Warlord's Wager

by Gwynn White

  So transfixed by her beauty, he barely heard her. He remembered the camera and that Axel would watch this footage of Lynx exposing herself to him. It gave him the strength to pull his eyes away from her perfect blond mound. “Your fealty should be to me—your husband and emperor.”

  “Your claim came too late. The day I won my ostrich egg, I pledged my fealty to the Norin throne. It bound my spirit to the Winds, recording that promise in the sky. So, even if I wanted to, I can’t break my oath.” Lynx sauntered toward him, her eyes flaring with—something. It wasn’t lust or longing.

  Predatory. That is what she is. It was no secret to him that she wanted to conceive the child of prophecy.

  Lukan took a hasty step back, conscious that he was almost bursting from his trousers. “This is ridiculous.” His voice croaked with want. He fought to bring it under control. “Since when does a vassal throne take precedence over allegiance to the emperor and the empire?”

  Lynx stopped in front of him, her naked glory pressed up against his body. “I cannot swear allegiance because my loyalty lies with Dmitri and all he offers this planet,” she said with casual temerity. She caught a curl of his hair with her finger, which she twirled and then kissed.

  He wanted to pull away.

  “How can I possibly stand in front of witnesses and say I will defend you and this empire with my life when I am committed to a curse that will see you and it destroyed?”

  Her honey-sweet voice snared him, driving him crazy with need. In his haze of lust, the content of her whispered words lost all meaning, all relevance. She was naked and kissing his hair. That was all that mattered.

  Lukan’s mouth opened and closed as she rubbed against him.

  Like a distant rumble, he heard himself say, “Then, today you will die. That is the penalty for those who fail to swear.” The words, so harsh, made no sense when she was in his arms, her breath warm and sweet against his cheek.

  “Come to bed with me,” Lynx whispered. “Fealty and allegiance can wait.” She lifted his hand from her waist and laid it on her breast.

  In some distant recess of his mind, he knew he should pull away, but she was offering him everything he had ever wanted from her. Warm, silky, but firm, her breast was all he dreamed it would be. And the curve of her buttocks . . . perfection.

  His head dipped to take her nipple in his mouth. Slowly, he edged her to the bed.

  Chapter 7

  Cool air pebbled Axel’s skin, delicious after the burning. The relentless heat that had held him captive had finally gone, leaving nothing but the bitter reek of vinegar and aloe. It hung over him like a mantle, cloying, nauseating.

  It was a simple discomfort. After the burning, nothing would ever pain him again.

  He stretched, then flinched at a stabbing in his back. Maybe he’d been too quick to dismiss all pain. He lay still, the side of his face pressed to the mattress, waiting for the wave to break.

  A rustle. Then something nudged his leg. “Hey, you moved. That means you’re awake. Open your eyes, you bastard, so I can stop fretting about you.”

  Stefan!

  Axel smiled. At least that didn’t hurt. “And have to see your ugly face? Do you think I’m stupid?” His voice croaked. No surprise. His mouth and throat felt as if he had spent the last week licking out bird cages.

  Water. He needed water.

  “Do you really want an answer to that?” Stefan shifted, then pushed something against Axel's mouth.

  Cold. Damp. A cloth. Axel sucked it eagerly, feeling a trickle of bitter liquid down his throat. He pulled away, gagging. Water, he wanted water. Maybe Stefan had some. That was worth opening his eyes for.

  Soft light, harsh as razors, bit into his eyeballs. He hissed in a breath and snapped his eyes closed. Underestimating pain was definitely not a good idea.

  “Steady. One thing at a time,” a voice he didn’t recognize said. Her accent reminded him of Lynx.

  Axel’s eyes shot wide open, and he jerked upright. “Lynx? Is she safe?”

  The girl grabbed his arm and touched his forehead. Dammit, with her blond hair and blue eyes, she even looked a little like Lynx. Only much younger.

  “Lynx?” he croaked again.

  “Sh,” the girl said gently. “If you move like that, you’ll break the stitching on your back.” She turned to Stefan. “His fever is down, but he’s still calling me ‘Lynx.’ He has a way to go yet before I’m happy.”

  He’d called this girl Lynx? He grimaced. That didn’t make sense. There was only one Lynx—the woman he would die for. Literally. The woman he now wanted to live for.

  Still, that answered a question. He was in Norin. Lynx must still be in Cian.

  With Lukan. If he harmed her . . .

  Another shock of pain, this time longing and fear, hit him. Nothing was more important than returning to Cian to protect her from Lukan.

