“Are you concerned about my well-being?” The words were soft, probing.
She swore he drew closer to where she walked, but she didn’t look up to confirm it. Taking a deep breath, she lied, “Not really. I was just curious as to why you would risk it. You could be ambushed.”
“I can defend myself,” he answered, his tone harsh. “There’s no reason for me to hide in the palace. The kings before me did not hide and neither shall I.”
“I’m not saying to hide. I’m just wondering why you don’t have a guard walk with you when you’re about or, if not a guard, your brother, Falke. I’m sure he’d come back with us if you asked him to.”
“You do not think I can defend you?” he demanded, his jaw tightening. He turned to her, and his hand snapped onto her jaw, squeezing her as he forced her to look at him. His dark eyes glittered with green-gold anger, and she could see the threat of a shift in him. A peculiar sensation slithered over her flesh, and she was sure claws grew over her neck, near her pulse. His voice tempered with a roar, he growled, “What have I done to deserve such talk of dishonor from you?”
“What? Dishonor? I—”
“Rest assured,” he shot at her. “I don’t need Falke to protect what is mine.”
“What is yours?” she repeated, stunned. Her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest. Was he claiming her as his? A curious feeling washed over her at the thought.
“Yes, my property,” he clarified though the statement came a little too late.
Oh, Ulyssa thought ruefully in growing outrage, his property. I see. His property. That pigheaded barbarian jerk! I’ll show him property!
“What in the hell do you mean—?” Ulyssa began, raising her hand to push his chest.
“Shh,” Kirill ordered, turning his head away from her. His eyes scanned the forest. “Quiet.”
“Don’t you—owph!”
One of Kirill’s hands darted forward to cover her mouth. The other pulled the back of her head until she pressed into the firm fold of his chest.
“Someone’s coming,” Kirill said under his breath, directly into her ear. She struggled against his hold. He ignored her weak protests as he sniffed the air. “Walk behind me and behave yourself.”
Just as quickly, he let her go. Kirill walked, not watching to see if she followed. Ulyssa stood still, gasping for breath and refused to move. She’d be damned before she’d walk behind him in submission. She crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her head to the side, and stared after him.
Kirill must have noticed she didn’t follow him and suddenly stopped. His fingers lifted and, without turning around, he motioned for her to come to him. She didn’t move.
As he turned to look at her, Ulyssa nearly laughed to see the tension in his body. His eyes glared out in anger, but she was too irritated by his words to care.
“King Kirill.”
Ulyssa’s smirk fell when she heard the voice. She blinked, lifting her jaw proudly. She couldn’t see past Kirill, but she watched him turn to the sound. His body only stiffened more, and it was as if she could feel his tension inside herself. The sudden wave of stress made her sick to her stomach, and she felt as if she might retch.
“My king, it’s an honor,” the same voice said.
Ulyssa took a small step to the side. The man who bowed to Kirill was shorter in stature with long graying black hair. If Kirill was ninety-eight, she could just imagine how old this man was. A younger version of the old man stood next to him.
Cool, green eyes turned to her. She met the man’s stare boldly. Ulyssa wondered at it. She took a step closer to hear better. Before she realized what she was doing, she stood next to Kirill’s side. He didn’t move to acknowledge her. The old Var eyed her curiously, as did his companion.
Under their stares, she did the only thing she could think of. She smiled, held out her hand, and said, “Hello, I’m Ulyssa Payne.”
The men merely looked at her strangely.
“And you would be?” she prompted, a little too sternly at their rude silence.
“Lord Myrddin, I know you haven’t had the honor of meeting my mistress, Lyssa.” Kirill’s hand waved dismissingly toward her, and he didn’t turn to look at her. “Lyssa, this is Lord Myrddin and his son, Master Andras.”
Andras was a taller man than his father, with a head full of brown waves. Though, he did have the same cool, green eyes as Myrddin. Neither man moved to acknowledge the small bow of her head as they turned back to look at Kirill.
“Were you to Prince Reid’s?” Myrddin asked.
