by Jane Shoup
Zino watched him go and then gestured one of his attendants over. “See where he goes.”
~~~
Ammey sat cross-legged on the bed doing needlework. She’d never had any patience for it, but she needed something to occupy her time. She looked up when she heard the lock turning and then she gaped at at the sight of Marko Corin stepping into the room.
He shut the door and observed her. “I sent for you,” he stated coolly.
His manner was vastly different from what it had been when she’d assumed he was the physician in charge of her care. Or had she only imagined the compassion in his eyes? She set her needlework aside and quickly got off the bed. “Are you under the impression I am one of your subjects?” Her voice sounded calmer than she felt. Her heart was pounding.
“You are here. That makes you my subject.”
“Actually, that makes me your prisoner. Not someone to be dressed up and shown off,” she finished hotly.
His eyes flashed. “What you are is mine to command. You will do as you’re told.”
She folded her arms. She felt herself trembling, but hoped it was not evident to him. “Where are the others I was taken prisoner with?”
He came closer and he looked tempted to grab hold and shake her with all his might. “What is your name?”
Her heart hammered. He did not know her name? So she wasn’t a pawn to be used to control her family? “Jade,” she uttered.
“Tomorrow, Jade, you will come when you are sent for. Do you understand?”
She was too transparent with her feelings, so she dropped her gaze. He didn’t need to realize she was overwhelmed with joy to realize he did not know who she was. “Yes.”
“You have been offered every kindness, have you not? You were taken captive and yet you are here,” he gestured around the room.
She looked at him with defiance again. She couldn’t help it. He saw it, too and different expressions crossed his face – confusion, frustration, anger. “If you wish to offer kindness,” she bit out, “allow me my freedom.”
“Never! So get it out of your head.” Glowering, he turned on his heel and left.
As the door was locked behind him, she sank to the bed, breathing hard, her knees weak.
Chapter Twenty
Marko noticed Jade the instant she appeared in the banquet hall the next evening wearing a day-gown of pale blue. A day-gown. Was it more insolence or did she not know better? Admittedly, she looked fresh, lovely and timid enough that he felt a ridiculous urge to go to her side. He would not do it, of course. At the moment, she seemed a sweet, sheltered maiden, but only yesternight she’d been proud, defiant, almost regal. He could not get a fix on her and he could not get her out of his mind. It was maddening.
To Ammey’s way of thinking, there were three advantages to be gained by attending the banquet – to get out of her room, see some of the palace, and to better learn her adversary. But stepping into the great dining hall was overwhelming. She was astonished by the size and grandeur of the place, not to mention the number of guests in attendance. She had no idea where to go, but an elegant looking man with dark hair and dark eyes was coming toward her. He smiled as he reached her and bowed slightly. “You must be Jade.”
“I am.”
“Welcome. I am Mehr Pechaco. Allow me?” He offered his arm.
She accepted and was led to a place at the table. She could not help but notice Marko Corin at the head of the table watching her with a brooding gaze. She would make a point of not looking his way again.
Mehr sat beside her. “Wine?”
“Please.”
He reached for a decanter and filled her goblet. “Tell me about yourself. I understand you’re from Daleog?”
So that’s what they thought, that her name was Jade and she was from Daleog. The freedom of it made her feel giddy and triumphant. She noticed the way Mehr watched her and she was suddenly gripped by a fear that he could read her thoughts. But that was ridiculous. “Yes,” she replied. She sipped her wine. It was rich and delicious. “Would you happen to know about the others I was brought here with?” She hoped for an answer, but also to distract him from reading too much into her expressions.
“I do not, but it’s possible they were brought to the market,” he said with regret.
“The market?”
“The slave market.”
“Oh,” she breathed. It was a sickening thought. Was the sympathy on his face genuine or feigned in order to create a bond between them? Either way, it was affecting.
“Was there someone in particular you wondered about?”
“I care about all of them, but there is a young girl named Catherin.” The table had filled to capacity and the noise of various conversations escalated. Amidst it, their conversation felt almost intimate. “She’s only nine years old.”
“I’ll learn what I can about your friends,” he pledged.
“They had no right to take us captive,” she said just above a whisper. She shouldn’t have done it, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was the first one to look at her with compassion in days.
“Of course, they didn’t,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, there are some bad men in charge of things right now.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
“And yet you pay in advance,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“That smile of yours.”
She blushed. “You are a flirtatious man, Mehr Pechaco.”
He leaned closer. “Guilty as charged. I freely confess.” He straightened and reached for his wine. “Now you should share one of your faults, Jade of Daleog.”
“I have so many to choose from.”
He laughed. “Don’t we all?”
Servants moved in with platters of food, offering guests choices. Smelling the savory aromas, her stomach growled. She chose some of the canapés. Others were eating, so she she cut into a small, flaky pastry that contained thinly sliced meat. It was so delicious, she could have eaten a dozen of them.
