by Tara West
Her throat constricted and she slowly swallowed another mouthful of wine. She hadn’t known he’d tried to intervene on her behalf. Still, she didn’t regret going, for if she hadn’t become a priestess of Kyan, she never would’ve met Jade.
“Is there a chance you carry his child?”
Her gaze shot to her uncle, who was looking at her sharply. “No.”
“Good,” he grumbled. “At least we have that blessing.”
What a sad life she lived, that she was considered blessed not to be carrying the child of the most powerful man in Delfi.
He tossed back a mouthful of drink, then grimaced and wiped his mouth with his hand. “What does he expect from us?”
Her jaw hardened. Anton wouldn’t be pleased. “To submit to him.”
“You know we can’t.” He let out a low, dark chuckle. “How long will you stay?”
She wished she could crawl under his fur rug and hide from the world. “As long as it takes, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry you are in this mess. If your father had accepted Titus’s offer....”
Time seemed to stand still as her heart slowed to a dull thud. “What offer?”
“A marriage between you and your late brother’s unit.”
The three men she loved most in the world had asked for her hand and her parents had refused them? She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or fall to pieces in a heap of sobs. Had she been wed to her defenders, she wouldn’t be in this horrible predicament. Then again, she wouldn’t have saved Lea or met Jade. “I never heard of that offer.”
“Of course not.” Clucking his tongue, he shook his head. “Your parents thought marrying defenders was beneath you. But you would’ve been safe from the mad king.”
“I married his son,” she corrected, though she knew it to be a lie. Did he know they were one and the same?
“Like father like son,” he said wryly.
She turned away and stared into the flames. He knew. For a moment, she resented him for not telling her long ago, though it wouldn’t have done any good. She wouldn’t have been able to refuse the king’s offer of marriage.
“You must stay a few weeks, until I figure out how to get you out of this.”
She frowned into her cup. “There’s only one way out, as far as I can see.”
“Do you know how hard we’ve fought for our independence?” His voice rose, and his ruddy cheeks turned redder. “How many men we’ve lost? I will not let their deaths be in vain.”
She felt smaller than a grain of dust. “I understand.”
His bones cracking as he struggled to his feet, he went to the hearth, staring into the fire while clutching the mantel. With a roar, he pulled the mantel down, the heavy wood plank splintering when it hit the floor.
She spilled her drink when she scooted back, terrified at the rage in his eyes.
“Is everything okay, General?” someone with a familiar deep voice bellowed.
Spinning around, her breath hitched when she saw him. “Titus,” she breathed, tightening her fingers around the goblet so much, she was amazed she didn’t crush it.
With his shield under his arm, he strode toward them. Dressed in full battle gear, a heavy fur draped over his shoulders, his silver-flecked eyes gleamed beneath a bronze helmet that dipped into a Y, shielding his nose and high cheekbones. If at all possible, his chest appeared broader, his biceps bigger, than when she’d last seen him.
Excitement warmed her veins and her heart pounded when a grin split his face in two. “Kyria?”
“There you are, Titus.” Anton waved him forward. “Is the rest of your unit still on duty?”
“Yes, General,” he answered and moved over next to Kyria. He glanced at the broken mantel. “We had no idea she was here.”
“Assign her sleeping quarters.” Anton looked down at her with a drawn mouth. “Someplace safe.”
“Yes, General.” Titus bowed and held out his hand, a smirk on his lips. “Come, sprite.”
Heart pounding, she slipped her hand into his and felt a strong spark of desire, even though they wore gloves. She dreamed of this moment many times, and yet dread filled her. He didn’t know about her marriage to the king, or he would not have been smiling. As he led her outside, she wondered how in the world she was supposed to tell him. She was afraid their hearts would be shattered before night’s end.
TITUS WAS SO DELIRIOUSLY happy, he could hardly think straight. After nearly two years of unanswered letters, had Kyria changed her mind? Would she finally consent to wed his unit? He’d suspected she thought them beneath her. She was a noblewoman, after all. But perhaps Titus’s elevation to commander had made marrying him more palatable. Periculi only had five commanders, and they were second only to the general. The other four were close in age to Anton, but each had health problems. Titus’s elevation gave him a very real chance of succeeding Anton Faustus one day, with Quin and Theron serving as his advisors. With such power came prestige. Surely Kyria wouldn’t think them beneath her then. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t have to wait that for her to become their bride.
“They’re glaring at me,” she whispered, holding tightly to his hand.
Nostrils flaring, Titus observed the men leering at Kyria as they sharpened their blades. Perhaps they didn’t know she was Alexi’s twin. He shot them warning looks and smiled to himself when they looked away.
“They don’t see many women here. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe with me.” She shivered, and he suspected it was more out of fear than her reaction to the cold. They went up another road toward the hut he shared with his brothers-in-arms. More soldiers glared. Why?
After they stepped inside the hut, he ushered her to the fire, sitting her on warm furs and wrapping another around her shoulders. He made quick work of removing his armor so he could look her over without the obstruction of his helmet.
Kneeling beside her, he looked into her eyes. “Why have you come, sprite?”