“Just for a walk about the forest,” Kirill lied.
“We were most aggrieved to hear of your father,” Myrddin said, angling his head, so he spoke down his nose at Kirill. “He was a good king. Such men as him will never be replaced.”
It seemed like an odd thing to say to the present king. Ulyssa waited in sweet anticipation for Kirill to seize the man’s throat and demand respect. To her surprise, he only nodded at the statement and said nothing. Ulyssa snorted lightly before she could stop herself, and all eyes turned to her.
“Lyssa, was it?” Myrddin stated. There was no question in his harsh tone. She had a feeling he’d known about her before their meeting. She also had the distinct impression their meeting here wasn’t completely a coincidence. His eyes gauged her as he asked, “Did you have the honor of knowing our King Attor?”
“Yes, briefly,” she answered, matching his rude tone with her own. Ulyssa decided she didn’t care for the man’s attitude. She couldn’t help wonder why Kirill let him talk down to him. A desperate need to wipe the smarmy grin off the man’s face overcame her. In a voice so sweet it dripped with honeyed sarcasm, she added, “I believe it was the same day he died. Though, it’s hard to say since he kidnaped me and knocked me unconscious.”
“I see,” Myrddin snarled. His mouth snapped, as he ordered, “Andras, come, we are late.”
“My lord.” Andras bowed his head to Kirill and moved to follow his father’s lead. His face gave away nothing of the exchange.
Myrddin nodded to the king, murmuring, “My lord.”
“Lord Myrddin, Master Andras,” Kirill answered politely. The men passed. Kirill didn’t wait for them to get out of sight before he started walking again toward the palace.
“Who were they?” Ulyssa asked when they were alone.
“Lord Myrddin is a wise, respected man of the Var. He’s leader of the old houses and his family maintains most of the shadowed marshes.” Kirill still didn’t look at her and Ulyssa realized he was livid. Gritting his teeth, he said, “He and his men were very loyal to my father.”
Kirill walked faster, stalking through the trees. Ulyssa jogged to keep up with him. “He didn’t seem very noble and wise to me.”
“Sacred cats, Lyssa! Can you never just obey me?” Kirill stopped. His dark eyes narrowed in on her in anger. “I told you to follow behind me and yet still you stand beside me as an equal. Most of the time it doesn’t matter, but his ways are of the old and we must respect that. Are you actually trying to cause us more trouble? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to be my wife. Only a queen would dare speak the way you just did.”
“Hey, buddy, I don’t want to be your anything,” she said, matching his muffled tone. He wasn’t yelling, but he might as well have been for all the anger in his face and voice. “You’re the one who asked me to stay. I wanted to leave. Just let me out of our bargain, give me my communicator, and I’ll leave now, right now. I’ll walk into that forest, and you’ll never see me again.”
Kirill slashed his hand through the air to silence her. “I ask you to behave and yet you open your mouth. Can you just never stay quiet?”
“You’re a king. You don’t have to answer to the likes of him. How could you let him speak to you like that?”
“I have to answer to everyone in this kingdom,” Kirill growled. “You gave me your word you would behave for three months until your ride came. If you would have me
honor my word by letting you go, I will demand you honor yours.”
“You still shouldn’t let him talk down to you like that. If you won’t defend yourself—”
“You dare insult me further by saying I need you to defend me?”
“Argh! You are so...so argh! Who cares if he liked your father better, Kirill? I’ve got a news flash for you. You’re his new king, and, what’s more, your father was a jerk. I’m sorry you lost him and I’m sorry he’s dead, but that doesn’t change the facts. Look at your childhood, your brother’s childhood—”
“You’re human. There’s no way you can understand our customs,” he broke in, storming closer to better glare at her. His body was tense, and he refused to touch her. “I’m well aware you have no love for my father, Lyssa, but these people do. And more than that, Attor has their respect even in death. You can’t undo centuries of loyalty in a week. I know it matters naught to you, for you plan on leaving, but it matters to me. I am stuck here for centuries.”
