by Cate Rowan
She interrupted him with a hissed whisper. “Who’s chasing you? And more to the point, why?”
“The sultan.”
Her eyes bulged. “What?”
The door banged open. Kuramos stood in the doorway, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest and a scowl thundering over his gorgeous face. “You!” he said, turning his glare on Varene. “I should have known you were part of this.”
“Me? And what is ‘this’?”
“And you!” He stabbed a finger toward the jencel. “Two full days you’ve been out of your cage! Your poor keeper just groveled at my feet, ready to cut off his own hands for having lost you.”
Damn, Varene sighed, recalling Gunjan’s plea for freedom and her promise back to him. Technically, she was part of this.
Gunjan’s wings unfurled as he backed along the rack, trying to stay out of range of the sultan’s arms. When he reached the edge of the blanket he was on, he flapped comically to keep his balance. “B-b-but…”
“Ahem!” Varene jammed her hands on her hips. “No wonder Gunjan’s keeper was groveling. Stop snarling at the bird or you’re going to give him a hemorrhage.”
He whipped his head around to glower at her and she matched him gaze for gaze, her eyes narrowing in challenge. His nostrils flared wide, and for a moment she wondered whether the steam would exit there or out his ears.
And then, of all things, his tense stance relaxed. “Gunjan, I see you have a champion.”
“Uh, yes.” The bird pulled himself up to his full height. “Well, I, er—”
“Enough talking.” He half-turned and sent Gunjan a one-eyed stare. The jencel clapped his beak shut and Kuramos pivoted back to Varene.
“Am I correct, Healer, in assuming you know about Gunjan’s absence from the Cage?”
She pursed her lips and her gaze wandered to the side.
“Right,” said the sultan. He swiveled to Gunjan. “Return to your Cage, where you are—and have always been—doted upon. Your champion and I will battle this out.” As Gunjan stepped to the edge of the rack to take off, Kuramos added in a growl, “And make your heartfelt apologies to Hadi, who seems to think—erroneously, I might add—that his days in this life are soon to end, all because you decided to be truant.”
“Yes, O Lord,” Gunjan said, lowering his head meekly. He jumped off the rail, blazed a wide path around the sultan, and swept into the hall.
Kuramos reached out and shut the door, sealing Varene in the small room with him.
She eyed him warily, waiting for his first words.
He leaned against a rack and rubbed a hand over his forehead as if it pained him. Or as if she pained him. “I found Prince Burhan today in his quarters, feigning ignorance about my order for him to stay in the city.”
Varene remembered Burhan’s undaunted demeanor. Her lips twitched.
“As I thought! You knew he’d returned.”
“Perhaps.” She leaned back against the wall, mirroring him. “He was scared for his mother. He came to make sure she was all right.”
“He disobeyed me. And risked his life. If the sickness had been contagious…”
“But it isn’t. Taleen has recovered and all will be well. To be sure, Burhan shouldn’t have gone against your wishes,” she said with a shake of her head, “but perhaps you could give him some credit for being loyal to his mother.”
He straightened to his full, towering height. “Burhan’s safety is paramount. His aversion to obeying orders could have cost him his life!” He threw up his hands. “Must you spread your disobedience around my palace?”
“My what?” Her mouth fell open. “I didn’t tell your son to come back. I didn’t do anything more than answer his questions about his mother’s health once he was already here.”
Red seeped into his cheeks. “First you make a fool of me in my own court, then you manage to incite a riot—”
“Just one damn moment! Don’t you blame that killer horde on me.”
“I’m not saying you started it, or even that you were at fault. But trouble ensues wherever you go—your presence stirs up rebellion! The dratted jencel decides to toss tradition aside, and now Burhan defies me—”
Varene snorted. “Just a guess, but it didn’t seem like the first time Burhan has done that.”
His scowl intensified. “Are you criticizing how I raise my son?”
“Of course not!” She stamped her foot in frustration. “He’s a teenager. They do these things. Why are you trying to make this my fault?”
