The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  “A kiss.”

  Kirsh hesitated for a moment, then glanced around the clearing as if making sure they were truly alone. He wants this to be special, Marqel told herself. He wasn’t looking around to make sure he wasn’t caught.

  She took a step closer to him. He reached out and took her hands, tentatively closing the distance between them. Marqel closed her eyes and waited.

  When he kissed her it was everything she ever dreamt a kiss could be. His lips tasted of the sweet spring water. It was perfect.

  She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

  Kirsh didn’t smile back. For a long moment, time hung suspended between them. Marqel fought back a sudden stab of fear, as he seemed to debate something within himself. Then he pulled her closer.

  This time when he kissed her, it wasn’t nearly so virtuous or pure. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he trailed his tongue over hers. Then his mouth covered hers with a force that left her breathless. They stumbled backward and the rough bark of a tree scoured her back. She didn’t care. She ran her fingers through his thick fair hair and lifted her leg around his back, using her strong acrobat-trained muscles to pull him even closer...

  And then that bratty little princess, led by Dirk Provin, turned up and ruined everything.

  “Really, Kirshov,” Alenor announced loudly as she made her presence known. “Have your sport if you must, but at least choose something a little more... wholesome. You don’t know where she’s been.”

  Kirsh and Marqel broke apart as if Alenor’s voice were a bucket of iced water thrown on them. The prince flushed guiltily, glanced at Marqel, then turned to Alenor. The guilt in Kirshov’s eyes as he looked away cut her to the core. The accusation in Dirk’s eyes was like pouring acid onto the open wound.

  “Alenor, it’s not what you think—”

  “Oh, for the Goddess’s sake, Kirsh! Don’t treat me like a fool!” Alenor turned on her heel in disgust and stalked off, back toward the palace.

  With a helpless shrug, Kirshov looked at Dirk for support. “Can’t you talk to her, Dirk? Can’t you explain?”

  “Exactly what did you want me to explain, Kirsh?”

  Kirshov muttered a savage curse, snatched his jacket off the ground and hurried after Alenor, leaving Dirk alone with Marqel. The acrobat studied him, waiting for him to say something.

  “You’d better get dressed,” he muttered finally.

  Marqel nodded wordlessly and picked her robe up from the ground. She shook out the damp garment, then slipped it over her head, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Dirk...”

  “We should be getting back to the party.” He turned his back to her, as if he were uncomfortable under her scrutiny. It pleased her that she could have that effect on him. If anyone should be feeling embarrassed, it was he. She kicked the leaves over until she found the vial of the Milk of the Goddess. What a waste. There would be no chance now to use it.

  “I’m not a slut.”

  “I never said you were,” Dirk said without looking back at her.

  “But you think I am.” She came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around to face her. “Kirsh loves me.”

  “Kirsh is amused by you,” Dirk told her harshly.

  “You don’t understand. You’re too young.”

  “I’m the same age as you, Marqel, and I understand just fine. Kirsh is a prince and he’s destined to marry Alenor. You’re a thief and a Landfall bastard. Don’t kid yourself that you could ever mean anything more to him than a bit of sport.”

  “You’re a cold little bastard, aren’t you?” she accused. “No wonder they call you the Butcher of Elcast.”

  “No wonder you’re doing so well among the Shadowdancers,” he retorted. “They’re all whores, too.”

  She slapped his face and the crack rang out loudly through the clearing. “I swear by the Goddess, Dirk Provin, one day you’ll be sorry you ever met me!”

  She strode off angrily, leaving Dirk alone in the clearing, rubbing his stinging face.

  “I’m sorry already!” he called after her.

  Marqel’s eyes were blurred with furious tears as she fled the clearing. Kirsh hadn’t even said good-bye. He just ran off after Her Royal High-and-Bloody-Mightiness and left her alone with Dirk Provin. That was Dirk’s fault, too. Kirsh had asked him to go after Alenor, but he refused. He had just stood there, with his cold gray eyes and his reproachful silence, and stared at her as if she had done something evil.