“Are you comfortable in your room?” Mehr asked.
“The room is lovely,” she replied stiffly.
“And are you being kept happily occupied enough?”
“No.” A creamy soup was offered and she accepted. “I often long for occupation,” she said when the server had moved on. “Do you reside nearby?”
“Very nearby. I live here in the palace.”
She felt a surge of excitement that he might be her way out of her room. “Oh?”
“Marko Corin is my cousin.”
Her hope fell flat. “Oh.”
“I’ve disappointed you,” he said sadly. “I hope we can be friends despite it.”
She shrugged delicately. “I do seem to be short of those at the moment,” she admitted.
“Then it’s decided. We shall be friends and I will see what I can do to help entertain you.”
She was aware of Marko continually watching her, and also of the possible escape route she’d just been granted. “I’d like that.”
~~~
“What did you say to her?” Marko demanded when the guests were gone. Besides the two of them, only Zino and Voreskae remained.
“Say?” Mehr replied innocently.
Marko narrowed his eyes. Mehr was trying to vex him. “What did you talk about?”
“This and that. She inquired after the other villagers she was taken with. She would like to know what happened to them. What did happen to them?”
“They’re safe,” Corin snapped. “I ordered them to be kept safe.”
“That’s good. Would you object to my occasionally indulging her in a game of—”
“Yes. I would mind.”
“Perhaps a ride—”
“No.”
“I don’t understand,” Voreskae spoke up. “Why does she interest you?” he asked Corin.
“It’s nothing you would understand,” Corin scoffed.
Mehr propped his feet up on the table. “I certainly un
derstand it. She’s interesting, beautiful, spirited—”
“I’ve seen more beautiful,” Zino remarked dispassionately.
“Really,” Corin remarked. “Who?”
“Eskarne, for one.”
Mehr chortled. “I must say, that is a matter of opinion.”
“Marko,” Zino said, “if you want this captive to join your other women, say so and it will be done. If she interests you, have her and be done with it. They rarely hold as much allure after they’ve been made to scream and grunt and sweat.”
“You’re a poet, Zino,” Mehr said dryly. He rose. “I’m going to bed.”
Marko watched his cousin go. Perhaps Zino had a point. Jade had crept under his skin, but once he indulged his desire, she would have less control over his thoughts. He got to his feet and stalked from the room.
“Enjoy,” Zino called.
“Give me the key,” Marko ordered the guard posted outside Jade’s room. “And go. You’re excused.”
“Yes, sire.”
Marko slipped the key in the lock and turned it. He stepped in silently and heard her steady, even breathing. The thought of her tormented him, while she slept like a babe. He walked to the bed, staring at her in the moonlight. Her beauty was bewitching. He reached out and touched her hair. A strand fell into his grasp and he caressed it.
Slowly, quietly, he removed his clothing and slipped in to bed next to her, but the jostling woke her. Fear immediately registered in her face. She was strong enough to have fought off his wolves, besting six of them, but the thought of being bedded by him apparently terrified her. She tried to move away, but he grabbed and held her. “You ignored me tonight.”
“Please,” she begged.
“Please what?” She attempted to pull away from him, but he got on top of her and held her down. “Please what?”
“Don’t do this!”
Her fear stymied him. Starting at age thirteen, he’d been offered the most exquisite women of the region, each one cultured and from good lineage. His women were all required to possess their virginity upon arrival and then they were bound exclusively to him. Not that deflowering virgins was that enjoyable; he much preferred the ease of experience, but none of them had ever minded it.
He suspected Jade’s distress was more than a maiden’s fear of the unknown. It was more that she thought him evil. And perhaps he was. He released her hands and ripped her nightdress down the center, revealing the naked flesh he had longed to see. Her nipples were aroused. Holding her arms down, he bent and ran his tongue around one and then sucked it into his mouth.
Her fight increased, and her strength impressed him, although it was no match for his. The battle between them was exciting. He wanted to subdue her by force. She’d challenged him and she would feel the consequences. He forced her hands over her head and raked her body over with his gaze, noting every fading bruise and scar.
“Marko—”
He looked into her eyes, surprised that she’d uttered his name. It was not a liberty many took, nor was it one he had granted her. She was crying, miserable by his domination.
“You of s-such power,” she pleaded. Her voice was low, her body shaking. “With your palace and servants and women. How many women?”
She was desperately afraid and yet trying to reason her way free of him.
“I heard your father was a good man,” she uttered.
He drew back in surprise at this tact.
“You must have inherited some good from him!”
“He was assassinated when I was twelve.” It was no more out of his mouth then he wondered why he’d said it. He shifted to her side, but kept her pinned by an arm and a leg. “What does any of that have to do with you? My palace, women, my father?”
“You have everything. Why would you take what I hold of such value when it means nothing to you?”
