand, holding me still with the other, turning my face to study it in the sputtering candlelight. “Sól save me from the plotting of women.”
I held his stare. “I think you’ll want a goddess’s help for that. Try Moranu; all things of shadow and tricks fall to her.”
“But can I trust in her—or you, for that matter?”
“You don’t have much of a choice.” I unbent enough to lean into him, then followed instinct—and desire—turned my chin in his hand to press a kiss to his palm, holding his icy eyes all the while. “I already hold your secrets, and you vowed not to kill me.”
He brushed a thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m a doomed man,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “I don’t know what it is about you . . . But we can’t talk now. We’ve been out of sight too long and will be sought soon. Meet me here tonight. Two hours after the midnight toll. Can you get here without being seen?”
Using a move from Snake Slithers, I extracted myself from his hold, neatly proving to both of us that I could have done so anytime I wished. “Of course.” For good measure, I tossed in a jaunty Dasnarian salute. It made me feel better, to mimic my usual cockiness. How I’d get through all those locked doors, I did not at all know, but it was high time I did some exploring on my own.
It wasn’t like Kir would come knocking on my door, ready to tell the tale of Deyrr and the Star of Annfwn.
Kral only shook his head at me. “Perhaps I will make a blood sacrifice and burn a prayer—but to your Danu, in the hopes I won’t yet see you face execution.”
I patted him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, honey. I wouldn’t expect you to watch.”
After another hour of the formal tour, during which Kral returned to his most stultifying self, blandly ignoring any opportunities I presented him to engage in a few double entendres, I finally returned to my rooms. Taking advantage of the meek female postures, I observed each locking mechanism without seeming to. They played upon various iterations of the same three basic locks. One kind required a key to be inserted, another a pattern of finger presses on an inset panel, not unlike the cabinets in Kral’s cabin, and the final kind a heavy bar that demanded considerable strength to move. Not impossible to get back through, but not a walk in Glorianna’s rose garden either.
Perhaps Danu smiled upon me at last, because, as luck would have it, Inga arrived to invite me to observe an entertainment presented during the evening meal, for the Emperor’s extended family. There had been no midday meal—not that I needed to eat, after that groaning breakfast—so this served as the second social repast of the day. Hestar would be present, but the ladies would observe from behind a screen, so I would not violate the edict by crossing his sight.
All I needed to do was contrive not to be locked behind the doors again once it was over. Sunniva, Runa, and their cohort had been busy—when did they sleep?—and presented me with yet another version of my enhanced leathers, these clearly designed for more formal wear. Still in shades of crimson, these included more jewels, intricate embroidery, and a stiff skirt that belted to my waist and flared behind me. It seemed silly and extravagant, but left my legs free to move as I needed, plus gave additional coverage for a few more daggers, which Sunniva and Runa efficiently helped me secure. Ribbons make decent temporary sheaths—tie them the right way and they hold well enough without too much jostling. Turn the blade and a clean slice means an even faster draw.
All the red wouldn’t be ideal for sneaking about should I get caught in the light, but I could work with it.
Turned out the stiff skirt was lousy for lolling on the silken pillows, too, though the gallery of women gave a nice vantage point for scanning the assembled men below. The screen allowed me to observe as much as I liked, which worked out well, as talking while the musicians played was rude. We all had to listen in utter silence and attentiveness, which only made me want to yell and dance about.
I kept an eye on Kral. Hey—that was just being smart, paying attention to my own interests. Even though he looked especially striking in his formal garb, glittering with charm as he moved about before the concert started. Once, in conversation with some decorated man, Kral glanced up at the screen, his eyes narrowing before he returned his attention to the other man. He stopped his glad-handing the moment Hestar entered, retreating to an unobtrusive location near the back of the assembly.
Not a flash of pink cloak anywhere. Surely, even if none of the temples kept a presence at the Imperial Palace, Kir would want to be here. What was political collusion if it involved none of the governmental power? The Temple of Deyrr played games between kingdoms or Ursula wouldn’t be so concerned. Their people had to be here somewhere. Possibly I wouldn’t recognize Kir if he dressed as a Dasnarian and not as his High Priest self. That happened in hunting at times. A woman could be so focused on a particular search image that she failed to see easy prey of another kind.
Biding my time, I watched the people, studying faces to match my memory, much as I’d observe deer from a blind. So oblivious these men, in their preening and fat complacency, placing the women they so easily dismissed above and behind their backs. Could I throw a knife through one of the openings in the carved screen? Maybe. I aimed for the final target, not the trajectory, but it could be done. The shirikins would work best, with their sleek, polished lengths. They doubled nicely as hairpins, which would be handy if I had hair to put up. Perhaps Sunniva and Runa could devise something.
It would be ideal to practice the tricky maneuver. Maybe I could sneak back to do that. This entertainment hall boasted considerably less security. From an angle to the side, I could likely place a shirikin right in Hestar’s throat. He’d die before the musicians stopped playing.
A happy thought, though not what I’d been sent to do.
Still—would Her Majesty censure me? Killing the rabid bear before he left hibernation was nothing more than smart planning. It had nothing to do with wanting to help Kral. Not much, anyway.
I caught Inga’s eyes on me, glittering like the jewels she wore. She appeared as languid as all the other ladies, but I knew better. I gave her a half smile and she dipped her chin in acknowledgment.
I had no idea what she thought we colluded on.
When the concert finally—thank Danu!—concluded, Inga led the parade of ladies back toward the tower of feminine imprisonment. As we made our way, I dropped to the rear of the group. Easy enough to do, with the ladies keeping their eyes down and their attention on their murmured conversations, which did not include me. Helva glanced back at me once, met Inga’s sideways glance, and deliberately turned away again.
As we rounded a bend passing through yet another fussy sitting room, I dawdled as if to examine yet another portrait of Hestar in some remarkable feat that appeared to involve riding some sea creature, while brandishi
ng a broadsword, naturally. When no one noted my tardiness, I slipped behind a tapestry, staying put without stirring long enough for all the ladies to be secured behind locked doors and my absence noted, if it would be.
If anyone came searching, I’d simply step out and plead confusion. Such a lovely room; such a stirring portrait! I’d become absorbed, looked about, and, gracious me, had lost the group, then got completely turned around.
I didn’t think they would come looking, however. As with most security, the guards focused on keeping people from going in. So far as I could see, none kept a tally of who’d emerged and not returned.
Sloppy, if you ask me, but I wouldn’t be consulting for the Dasnarians on the subject.
Gradually the sounds of the palace quieted. A servant entered the sitting room and doused the lamps. At Ordnung, a few torches in main hallways would be kept alight for the night guard and anyone wakeful in the small hours. As Ursula had often been one of those people, I’d been about during those times, taking my turn among the Hawks at keeping a surreptitious eye on her. Marskal’s idea, but one I supported. Knowing Ursula, she’d likely been aware of our presence, but between us we kept up the subterfuge that she enjoyed the privacy of her night rambles, and we rested better knowing we kept watch.
Of course, that had changed once she took Harlan to her bed. No more restless nights. No need for anyone but him at her back. What might that be like, to trust someone so utterly? But can I trust in her—or you, for that matter? Kral’s question made me smile. Unlikely Moranu would trouble herself for a Dasnarian. For that matter, I didn’t place my trust in Danu. Justice might seem straight as a blade, but wisdom worked in sneaky ways. Danu could be a fickle bitch, as anyone on the losing side could attest.
As my mother had learned.
The Edge of the Blade Page 24