  He has to pay, she decided. He had turned a moment of glorious passion into something tawdry. He had sullied her dream with his self-righteous looks and his silent condemnation. For a brief moment—before that odious little Elcastran and his whiny, stuck-up little princess arrived and ruined it all— Marqel thought she had been transported to paradise.

  Chapter 59

  Kirsh was on the balcony, much to Dirk’s relief, although there was no sign of Alenor. A cluster of young women, including the dreaded Lady Pirlana and her good friend Lady Harinova, had surrounded the prince, jostling for his attention. Dirk was still furious with Kirshov, and smarting from his encounter with Marqel.

  Perhaps there really is a Goddess, he thought sourly, and this was her idea of a joke. Why else would Alenor have come looking for me?

  And why else would they have taken the path back through the woods that would lead them to the very place Kirsh was fooling around with that damn thief?

  The palace sat like an island of music and merriment in the ruddy light from the evening sun. He climbed the steps to the balcony slowly, forcibly schooling his features into a pleasant expression. No matter what he thought of Kirsh in that moment, he couldn’t do or say anything about it while so many strangers surrounded him.

  When he caught sight of Dirk, Kirsh’s relief was evident. “Dirk, my good friend! I was just telling Lady Harinova how much you admired her dress earlier. Don’t you think she looks ravishing?”

  Considering that a few hours ago, Kirsh had described the hapless young woman as looking like the back end of a horse, he was doing a fine job of flattering her now. Dirk knew what he was up to. The next thing Kirsh would do is suggest that he dance with her, which would get him out of the way and save Kirsh from having to explain anything.

  “Ravishing,” he agreed, before Kirsh could add anything further. “But I fear I must deprive you of the prince’s company, ladies. Your father wants you... us, your highness.” He added the qualification hurriedly, before the girls decided he had come to take Kirsh’s place.

  “A prince’s duty is never ending,” Kirsh lamented with a dramatic sigh. “Come, Lord Dirk. Let us find out what the Lion of Senet wants with us now.” He pushed his way through the disappointed young women and headed back toward the ballroom. Dirk fell into step beside him.

  “Your timing is impeccable.”

  “You think so?”

  Kirsh glanced at him guiltily. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

  Dirk didn’t answer him. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Kirshov that didn’t begin with: “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  Kirsh could sense his anger. He stopped and grabbed Dirk’s arm, forcing him to turn and face him. “It didn’t mean anything, Dirk. It was just a bit of fun.”

  “She thinks you’re in love with her, Kirsh,” he told him.

  “Who? Marqel? Don’t be silly. Whatever gave her that idea?”

  “Hmmm ... let me think ... gee, could it have been you dragging her into the woods and tearing her clothes off?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Kirsh hissed, looking around nervously. He nodded and smiled to someone who waved to him before turning back to Dirk. “You make it sound so ... sordid.”

  “It is sordid, Kirsh. And what’s worse, Alenor saw you. Personally, I don’t care how many girls you drag into the woods, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand by and watch you hurt Alenor like that.”

  “All right. I’m sorry.”

 
“You need to apologize to Alenor, not to me.”

  “Are you sure it’s Alenor you’re worried about?” Kirsh asked curiously.

  “Who else would I be worried about?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of who? You and Marqel? Don’t be absurd! You’re the one who’s been obsessed with her ever since we first met her.”

  “You were just as taken with her as I was when she climbed out of that pool.”

  “Even if I was, Kirsh,” Dirk snorted scathingly, “I’m not stupid enough to do anything about it in the grounds of Avacas Palace while half of Senet and Dhevyn is here to watch!”

  Kirsh nodded in defeat. “All right. Point taken. I’ll apologize to Alenor. Right now, in fact.”

  “It’ll have to wait. Your father sent me to find you.”

  Kirsh rolled his eyes. “What have I done now?”

  “He said something about an announcement.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “That what?” Dirk asked. “What’s he going to announce?”