He took a step toward her. “Maybe I’m wondering if I should take you back to my quarters and punish you as you so richly deserve.” Though the words were threatening, the sudden hungry expression in his eyes suggested that his thoughts were straying to a more sensual form of penance.
Liquid fire pooled at the junction of her thighs. She drew back, deliberately misunderstanding, and shouted with all the affront she could muster. “Punish me? Don’t treat me as your servant or your slave. I’m neither of those, nor beholden to you. I’m a freewoman of Teganne, and its Royal Healer!”
Her choice to misconstrue seemed to throw him for a moment, and then his eyes glinted and he squared his massive shoulders. “That you are, and I am the Great Sultan of Kad, sovereign of the realm and responsible for the lives of an entire people. Have you not noticed? Ever since you arrived, you’ve expected me to treat you with the respect due your position, but you refuse to give the respect owed to mine!”
She looked into his fierce gaze, stunned.
He was absolutely right.
Her anger vanished. This man ruled a nation, and kingship was not a light burden, nor was it safe for him or his family—yet he reigned over Kad with honor. With integrity. Back in Teganne, she’d believed he was a ruthless monster. Now she knew otherwise. And she hadn’t once acknowledged him for that.
She stared at him a moment longer and gave a nod of understanding, of apology. Then she descended in a heartfelt formal curtsey, the backs of her hands touching the floor.
When she rose, he looked away, his hand clasped behind his neck. “Varene, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want—”
“No.” She stepped forward and touched her fingers to his sculpted lips, reveling in the pleasure of such an intimacy, even for a moment. “What you said was true.”
His breath warmed her hand, slid down her skin as if flowing directly to her heart. Under the green intensity of his eyes, she nearly forgot to breathe. When she remembered, she inhaled the scent of him; a warm, exotic musk.
She wanted to lean into him, taste the bare expanse of his chest, nestle against the muscles of his stomach and the hardness below.
His breath caught at her bold caress. Under her fingers, his beautiful mouth moved. Parted. She imagined him touching her with his tongue, licking her in the sinful way that she desired.
She pulled her hand back, afraid.
“Varene.” His voice, husky and virile, caressed her ears. It thrilled her to hear him speak her name that way.
“Why won’t you let me touch you?” Kuramos’s gaze swept her face. “You want me. Just as I want you.”
He closed in until the air between them disappeared and looked down upon the woman who’d been stealing into his thoughts from the moment they’d met. He didn’t just want Varene, he craved her. He knew she felt the passion just as he did. It flamed hotter each time she drew back, threatening to burn him to cinders.
He reached for her waist, the delicious curve of it, and felt the warmth of her through the ludicrously prudish Tegannese gown. He vowed to give her Kaddite garb that would display her figure and torture him further. Staring into her eyes—so impossibly blue, like a morning sky in spring—he leaned in, starving for a taste of her pink and perfect mouth.
“Stop,” she whispered, and turned aside.
He studied her averted eyes, the pulse beating in the milk-white skin of her throat. He felt, too, her hands, warm and flushed with her desire, on his bare stoma
ch. “Why?” he whispered, grazing her dainty ear with his lips. She sighed and her head tipped a fraction, involuntarily giving him better access.
“Mmm, because…” But her answer tangled in another sigh. He nuzzled his lips down the side of her bared neck, then slipped a thumb under the wide collar of her dress to expose more sweet skin to his mouth.
“Because,” she whispered, her gaze heavy-lidded.
Lost in her luscious scent, jasmine and herbs, he slid one hand around to the small of her back, then down to grab her glorious bottom and cup her against him. He groaned into the spun gold of her hair, thirsting to take her. Now. Here, against the wall.
“G-Gunjan!” She opened her eyes with an effort and braced her hands against his unyielding stomach, pushing herself away.
“Forget the bird,” he rumbled, closing the distance.
“We can’t.” She scrambled back, bumping into a shelf. “I mean, he’s waiting.”
“I’m waiting,” he growled. “And I am far more important. Come here.”