  Axel tried to sit up again, more carefully this time. The girl—how many were there of her?—held him upright. He swayed, and his head swam. That he could cope with. It helped him ignore the throbbing in his back. And the need to vomit. Not to mention his parched throat.

  Axel tried to focus on Stefan but saw three of him. He picked the one in the middle, and slurred, “Did Lynx survive? Is she safe?”

  “Yes,” the three Stefans said. “I spoke to her when we first arrived here. Nothing since then, though.”

  Not good enough. Lynx was still in danger. Axel could feel it in every throbbing fiber. He writhed, pulling away from all the girls holding him so he could find the real Stefan to speak to. His friend would understand.

  “Please, Teal. Do something. He’s not ready to be awake,” the three Stefans said, their voices coming from a distant place.

  Axel wanted to protest, but his bone-dry tongue wouldn’t cooperate. A cloud of white floated toward his face. A sharp smell. He breathed in quickly just as the cloud engulfed his nose and mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Chapter 8

  Lukan’s tongue on her nipple made Lynx’s skin crawl. It took all her self-control not to shout expletives at him while blackening his eyes. He lay propped on his elbows on top of her, his legs straddling hers. She could feel the heat and pressure from his groin through his clothing.

  It stirred nothing in her.

  Where is the honor in trapping a man to conceive a child? she demanded of herself and the Winds.

  But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. To be free of her oath and to set the Dmitri Curse in motion, she had to have sex with this man. Cricket had promised her that the day she consummated her marriage, her son would be conceived—the boy who would destroy the empire that kept her and her people in bondage. Lukan had refused to touch her. That left only devious means, which betrayed everything she was, to get the job done. So, no matter how distasteful, or unbecoming, her seduction, it had to happen.

  Lukan’s mouth broke away from her breast, and his lips sought hers. Her body stiffened. Sex, she could endure. Kissing, not at all.

  I have to.

  He paused, his lips hovering above hers. She tugged on his hair, bringing his face down to hers. Feeling his hot breath against her skin, she opened her mouth to receive his tongue.

  Fire burned in Lukan’s eyes, and his ragged breath caught in his throat. Like a man starving, he devoured her mouth and then trailed kisses down her neck, to her breast, then back to her mouth. Moaning, he broke away. Wild hands grasped at the silver buttons on his waistcoat. His fingers fumbled. Lynx helped him rip the waistcoat and then his shirt apart. His trousers and boots followed. Casting them over his shoulder, he fell on her, knees between her legs.

  This was it, the way she would lose her virginity. It was not what she had planned for herself. In her girlhood fantasies, Heron would have been the man she shared this part of herself with. Then she met Axel . . .

  She froze.

  What would Axel say if he saw her now?

  She flushed and uttered a fervent prayer to t
he Winds that he would never learn of this betrayal of their love.

  No longer able—or willing—to be party to what she had begun, she craned her neck around Lukan, eyes locked on the scenes painted across her ceiling.

  Such extravagance was stupidly unnecessary, she thought, but for now, she was grateful for the red and gold birds painted above her. Their brutal wings looked as though they could beat a man to death, or each other.

  Perhaps that’s what they’re doing.

  Caught forever in a war over a sky that would never be big enough, each bird looked as angry and ferocious as the next. Their wings flared and their beaks parted in silent battle cries.

  Feathers floated through the air, and for a moment, she swore a blue one flitted right down and slid across her face.

  The birds are gold and red. Where did a blue feather . . . ?

  There it was. A tiny blue bird with a black beak battled across the ceiling. She was so small, Lynx hadn’t noticed her among the deadly gold and red beasts. Her beauty put all the others to shame. Iridescent blue wings soared through the air, her eyes locked on the target below her—the largest bird of all.

  The giant looked as though he could shred every bird in the air with his razor-sharp beak and thorn-tipped claws.

  The blue bird didn’t care. She knew the danger; she understood her fate. But her cause was bigger than any other on this ancient battlefield. She might be smaller and alone, but she was braver and stronger and more determined than any other. None of these birds went into this war knowing they were sacrificing everything. To them, this was a battle of equals, but to the little blue bird, this would be the end for her—and she knew it all too well.

  That didn’t stop her.

  If the bird was afraid, Lynx couldn’t tell. The brave little soul would fight with that same level of courage and selflessness until her last breath.

  Lynx’s dry eyes forced her to blink—and the little blue warrior disappeared.

  Breathing sharply, Lynx searched the ceiling for her. Her heart dropped when she didn’t find her.

  She was never there.

  Closing her eyes, Lynx listened to the faint sounds of the common birds outside her open window.

  And then a groan. A shudder. It pulled her back to the present.