  They began moving toward the doors. The orchestra was playing a lively jig and the ballroom rang to the sound of stamping feet and laughter. “Nothing that will surprise anybody, that’s for certain.”

  “Well, you’d better get changed first.”

  “What?”

  “Your jacket, Kirsh, it’s soaking wet and covered in leaves.”

  “Good thought,” he agreed, glancing down at his clothes. “Will you cover for me?” he added, slipping off the damp jacket.

  Kirsh was talking about more than a temporary absence, Dirk knew. He sighed heavily. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find Marqel. Talk to her. Explain things to her.”

  “Why don’t you do your own dirty work?”

  Kirsh stopped just before they reached the doors and looked at his friend. “You’re the only person in the whole world that I can ask this of, Dirk. Damn, but I’m going to miss you when I leave.”

  “Right now, Kirsh, I don’t think I’m going to miss you at all.”

  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

  “You’re pretty sharp, Kirsh.”

  “Will you talk to her? I’ll talk to Alenor. And I promise I won’t say anything to upset her, truly, I do. It’ll be good practice for me for when I go to Kalarada, anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about joining the Queen’s Guard, Kirsh. Knowing you, you’ll be the Lord Marshal of Dhevyn about two weeks after you get there. Then you can say anything you want.”

  “I fear it will take me longer than that, Dirk.” He grinned broadly. “It could take as many as three or four weeks.”

  Despite himself, Dirk smiled and shook his head. Kirsh was incorrigible at times. “You’re an idiot.”

  “I know,” he sighed. “But who’s going to be around to remind me of it?”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll still have Alenor to keep your feet on the ground.”

  “Alenor,” he sighed. “Dear, sweet Alenor. I’m not good enough for her, you know. She deserves someone much better than me.”

  “Alenor doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “Which is a good thing, too,” Kirsh announced. He slapped Dirk on the back so hard he staggered. “Come on. Let us square our shoulders and laugh in the face of adversity while I go bravely toward my doom.”

  “Kirshov, what are you babbling about?”

  “Didn’t you know?” he asked as the fanfare brought everyone in the ballroom to a standstill. “Father is going to announce our betrothal. That’s why Queen Rainan is here. As soon as she turns eighteen, Alenor and I are getting married.”

  The announcement of the betrothal of Prince Kirshov of Senet to Princess Alenor of Dhevyn was met with a cheer and a round of polite applause. Both the Lion of Senet and the Queen of Dhevyn wore professional smiles as they congratulated their offspring after the announcement. If Alenor was still angry with Kirsh, she was too well trained to let it show in public.

  As Kirsh had reminded him, the betrothal was hardly a surprise—merely confirmation of what everybody expected would eventually happen. Dirk applauded along with everyone else, wishing he could do something for Alenor. Kirsh wasn’t a bad person, he knew, just thoughtless. He didn’t stop to think about the repercussions of anything that he did, which was a dangerous trait in a prince. Perhaps that’s why Antonov was so keen to send him to join the Queen’s Guard. He would learn a degree of discipline in Dhevyn’s army that he would never gain here in Senet. Kirsh was too well known, people were too afraid of offending his father, for him to ever be held accountable for his actions. A few years in Dhevyn as a guardsman would do him good.

  Dirk glanced across the ballroom and caught sight of Marqel, her face flushed, her eyes bright. Now why did I agree to talk to her again? She was standing with several other Shadowdancers by the windows, watching the proceedings with great interest. He wondered how she’d explained away the state of her robe. Marqel’s eyes were locked on Kirshov. Dirk pushed through the crowd toward her. Better to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

  But just this once. After this, Kirsh can clean up his own messes.

  Marqel saw him coming, but rather than turn away, she jerked her head toward the balcony. Surprised, and rather relieved that she was willing to talk to him, Dirk nodded in understanding and turned toward the open doors. He hadn’t been looking forward to confronting the other Shadowdancers, and at least now he was spared having to invent an excuse to get her away from them. He glanced over his shoulder to see if she was following him, but couldn’t see her.

