Alix and Sanura were happy and in love, and Jahn tasted bitterness in his mouth, felt that bitterness in his heart. This was what he wanted from Morgana. Love. Forgiveness. A willingness to start again and look to the future. He wanted her to think about the days to come, not the mistakes of the past.
Though in his opinion the past had been very fine. It had just been tainted with a few lies and deceptions. He hadn’t planned to kill anyone or take over a country, he’d just wanted a few days or weeks as a normal man without the responsibilities of an emperor. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was, at least where Morgana was concerned.
Alix’s words came back to taunt Jahn, and he could not help but wonder if those words applied to Morgana as much as—or more than—Sanura. No one can own her.
RAINER held Danya long after she fell asleep. She was exhausted, shaken from a long bout of crying and confession. And what a startling confession it had been. No wonder her attitude had changed during their trip to Arthes! It all made sense now. The fear, the anger, the way she had sent Fai away and had attempted to send him away—more than once.
If he’d thought for a moment that Jahn might choose Danya as empress, he’d be obliged to share what he knew. He certainly could not allow her to become empress, not when there were plans to take over the throne through a traitorous bride and an as yet unconceived child. As it stood, he had time to consider how best to handle the situation.
If not for the child Kristo held prisoner, Rainer would spirit Danya away from the palace tonight and they’d start anew somewhere far from this place. But there was Ethyn to consider. Poor Danya, she had done nothing but consider the child for weeks, afraid of what might happen to him if she disappointed Kristo. What hell she had been living in.
Danya woke with a start, perhaps due to a bad dream. She threw herself into Rainer’s arms and held on tight, then slowly calmed herself as she realized where she was and that she was not alone. She cuddled into his chest and her arms went around his waist.
She still wore the undershift she’d stripped to when trying to seduce him. He had taken off his shoes and his jacket, but nothing more. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman as much as he wanted Danya, but he wouldn’t take her this way. He wouldn’t allow her to think she owed him anything, or that sex was the only comfort she could find with him.
“I dreamed about Ethyn,” she whispered as she settled more securely against his side. “Sometimes I see him in my dreams as Kristo described him, and he’s playing and laughing. Other nights I have nightmares where he feels Kristo’s coldness and is horrified by it.” She shuddered. “I have to save my baby, no matter what it costs.”
“I know.”
“Even if it means . . .” Danya began, a hint of desperation in her voice.
“I will help you,” Rainer said. “Together we will save your son, and you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to do in order for that to happen.”
Danya tilted her head to look at him, even though it was difficult to see much detail in the room dimly lit with the little bit of firelight that remained. “Why?” she whispered. “Why are you going to help me?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do and because I love you.”
She sighed and then cuddled against him, and soon her lips found his throat. Rainer groaned a little, unable to stop the rush of sensation. He couldn’t take much more of this and remain distant, even though he knew it was what Danya needed. She could not continue to equate declarations of love with sex, not unless she was willing to put him in the same category as Ennis. That bastard.
“When this is all behind us, love,” he said, setting her aside. “When you are entirely mine.”
She looked at him oddly, as if she didn’t understand. Rainer sat up and directed his hand toward the fireplace, sending a burst of energy to the flames in order to increase the heat and the light in the room. Danya was cold, and he wished to look upon her. The energy which flowed from his hand was not visible like Morgana’s, but it was no less effective. It fed the fire, it caused the flames to leap and dance.
He did not use his gift often—there was usually no need for it, and to abuse any magical gift could lead to trouble. But at this moment he did not wish to leave the bed and Danya’s side, even though he refused to do more than hold her.
Soon enough she would have all of him, and he would not allow her to be sorry that she waited.
“Angelo, will you stay the night?” she asked gently.
“Yes, I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He used the same power he had used to fan the flames to gentle Danya’s energy, to gently urge her back toward sleep. Soon she settled down and returned to sleep—and hopefully better dreams.
IT was the middle of the night when Morgana’s door opened and a dark figure slipped inside. If she’d been sleeping, perhaps she wouldn’t have heard or seen, but this had not been a night for sleeping. The light of the fire illuminated him well enough.
How many other nights had Jahn slipped into the room while she’d been sleeping?
She lay there, unmoving, while he shed his crimson robe and then very gently sat on the other side of the bed. He dropped his head into his hands for a long moment before lying down beside her, not reaching for her or speaking or making any demands, but simply lying there. He had not come bearing jewels or clothing or shoes tonight, he just brought himself. That was all she wanted, to be totally honest. She wanted the man she had fallen in love with. She wanted Jahn Devlyn.
It would be easy enough to pretend she was asleep, and just as easy to sit up in indignation and insist that he leave her bed and her room. But instead she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“You’re awake.”
“Apparently so. What’s wrong?”
“You’re awake and you have not yet kicked me out of the bed,” Jahn responded.
“Not yet,” Morgana said, and then she rose up on one elbow. “How often have you sneaked into my bed since I threw you out?”