“Stuck?” Ulyssa gasped in shock. She trembled violently at his nearness as if she could feel his anger inside herself, but there was more, a slight edging of fear he’d never admit to and probably didn’t know he had. His words resonated in her head as if he yelled inside her rather than whispered angrily before her. She heard a roaring echo in her brain, and it wasn’t her frustration she felt. It was his. She took a frightened step back, her eyes wide. Every nerve inside her tried to push him from her body, not liking the invasion.
Unhampered by her new plight, Kirill stood regally before her. The roaring stopped as he looked her over. Quietly, and without passion, he said, “I must insist you stop your slander against King Attor. If you speak of it again, our deal is off, and I will have you punished.”
“You said you were stuck here,” Ulyssa said instead of answering his threat.
“I used the wrong human word,” he dismissed, but she somehow knew he was lying, could feel that he was. “Your language is easy to switch around.”
Suddenly, she felt nothing. The silence in her head left her numb. He turned his emotions off, blocked them, swallowed them down until they were ignored. It was as if he invaded her and then left, taking part of her with him. She couldn’t explain it, didn’t even want to try.
“As for your insolence before Lord Myrddin, I shall sentence you to two weeks of repentance. You may not leave my home until that time is served.”
Ulyssa gasped. She watched in silence as he stalked away. Then, glancing around the shadowed forest, she hurried after him.
19
Kirill took Ulyssa home without another word and, to her amazement, left her there alone. It was just as well. She suddenly felt like she had a lot to figure out. A small, yet overwhelming part of her screamed to push everything aside—her pride, her stubbornness—and just hold him whether he allowed it or not. That same part told her to submit completely, to give in so that she could have what she wanted. She ignored that small part, for it wasn’t her logic that spoke, but her treacherous heart. Ulyssa refused to become enamored with a barbaric king.
The first week of her repentance passed in anger. She ignored Kirill. He ignored her. She ate alone, bathed alone, sat alone, stared at the wall alone. It was only when she started to have conversations alone that she shook herself from her stupor and began looking for things to do. And, though she found little to occupy her, her thoughts stayed busy.
The second week seemed even longer. Kirill’s anger appeared to abate, and he began dining with her in the evenings. At first conversation was stilted and short, but it gradually grew to inane topics about Qurilixen weather and food. He tried to ask her personal questions, which she artfully avoided. The only stories she had involved the Agency and that little detail wasn’t something she wanted him to know.
By the end of her repentance, an uneasy tension settled in the home. Their eyes would lock and hold for long periods before either of them thought to look away. Kirill would walk across the living room without a shirt, lounging against the door frame as he spoke, knowing all the time she watched. Ulyssa would allow her body to brush against his when passing by. Or she’d allow ample amounts of cleavage to show in his direction. It was a game, and they both knew it, a battle of wills to see who would cave first. So far, neither was giving in.
The two weeks were complete torture, sleeping on the couch, knowing she had but to crawl onto his bed and offer herself to him. Stubborn pride kept her from doing so. Stubborn pride was becoming a hard comfort in the late hours of the night when she’d wake up from an erotically charged dream about Kirill and of the magic his tongue could work on her skin.
Once, she’d tried to relieve the sexual tension from her body by herself. Kirill had stumbled sleepily from the bedroom, sniffing the air, as he passed by to the bathroom. It was as if he’d known what she was doing. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. She’d not tried such a thing again.
Another notion filtered in and out of her thoughts when she was alone. Kirill had been honest with her from the beginning. He could feel nothing for her or any woman. He wanted only one thing from her—her body. She respected him for that honesty, but suddenly it became a difficult reality to swallow and she didn’t know why. Why should it matter if Kirill could care for her or not? Did she want him to? Did she want more from him than a passionate, adventurous, incredibly enjoyable affair of the flesh? Did she want his barbaric heart?
Ulyssa stopped pacing the length of his home. Her world spun as her mind edged closer to the thought. She turned in circles, looking for something solid to hold onto. The couch, the bright fireplace, the living room, it all blurred and streaked within her vision.