“It doesn’t mean nothing to me. I want you for my own. You’ll be well cared for. Want for nothing. What are you frightened of?” he asked tenderly. “Is it the pain?”
She turned her face from him. “No,” she said in a small voice.
“The loss of your virginity?”
She didn’t respond.
“You are a virgin, are you not?”
She stayed silent.
He ran a hand down her body. “It’s not hard to tell, you know.”
She jumped and tried to stop his hand. “Yes! I am! I swear it!”
He rested his hand on the soft hair of her mound, content to go no further for the moment.
“What is it, then? Are you promised to another?”
“I mean nothing to you. So why would you force me?”
“Why would I have taken the trouble I have if you meant nothing to me?”
“You claimed you took mercy on me once. Show me mercy now.”
“I asked you a question. Are you promised to another?”
She hesitated. “No.”
She was lying. He could tell. He slowly ran his fingers up her torso and down the side of her face and over her neck, positioning his hand in a weightless chokehold to watch her reaction. He got one, although it was subtle, a soft gasp, a parting of her lips, a widening of her eyes. “Who choked you?” The bruises were gone now, but he remembered them. “Name him and I will see him dead.”
“He is dead.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
She tried to tug the covers up over her, but he whipped them away from her grasp.
She grimaced and crossed her arms in front of her breasts.
“Put your hands down,” he ordered.
She didn’t move.
“Put—” he began sharply when she opened her mouth to argue.
She forced her arms to her side.
“Did you kill him? This man who closed his hands around your throat?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He saw the furrow between her brows before she looked away from him again.
“This man you’re …not promised to?” He took hold along her jawline, squeezing as he forced her to look at him. “You will tell me what I wish to know.”
Her eyes suddenly blazed with defiance and hatred. “I will tell you nothing,” she retorted bitterly. “Whatever you do, whatever you force me to do, I will tell you nothing of me and nothing of my heart. Ever!”
Even as shock and bewilderment filled him from her outburst, his jaw clenched in frustrated awareness that he’d lost his erection. He sat and grabbed her up with a brutal force. “You will submit in every way,” he seethed. “You will declare me as your king and your lord and master.”
“I declare that you are a vicious tyrant,” she cried.
He shook her. “Do you want me to have you beaten? Do you?”
Her face was wet with tears, but she was no longer crying. She was also no longer speaking. Her defiance was complete, her hatred of him total. It chilled his flesh even while it made his blood boil. He released her with a shove and got to his feet. “Tomorrow, you will swear total allegiance. You will declare me your king, lord and master. That, I swear.”
He hurriedly dressed and left without looking back. He was sober and limp from the emasculation she’d put him through and she would pay for that. She would pay dearly and wish she had surrendered herself to him. He had never felt more fury or determination.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was close to dawn before Ammey finally slept. She woke a few times during the day, but did not have the strength or will to get up. In the afternoon, a maid apologetically nudged her awake. “I’m sorry, but you are to be brought to them,” she said. Ammey saw regret in her face.
She was helped up and dressed. She would have chosen to wear the clothing she’d worn on the day the village was attacked, but it had been taken it away. The maids pulled her hair into a tail and tied it with a ribbon. It was apparent they felt pity for her, for whatever lay in store. She nearly asked what it was that lay in store, but she didn’t. They would not be
able to tell her, anyway.
Under the escort of stoic guards, Ammey was taken into a massive hall lined with scores of curious onlookers. Was she to be entertainment of some sort? The ceiling looked to be a hundred feet above, giving the room a cavernous feeling. Her stomach had a similar feeling. She could not help trembling and she could not draw a decent breath as she was led toward Marko Corin on his throne.
What regal glory he possessed. His cape was dark silver, the doublet underneath was white, and the crown he wore was thin, silver and tastefully bejeweled. It was odd that she’d never heard how handsome he was. How extraordinary, too, that she could suddenly view him with complete dispassion. But the die was cast. The metal had been molded and could not be altered. Something had been set in motion and she could not control it.
The guards stopped several yards from the royal platform, even with a chair and an empty table, and backed away, leaving her standing alone. Three men stood on either side of Corin, including Mehr Pechaco. He stood to Corin’s far left, looked distressed. He gave her a subtle nod, his expression full of compassion. Whether it was sincere or not, and it seemed sincere to her, she would always be grateful for it.
What now? Was she to be interrogated? No one was saying anything and panic was making her feel desperately sick. She looked at Corin. “I was sent for,” she uttered with all the voice she could muster.
“I was sent for,” the man next to Corin mocked. He was an imposing looking man of perhaps fifty with the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. He had gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard that ended in a small point just under his chin. “Like a queen, she speaks. Were you the queen of Daleog, my lady?”
She did not reply because there seemed no reason to address such a question.
“Salvo Voreskae,” the man continued. “Did you know Daleog had a queen.”
“I did not,” the man to his side replied.