“N-no.” She grabbed a vertical edge of the rack to steady herself.
He gave a wolfish smile, pleased his embrace had affected her enough to weaken her knees. He stalked toward her, wanting to do it again.
“Gunjan deserves to live free,” she said on a shuddering breath, avoiding his gaze.
“Why do you talk about the dratted bird when we could be—”
“He’s more than earned his freedom, hasn’t he?” Before he could snarl his answer, she hurried on. “He’s very loyal, you know. I think he’d do anything for you. Seems to me he deserves this.”
He halted and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Are you asking me to release my jencel-bird from service?”
“No, not at all. As I said, he’s loyal. He just doesn’t want to be caged up any more.”
“The jencels in the sultan’s service have always lived in the Golden Cage. It’s where he belongs—and where he’s spoiled, no less! The Cage has been good enough for several thousand years of jencels. It’s good enough for Gunjan.”
“‘Because it’s tradition’? That’s the best reason you have?” She shook her head and her blonde ponytail flicked from side to side. “He loves to fly. He’s a bird. Let him.”
He narrowed his eyes. “First you were his champion, and now he’s your chaperone. And he’s not even here.”
“Please, Kuramos.”
“Why? Why are you asking this?”
She looked at the stone floor as she considered her words. “True freedom is hard to find. So often, the things we want are not…attainable. Or even good for us. But this wish of Gunjan’s, it’s easy to bestow.”
He sighed, flexed his fingers. “I owe you many life-debts, Healer. I find it difficult to deny you anything.”
She smiled her thanks. Then the smile turned mischievous and he felt himself harden again.
“In that case,” she said, drawing slowly toward him, “you won’t mind if I go tell Gunjan.”
She sidestepped and sped out of reach before he had the chance to react. At the door she slanted him one last, delightful grin and raced off.
He followed her out, but she was already striding down the hall, laughing. Rather than give chase, he paused in the hall and watched the mesmerizing sway of her hips, somehow accentuated by the long gown.
His decision was made. He would not allow her to leave Kad while his body still strained for her—not when the same lust coiled in her own gaze. He would bed her, and thoroughly, before she returned to Teganne. He would quench his ravenous need for her, fill the air with her moans of pleasure, until they were both sated and joyfully spent.
Whatever it was that stood in her way and pulled her back when she was on the verge of reaching for him, he would conquer it, destroy it. She’d depart from Kad purring with pleasure. Then they’d both be free of this infatuation.
As she turned the corner and left his lustful sight at last, he jettisoned the ridiculous, niggling thought that he didn’t want her to go at all.
“You dare insult the House of Zeyed!”
Astonished by the accusation and its volume, Kuramos pivoted around and found Sulya glowering at him, just yards away. His Sixth Wife’s hands balled into sharp-nailed fists and she charged toward him, fury reddening her face.
His gaze flicked behind her down the corridor. It was empty, but wouldn’t stay that way for long, especially with such outcries. “Wife, you forget yourself!” he growled, and yanked her with him into an unused guest room, instantly regretting his choice of location. The repose of the huge bed and its immaculate sheets only highlighted the rift between them.
Sulya launched toward him, ebony hair thrashing about her wild face. “How dare you discard me!”
“Discard? Thorns, what are you shrieking about?”
“And ‘Wife’?” she retorted. “How can you call me that when you’re dallying with someone else?” She jabbed a censorious finger toward the bed.
His jaw tightened. “Lest you forget, I had five wives before you, and they’re still my wives and lovers even though I married you.”
Her jade eyes widened. “So she’s next? She’s ensorcelled you! How could you fall for her over me—that pale wraith, that low-born witch—”
“A witch who healed your son!”
His words pierced her rage. She yanked back, eyes closing, and her head sagged to the side. “Yes, she did. I want to hate her, I have to hate her, but for that…” When her dark lashes lifted again, tears slipped down her cheeks. “O Lord, where is the man who used to carry me to bed, or lean me against the wall, or lust for me to ride him for long hours in the night—”
“Long since gone. You know that.”