  With everyone still toasting the betrothal, the balcony was deserted when Dirk stepped outside.

  “I thought you could do with a drink.”

  Dirk turned to find Marqel standing behind him holding two goblets of wine. She held out one of them, which he accepted warily. Marqel was ready to claw his eyes out an hour ago; now she was fetching him drinks.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  She nodded. “I know. But not here. This is probably not a conversation either of us wants overheard.”

  Dirk couldn’t argue with her on that point. Together they walked down the steps and along the gravel path that bordered the torch-lit lawn.

  “I’m sorry for slapping you,” she said as they walked.

  “I probably deserved it.”

  “Kirsh sent you to talk to me, didn’t he?” Her tone was pleasant, her demeanor almost friendly.

  He nodded, quite relieved that this was going to be far less onerous than he anticipated. “You have to understand how it is for him, Marqel. He’s a Prince of Senet. And now that he’s betrothed to Alenor—”

  “It’s all right, Dirk, I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do. I may not be able to read as well as you, Dirk Provin, but I’m not an idiot.” She smiled warmly. “In fact, I propose a toast. To understanding.”

  There was something wrong with the way she was behaving. The Marqel he knew was never this pleasant, never this cooperative. He gulped down the wine to hide the doubtful expression on his face.

  “Bah ... aaaggh ... what was in that?” he sputtered as the sour wine burned down his throat. Marqel was watching him closely, her eyes as bright and hard as sapphires.

  “The Milk of the Goddess,” she told him.

  He tried to spit it out. Marqel was positively gloating at him, as the drug immediately began to take effect. His tongue was numb and his pulse began to pound like a drumbeat on the inside of his head. The whole world seemed to spin beneath him then he suddenly felt heat sear through him, as if a fire had been lit in his veins.

  Goddess! he thought with that small part of his mind still capable of rational thought. If this is what a mouthful diluted in wine does to you, what must those at the Landfall Feast feel after drinking it neat?

  The blood in his veins was burning. Marqel’s face was flushed, her eyes glittering as she watch
ed the drug consume him.

  He tried to call out for help. He managed something incomprehensible, but there was nobody close enough to heed his cries. Marqel had seen to that. She had led him far enough away from the palace that nobody would hear them. His absence wouldn’t even be noticed in that crush of people either.

  What had Alenor said about the Milk of the Goddess ... ?

  He couldn’t remember ... but he was disgusted to realize that the mere sight of Marqel was arousing him. The vision of her emerging naked from the pool near Elcast Keep suddenly filled his mind, blocking out all other thought. And he wanted her so badly that for a moment desire overwhelmed all reason.

  “Why?” he managed to gasp, as he struggled to remain in control of his thoughts, trying to push away the images that kaleidoscoped through his brain.

  “I just wanted to prove that even the noble Dirk Provin isn’t above man’s baser instincts.” She smirked.

  Dirk threw down the goblet, vaguely heard it shatter on the gravel. He clutched at his head, fearing it would explode.

  “Not so superior and self-righteous now, are we?”

  “Antidote!” he struggled to get out. The ability to think coherently was rapidly slipping from his grasp. “Must be something I can take.”

  “There is no antidote, Dirk,” she taunted. “You’re just going to have to suffer, I’m afraid.” She moved closer to him, trailing her fingers lightly across his cheek. “I hear it takes about five hours for the effects to wear off, unless you can relieve the pressure. But then, to do that, you’d have to find some woman willing to let you use her for an hour or two, wouldn’t you?” She dropped her hand and moved behind him. She stood on her toes and breathed into his ear. “Perhaps Alenor will offer to help? Have you seen her naked, too? Or is it just me that fills your dreams, Dirk Provin?”

  Dirk jerked away from her hot breath and turned to face her. “Don’t ... touch ... me ...”

  Marqel smiled languidly. “I could fetch her if you like. Or maybe not. I think you’d rather she didn’t see you like this. Of course, you then have to survive the rash. Have you heard about that? The burning... the itching ...”