“Every night,” he confessed. “Sometimes for a long while and other times for a few minutes. You’re a deep sleeper,” he added. “Usually. What’s keeping you awake tonight?”
She could not possibly tell him all that was on her mind! Until she decided how best to handle the situation, she would have to keep her problems to herself. One thing was certain: if she told Jahn everything, Kristo would somehow know, and the man who called himself her father would not go away quietly if his plans were spoiled.
She would love to tell Jahn that she was carrying his son, but until she knew what tomorrow would bring, how could she? “I will ask you one more time,” she said testily. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you think something is wrong?”
“The sigh, the way you hold your shoulders, the very fact that you are here—they all tell me that something is wrong.” Why did she care? Why did she want to know why he gave in to that sigh?
“I have lost my brother,” Jahn replied. “He’s not going to murder me in my sleep, but . . .”
“I would hope not!” Morgana responded.
“But he’s lost to me all the same. I think he will be happy, which is very nice, but he has another life now, a life which will surely take him away from here.” Jahn turned his face to her. “I’ve also lost the woman I love, and I don’t know how to get her back. Brothers should move on, I suppose, but wives should not.”
“You don’t have a wife,” Morgana said, but with less anger than she’d said those words in the past few days.
“And speaking of wives,” Jahn said, “someone is apparently killing the bridal candidates before they even reach the palace. All but one, and she is totally unacceptable. Then there’s you, a woman I love who has refused to . . .”
“We’ve had this discussion,” Morgana interrupted, hiding the horror that rose within her. She knew what Kristo wanted. Was he killing the women he would consider her competition? Was she the cause of yet
more deaths?
“You asked what was wrong,” Jahn said. “I tried not to answer, but you persisted.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She settled closer to Jahn than she should, glad of the companionship and the warmth, seeking her own sort of comfort. She knew she should remain angry with him, but compared to what her long-lost father wanted, Jahn’s lies seemed almost insignificant. Almost.
It was easier to talk in the dark, easier to hide her heart-break and disappointment. “Why did you lie to me?” she asked, trying—and failing—not to sound vulnerable.
Jahn sighed. “You called me fat and stupid and something else I’ve already forgotten, and then I overheard your stepfather vow to give you to the next man who walked through the door, and I could not resist. I thought it would be great fun, and I also thought that by the time we got to Arthes, you’d be begging for a chance to be empress.”
“Great fun,” she repeated.
“I did not plan to sleep with you, and I certainly didn’t expect to find a real wife in you,” he explained. “The deception started as a lark and it ended up being my life. I know I should’ve told you the truth sooner, but I was terrified of losing you.”
She had no reason to believe anything Jahn said, but she believed him now. He did love her; this would be so much easier if she didn’t believe that to be true!
Morgana found herself burrowing into his side, soaking up the warmth he had always offered, wondering how many opportunities like this would come again. A handful, if her father had his way. A lifetime, if Jahn had his way. None, if she continued to send him away.
What did she want? If she could learn to control her magical abilities, then she wouldn’t be a threat to those around her—but she could not undo the fact that she had killed a man. If Jahn knew, if anyone knew, she could not possibly remain in the position of empress.
She certainly didn’t want to be part of the chaos and betrayal Kristo had planned, but if she told Jahn all that she had learned, somehow Kristo would find out, and then what would happen? The man who had sired her would not be stopped easily, she suspected. He had planned his take-over for some time, and she and her child had always been at the center of his scheme.
“I will tell you this,” Jahn said in a soft voice. “You think I pretended to be someone I’m not, but that’s not true. I did not pretend with you, Ana. I pretend with everyone else, as I have every day of my life since coming here.”
She didn’t know what to do, so she nestled more closely into Jahn’s side and wrapped her arms around him. She did still love him; she could forgive him anything, though that didn’t mean he shouldn’t have to pay for his deception.
He should not have to pay with his life.
“I have missed this so much,” he said, throwing one arm around her. He had dropped his imperial robes before crawling into bed with her, and as usual had come to bed naked. She wore a thin nightdress that did nothing to keep his heat from her. This was much preferable to sleeping alone. Alone and afraid and uncertain.
“So have I,” Morgana said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner,” he said, and she could hear the truth of that statement in his voice. “I was afraid the truth would cost me everything we’d found, and I was right. If lying means I got to keep you for a while longer than I would’ve otherwise, then I’m not entirely sorry.” He sighed. “I won’t force you to stay. As soon as I’m certain you’re not in danger, you can leave any time you . . .”
Morgana lifted her head slightly. “Shut up and kiss me.”
He did, bringing his mouth to hers with hunger and passion. It was so sweet, after too many nights spent alone. So arousing, after too many hours lost in anger and suspicion. Emperor or not, she knew this man to the pit of his soul, and to hers. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but she already carried his son within her, so even if they had only one more night together, nothing would change.
One kiss, and she was able to dismiss everything else from her mind. It was a blessing to be able to think of nothing but the sensations coursing through her body. It was ecstasy to throb and ache and touch without conscious deliberation. She loved Jahn and he loved her, at least for now.