Hanging her head, she said, “The king sent me.”
“The king?” Warning sirens went off in his head. “Why are you doing his bidding?”
She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “Didn’t you hear?”
His heart pounded so loudly in his ears, he could scarcely hear himself think. “Hear what?”
Her lower lip quivered. “I’m the queen, Titus,” she whispered, her admission like flaming arrows piercing his heart.
Grasping her shoulders, he prayed to the goddess she was jesting. “Say it isn’t true, Kyria. Say you wouldn’t marry our enemy.”
“I had no choice. Besides.” Her voice faltered as she looked away, pulling out of his grasp. “The old king is dead. I married the former Prince Ahri, and he said he wanted to negotiate peace with the defenders.”
He could tell she didn’t believe her husband wanted peace. It made no difference which king she married. The entire Milas bloodline were raving mad. Great goddess, the king was Kyria’s husband! He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The thought of her in his bed made him sick to his stomach. He cursed himself for not taking her virginity when she’d offered. She might have been shamed, but at least she’d be safe.
“They are all the same,” he said, so angry he saw red. “His bloodline is cursed.”
Her gaze snapped to his, recognition flashing in her eyes. “I know that now.”
A thought struck him. What if she carried his spawn? Would the child inherit the madness? He supposed that was the least of Kyria’s problems, but what if the child came out with pointy ears? Alexi had told him he and Kyria had had Fae ears at birth, but their parents had paid a witch to conceal them by using dark magic. The king would kill Kyria and her child if he discovered her Fae blood. He dug his fingers into her fur cloak. “Tell me you don’t carry his child.”
Her olive complexion turned deep crimson. “I-I don’t.”
“Are you sure?” There was something she wasn’t telling him. He felt her deception in the marrow of his bones.
“Quite sure, Titus.”
He jumped up and stormed over to the window, slamming his fist on a wooden table and cracking it down the middle. He swore again at the pain that shot up his hand. Shaking it, he slumped in a chair. He’d been a fool to hold out hope she would accept their offer. She was the reason he’d fought so hard to make commander, and it had all been for nothing. She’d never loved him. The many times she’d flirted with him and those letters she’d written after Alexi’s death had meant nothing to her. Dragon Defenders would never be good enough for Lady Kyria Faustus.
He felt her presence behind him. The smell of her lavender perfume wound around his senses, taunting him. Though she was as slender and lithe as a sprite, she took up every inch of space in his heart and loomed larger than life when she was near.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
“No.” Perhaps he would be after he recovered from the sting of her rejection. Anger would bubble and boil soon enough.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
He couldn’t look at her. Having her so near and not being able to touch her was torture enough.
“My uncle just told me of your offer of marriage,” she continued. “It was the first I’d heard of it.”
He jumped to his feet. “Your parents never told you?”
Toying with the frayed end of her fur cloak, she shook her head. “I would’ve accepted had I known.”
How could her parents betray him and his brothers-in-arms? How could they have ignored Alexi’s last wish? “Take care of my sister, Titus,” he’d said and thrown himself in Fanfir’s path.
Cupping her face, he wiped a tear from her cheek. “We sent dozens of letters, Kyria.”
She leaned into his hand. “So did I that first year, but I quit writing when you didn’t respond.”
His cock stirred to life when she leaned into him. He didn’t care that she belonged to the king. He wanted her anyway. But what would happen to their child if he impregnated her? It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, no matter how badly he wanted her. “We didn’t get your letters either. We should’ve taken you with us after we delivered Alexi’s shield.”
“The laws of mourning state I must wait a year. My parents wouldn’t have let you.” Pressing her head against his chest, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Holding her, he wished he would never have to let her go. He stroked her long, thick hair, its silky texture like water running through his fingers. “As if they could’ve stopped us.”
“Well, it’s too late now.” She sighed. “It does no good to linger on regrets.”
If she’d loved her husband, she wouldn’t be in his embrace now. His little sprite had always been so easy to love and so loving in return. The Milas line were tyrants. This new king had to be the world’s biggest fool, too. When he kissed her temple, his lips lingering, he felt her tremors. “Are you still cold?”
“No,” she answered, tightening her hold on him. “You’re like my personal hearth.”
Then why did she tremble? “Has he hurt you?”
“Please,” she cried, burying her face in his chest. “I don’t want to talk about my marriage.”
Titus felt as if a hot poker was lodged in his chest. He was so overcome with rage, he couldn’t think beyond vengeance against the king and how badly he wished to accelerate this inevitable war. He would cut down every last soldier until he reached the king and then he’d cut off his prick and shove it down his throat. Though he had a list of grievances against Milas for his treatment of the defenders, it paled in comparison to how furious he was. Holding his trembling sprite, he promised he would give his last dying breath to draw the king’s blood.
In the meantime he would love and cherish Kyria as if she was his wife, keeping her safe from the king’s wrath. He stroked her silky hair. “What else can I get you?”
“Wine.” She looked up at him. “Lots of it.”
A bit ash from the fire had landed on her nose. He reached to brush it away and was shocked when she shrank back as if he would hit her.