“But why?” Desperation shrilled her voice and she reached for him. “I can do what you want, be who you want!”
He caught her wrists, halting her fingers. “It’s too late, Sulya.”
“No!” She struggled against his hold. “Once she’s gone, you’ll see. You’ll realize you still love me. Once she returns to her cursed Teganne and releases you from her sorcery, you’ll lust for me once more, will wish me in your bed, will pour your god-born seed into me and make more children—”
The resentment he’d long locked away surged forth, and it took everything in him not to throttle her graceful neck. “Children are all you have ever wanted of me. You covet my seed to sow your new Zeyedi dynasty.” He leaned down, so close he could count every lash that rimmed her conniving eyes. “You don’t love me—Kuramos—you love the Sultan of Kad and what he can do for you and the House of Zeyed.”
“No, no…” she moaned, her head whipping back and forth in denial.
“I fell for your schemes, Sulya, your whispered seductions. I married you, hoping our warring houses could finally rest. But to you, I’m merely a vessel that pours sovereignty into your bloodline. You already have Tahir—my beloved Tahir.” His voice broke at his son’s name. “But hear this: You will never have more of me.”
He thrust her from him and held her there at arm’s length. “It’s over. And it has been for such a long time.”
When he released her, she swayed, tears streaming down her face. For a deep, swift moment, he wished things could have been otherwise, and the pain of it coiled in his heart. But the bitter strength of his soul knew that their intimacy together was a lie—one now shattered. He’d been mourning the loss for days beyond count.
He stepped back, and she crumpled to the floor in a ball of grief. His heart ached as he looked down at her, but she would have to cry for both of them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gunjan, delighted to have his freedom, swooped in ecstatic circles around Varene as she strode to the harem courtyard, and then soared up to do loop-de-loops over the rooftops.
Varene checked Rajvi and found her almost completely recovered. Rajvi’s secretary was with her, helping the Sha’Lai catch up with administrative issues. Varene yearned to ask Rajvi the many questions she harbored a
bout her marriage with Kuramos, indeed, about all his marriages—but kept her mouth shut, all too aware of her personal reasons for asking.
Leaving Rajvi’s quarters, she spied Priya entering the courtyard, bearing a tray of food and looking this way and that.
“Oh!” Varene hurried to the handmaiden. “I’m sorry—I forgot about lunch. I was supposed to be back in the infirmary by now, I know.” Her stomach growled as she smelled the spiced lentil stew, fresh bread and mangoes.
“Healer, is that you?” Maitri peered out of her quarters, her hair still damp from the hammam. “It is! And you and your maiden haven’t even had time for your meal, I see. You’re welcome to eat here in the shade. We have a fresh-brewed pot of lirrah.”
“Wonderful. My thanks.” She and Priya entered Maitri’s comfortable antechamber, with its many pillows and bookshelves lit by the window to the courtyard. Though Mishka had a separate suite adjoining her mother’s as all the children did, she was here making a long daisy chain, and quickly pushed aside the nearly depleted vase of flowers so Priya could lay the tray on the low table.
“Ah, Princess Mishka. You’re a thoughtful girl.” Varene gave her a smile and was rewarded by a shy gleam of Mishka’s dazzling green eyes, so very much like the sultan’s.
Varene settled on cushions beside the table. As Maitri poured the fragrant lirrah and Priya arranged the bowls of food, Varene realized the handmaiden’s lips were somewhat swollen and that her eyes held a faraway, dreamy look. After a few seconds of staring, Varene gave a mental squeal. She’s just been kissed!
Varene resisted the urge to dance about the room, and instead inquired in the mildest of tones, “How is Sohad?”
Priya’s face flamed vermilion. “He’s…fine,” she whispered.
“Ah. Very good.” Varene hid her smile by sipping from the lirrahcup.
Priya straightened and looked humbly at the floor. “In fact, w-would you mind if I met you back at the Infirmary, my lady?”
Varene glanced at the tray. “What about your lunch?”
“I’m…not very hungry.”