He pushed her gown higher and spread her thighs, and she opened for him. When he touched her, when his fingers found the center where she throbbed and ached, she almost cried. Her own fingers aroused and tested him as well, as together she and Jahn happily tumbled toward the only conclusion this night could offer.
Suddenly hot, Morgana sat up and whipped the nightdress over her head, impatiently tossing it aside so she could feel her skin against Jahn’s. When that was done, she did not wait for him to come to her, but instead straddled him and guided his hard length to her, into her. She sank down, taking all of him and experiencing a moment of pure relief and satisfaction, before the need for more spurred her on and she began to move in an easy rhythm that was theirs alone.
Morgana reveled in the feel of Jahn inside her, so she moved slowly, prolonging the pleasure. She’d missed this; she’d needed it. Physically, she craved the pleasure and the release. Emotionally, she craved the inexplicable togetherness just as intensely. No matter who or what he was, no matter who or what he was not, Jahn was hers.
No matter what she’d done, no matter who she was or could be, she was his. Like him, she felt as if she pretended with the rest of the world—but not with him. He had seen all of her—all that counted.
Her body was starved for his, and the gentle movements soon turned fiercer, more demanding, until she broke and cried out in release and delight. Jahn came with her, burying himself deep and shuddering beneath her.
She dropped down and rested her head on his shoulder. They were still joined, and she did not want to leave; she didn’t want to move.
“I love you, Ana,” Jahn said, burying one hand in her hair and holding her close. He was not foolish enough to think that just because she had given in to him physically, all was as he wished it to be. He knew her better than that. “Can you forgive me? Can’t we forget the lies that brought us here and simply start again?”
Morgana lifted her head and looked down at Jahn, studying his fine face in the firelight. “We can’t ignore what’s happened,” she said, meaning every word. “And I would not want to forget what brought me here.” She stopped short of telling Jahn that she loved him; she hesitated, wondering how much she could tell. There was so much to be said. There was a child he did not yet know of; the accidental death of a man at her hands; a plan that included lies which made his own look like child’s play; betrayal and cold-blooded murder; and a child-emperor who would lead with the guidance of his vicious grandfather, if traitors had their way.
To tell all she knew might mean the end of everything; to ignore it might also mean the end of all she held dear—including the man beneath her.
But she couldn’t let him go with so much unsaid, she couldn’t let the man she loved continue on blindly, unaware of what had happened.
In order to smooth the way, she told Jahn the good news first. “I’m carrying your son,” she whispered.
His reaction was immediate and extreme. Jahn shouted and rolled her onto her back, laughing as he lowered his head to kiss her stomach. A sharp knock on the door followed, and a familiar voice called, “My Lord, is all well?”
“Very well,” Jahn responded in a voice loud enough for the sentinels beyond the door to hear. “All is very well,” he said more softly, for her benefit.
He would soon think differently, she imagined, but she would not rob him of this moment. To be honest, for the first time the child she carried seemed real, a blessing, a result of their love for one another. This baby could mean the beginning of a family. Their family. “You sound happy.”
“Of course I’m happy,” he said. “I’m back in your bed and there’s a child on the way. What is there not to be happy about?”
There was more, and she could not keep it from her husband. “Our son will
have my abilities, I’m afraid.”
Jahn was silent for much too long, and there wasn’t enough light in the room for her to study his face properly. Was he disappointed? Horrified? His voice was calm as he finally asked, “How can you know? And how can you know that the child you carry is a son and not a beautiful daughter who will look like her mother? How can you know the child will inherit your magic?”
Now the conversation would become more difficult. “My father told me, and his magic is so much more powerful than mine that I cannot help but believe him.”
“Almund . . .”
“No,” she interrupted. “My . . . my real father. Oh, Jahn, I have so much to tell you, and I don’t know where to begin.”
“We have all night, love,” he said, smoothing a strand of hair away from her face. “Tell it as you will. I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath, trying to still her heart, unbearably glad for Jahn’s closeness. “My father intends to kill you. More rightly, he intends for me to kill you.”
At least he did not bolt from the bed as if he felt endangered. “What a night,” he mumbled, and then he lay down beside her and caught her to his body, where she felt safe. “Tell all, love, and together we will plan for what comes next.”
JAHN had always known that one day his brother would marry here in this ballroom where so many affairs of state took place, here where just last night Alix had confessed that he planned to kill Jahn and take the throne.
This was another day, a brighter and decidedly more unusual day. Jahn had quickly become accustomed to Sanura’s blue skin, but to see Alix wearing the same paint was as startling as the knowledge that the struggle within the younger twin continued, and always would.
There were only a few ministers present for Alix’s marriage ceremony, and most of them were in shock, thanks to the hue of the couple’s skin and the fact that the bride wore a neatly arranged sheet as her wedding gown. Those who knew Alix well were surely as surprised by the change in his demeanor as Jahn had been, but they said nothing. Father Braen positively sputtered, but the red-faced priest did as he was told and said the words which declared this man and woman properly wedded.
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