“Why would you flinch?” he asked, wiping the ash away. “I’d never hurt you.” He showed her the gray smudge on his thumb before wiping it off on his cloak. What had that tyrant done to her?
“Oh, Titus!” she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the furs beside the hearth and sat down with her in his lap. She clung to him like a frightened child. “What has he done to you, my love?”
“I can’t. I can’t.” Her breathing sounded strained.
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Just let me hold you.”
As she cried big, heart-wrenching tears, his heart kept splintering into more and more pieces. He had no idea what the future held in store for them, but two things he knew to be true. He wanted to kill the king more than ever, and Kyria was never going back to her husband.
Chapter Thirteen
KYRIA WOKE UP IN TITUS’S arms in a soft pile of furs by the hearth. Though the wind howled outside like a pack of rabid wolves, she’d never felt so safe in her life, so loved. She stroked his broad chest. He had a light smattering of dark hair that she noticed hadn’t been there before and a new scar across his left shoulder. Tracing the scar, she looked up at him, smiling when silver-flecked eyes gazed back. Emboldened, she ran a hand over his head. His hair was just as she remembered, shorn so close to his head, it was like a layer of dark sand. It felt course like sand, too. The scar on his forehead had faded, but his ear was still butchered from his fight with the king’s men the night he’d been locked in the giant birdcage.
“Did you sleep well, sprite?” he asked and rose on one elbow. The fur fell down, revealing more bare ebony flesh. Had he slept naked beside her? She looked at the shift she wore, barely remembering falling asleep.
“I did, thanks to you.” She noticed the massive bulge below his abdomen, which tented the thick furs.
Licking her lips like a starving woman, she couldn’t help but be impressed with his size. Though she’d never seen a man’s penis (other than that staggering drunk’s shriveled member in Sawran), she’d been trained with enough wooden dildos to know that he was larger than average. She wished she could peel back the furs, take him in her mouth, and suck a real one, not just a wooden stick.
“You going to stare at my cock all day?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think they could get so big.”
He didn’t appear offended as he flashed a slanted smile. “He’s biggest when you’re near, sprite.”
Heat spread all the way to her roots. “Oh.” She’d learned enough from the head priestess that Titus’s swollen member meant he wanted to make love to her. An uncomfortable ache settled between her thighs. She knew that feeling, too.
She traced the faint line of hair down his abdomen. He leaned back, pulling the furs lower until they barely covered his erection.
“Do you want me to remove the furs?” he asked huskily.
Warmth flooded her channel, and her nipples pebbled to hard peaks. “Yes, please.”
She jumped at a loud banging on the door.
“Titus. Open up!”
She recognized Theron’s voice.
“Let us in. We’re freezing!” Quin said.
Titus sprang to his feet, holding a fur around his waist, his cock still jutting proudly like the helm of a ship as he crossed to the wooden door in a few long strides and opened it.
Theron and Quin pushed through, shaking snow off their cloaks and removing their mud-caked boots.
“Why’d you bolt the door?” Theron asked.
With his back to her, Titus let the fur fall, revealing thick muscular legs and a tight, round behind. She was disappointed when he picked up a robe and slipped it over his head. “Haven’t you heard the news?”
“Just that the king sent an emissary.” Theron saw her, and his jaw dropped. He elbowed Qu
in hard in the ribs.
“What? Oh. Oh. Kyria!” With one boot only half unlaced, Quin left a trail of mud and snow as he stomped across the room to her.
She stumbled to her feet and into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and burying her face in his neck. He carried her to the hearth.
“You’re tracking mud everywhere,” Titus grumbled.
“What does that matter?” Quin stroked her hair, kissing her temple. “Kyria has finally come to us.” He took her face in his hands. “Say you’ve finally agreed to marry us. Say that’s why you’re here.”
Quin could have ripped her heart from her chest and stomped on it, and it would’ve had the same effect. Not since losing Alexi had she felt such overwhelming sorrow. “I wish that’s why I was here. I’m so sorry.”
“She never knew about our offer,” Titus grumbled.
Quin looked at her as if she’d just kicked his puppy. “But your parents—”
“Lied.” She was ashamed and angry with her parents. They’d obviously cared nothing for her happiness.
“Then why are you here?” Theron asked icily.
Titus clasped Theron’s shoulder. “You should sit down for this.”
Theron dragged a chair to the fire. He straddled it, staring intently at her. “What’s happened?”
She looked to Titus for support.
“She’s wed to King Milas’s son, the new king,” Titus grumbled. “He overthrew his father last week.”
“Fuck.” Jumping up, Theron kicked the chair over and stomped to the mantel, clutching it with white knuckles. She wondered if he’d pull it down as her uncle had.
“Kyria, say it isn’t true,” Quin said.
No longer feeling worthy of his affection, she scooted off him. “I wish it wasn’t. I wish I’d known about your offer.”
“Were you forced to marry him?”
When Quin draped a fur around her shoulders, it took all of her willpower not to break down and cry. She’d married their enemy, and he was being so kind to her. “I don’t want to discuss my marriage.”