“I think I...love him?” she whispered with a confused grimace, right before she fainted dead away onto the floor.
20
Kirill looked out over the balcony adjoining the royal office. He couldn’t go back home, not yet. He needed to get away from the frustrating woman who already occupied too many of his thoughts as of late. She was rash, outspoken, reckless, everything Attor had warned his sons about in a woman.
The valley below spread out with trees, the tops of which blended together in a gently rolling plain. Their leaves shimmered in such a way that it looked like a field of emerald. He loved this land, his land. And he loved the people who lived in it.
Kirill sighed, feeling the weight of his burden tenfold. Only with Ulyssa did he feel it lessen unless he counted that time when she’d opened her mouth too wide in front of Lord Myrddin and his son. The noble was a well-respected elder, and her words had enticed him to anger. Already rumors spread of his distrust of the new king.
It had been Lord Myrddin’s nephew that helped to kidnap the Draig Princess Olena. Because of the foolishness of the plan, Brouse and his two cohorts were dead, slaughtered by the Draig princes in the shadowed marshes. Lord Myrddin had been one of King Attor’s closest advisors and was also one of the few people Kirill had to worry about. The fact that he hadn’t come to the coronation also said he wasn’t wholeheartedly giving his support of the new king’s reign.
Kirill knew many of the elders wanted him to attack the Draig, to kill off the royal family and avenge his father’s death and, on a smaller level, the death of Brouse. Part of him wanted the same thing. It was his father, after all, who’d fallen to the sword. But, Kirill was king now and had to look above his own needs, his own desires. He had to do what was right for his people.
Kirill had never believed in King Attor’s wars. He believed there could be peace between the Var and the Draig. He’d not ruin that slim chance of peace to avenge a man who’d provoked the battle to begin with. He’d not risk his reign on a temperamental woman who’d be leaving him in a few short months—no matter how sexy he found her, not matter how much his body wanted her these last weeks, no matter how many thoughts she occupied in his brain.
Going into the royal office, he began to pace. “Siren, where’s Lyssa?”
“Lyssa is in your home
, my lord,” the computer’s sultry voice answered, as it did every time he asked her.
He asked the computer several times during the morning and afternoon and always it was the same. She is in your home, my lord. To Kirill’s surprise, she’d honored his decree and had not left his home for the full two weeks. He knew it had to be killing her, being locked indoors.
“What is she doing?” Kirill asked, swallowing almost nervously.
“She’s not moving, my lord. Performing scan.” There was a short pause, before Siren answered, “Health status fine. She appears to be asleep, my lord.”
Kirill sighed heavily, leaving the office. As he came through the door, he ordered, “Siren, lock up.”
“Yes, my lord,” the computer said. The door latched behind him.
Kirill started to walk home, only to hesitate and stop. A sense of grim determination came over him. He needed to work Ulyssa out of his system. If he had to keep denying himself as he waited for her to come around, he’d surely cave.
Turning around, he stalked down the hallway toward the harem. A few of the women were still there. Surely one of them wouldn’t be so averse to pleasuring the new king? Golden blonde-red hair and dark blue eyes instantly appeared in his mind. He was able to remember in full detail the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he knew it might just take more than one woman to get him over his Lyssa.
21
Ulyssa lifted the sword and swung it around her head. She didn’t know how to properly wield it, but that didn’t matter to her. She needed to exercise. She needed to vent. She needed Kirill to come back home so she could prove to herself that she merely wanted to sleep with him, not love him. It was two weeks of sexual stress that put the thought in her head. She was sure of it.
After pulling her body off the floor, she’d spent the night on the couch. Not that it seemed to matter. For all she knew, Kirill had not come home. She wondered if he spent the night in the harem, had often wondered if he spent time in the harem. It was insane to believe that a man with such carnal appetites would deny himself, especially with the sexual innuendoes she let fall to tempt him into madness.
The Savage King Page 12