  Lukan rested on his elbows, his chin pressed to his chest, sweaty hair brushing her face.

  He kissed her. His hot, wet tongue searched for hers. She pulled back, almost gagging. He broke away.

  “When will you want me the way I want you?” he pleaded, in a voice more desperate than any she had ever heard.

  Disdain was her only answer.

  He closed his eyes, his face a picture of misery and despair. Groaning, he tumbled off her and grabbed his clothes.

  Motionless, Lynx watched him fumble to dress. Buttons gone, silk and velvet ripped, never before had she seen him so disheveled. Or so unhappy. With a last look at her, he raced to the door. And vanished.

  Unable to bear another second in her tainted bed, Lynx jumped to her feet and ran to her bathroom. She gulped a drink of water, gargled, and spat. Anything to be rid of the taste of him.

  “Axel,” she breathed. “Think of him.” Firm lips, tongue sweet with lust and loving. Wanting her. Cherishing her. “I’m sorry, Axel. So, so sorry it wasn’t you.”

  She staggered to her bath and flicked on the tap. Not even an inch of water lapped the bottom, but she leaped in and splashed her body.

  A noise came from her bedroom.

  She looked up, panicked. Was he back? For more? She narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists, every muscle taut.

  This time he would have to fight for it.

  A light step across the carpet. A woman’s step.

  Tatiana.

  Lynx sank into herself, unable to believe her relief. She didn’t much like her lady-in-waiting, but Tatiana was certainly preferable to Lukan. She tracked Tatiana’s movements to the bed. Heard sheets rumple, then a pull. A tear. Was Tatiana stripping the bed?

  Of course. Proof for the world that the marriage had been consummated.

  More steps.

  This time away from the bed.

  The bathroom door creaked open, and Lynx bent her knees up and covered her breasts with her arm. She had been exposed enough for one day.

  Wordlessly, Tatiana and her elegant jewel-encrusted gown shimmered across the room. Lynx couldn’t read the expression on her lined face, an odd mix of sorrow, relief, and something else—solidarity? She recalled accusing Tatiana of willingly spreading her legs for Mott. Tatiana had retaliated by saying that, in time, Lynx would do the same for Lukan. How right she had been.

  Tatiana stood behind her, forcing Lynx’s head to swivel to keep her in view. A small knowing smile, and then firm hands gripped Lynx’s shoulders, kneading away at the knots in her muscles.

  In that instant, Lynx knew Tatiana understood. The biggest question was whether she knew about the Dmitri Curse.

  “She knows all,” a familiar voice said in Lynx’s head.

  Lynx jerked her head up to see an ethereal blond girl with gray eyes watching her.

  Tatiana started, too.

  Cricket, the dead Norin princess thumped her fist on her chest. “I salute you, Lynx of Norin. Your son is conceived. He will bear the name of the great constellation, Nicholas the Light-Bearer. Those brilliant stars once flew on the Norin flag, long before the Chenayan invasion. Your boy is ordained to change the world, restoring all to what it was before Norin was vanquished.”

  Cricket’s eyes tilted to Tatiana, frozen behind Lynx. “Lady Tatiana, mistress of an emperor, daughter of one of the Fifteen. When darkness threatens to expunge all light, you will bear witness to what happened here today. Guard this knowledge, share it wisely, for your lover’s son will stop at nothing to prevent this truth from prevailing.”

  Before Lynx or Tatiana could respond, Cricket vanished. After a moment’s silence, Tatiana’s fingers kneaded deeper into Lynx’s shoulders as if nothing epoch-changing had just happened.

  Finally, Lynx whispered, “How can you be so calm?”

  “Say nothing, Highness,” Tatiana whispered back. “The dead may speak unheard and unseen by cameras, but the living are not so fortunate.” A harder squeeze of Lynx’s shoulders. “We both know what we must do.” Tatiana handed her a towel.

  Lynx climbed out of the bath and wrapped it tightly around herself. “Thank you. I will manage the rest on my own. He will expect you today at the coronation.”

  Tatiana shook her head in the negative.

  Lynx raised a brow.

  “I can’t. Not after this.” Tatiana waved her hand to where Cricket had stood. “And I am not alone in my thoughts.” She leaned in and whispered, “Why not join me and young Malika in my apartment? She, too, has issues with a regime that allowed her brother to be shot to protect her friend. I will have a samovar for us, with chai. That is what you Norin drink, is it not? We can have our own quiet celebration.”

  Lynx stared at her crusty lady-in-waiting in amazement. Where had the bitter Tatiana gone? Perhaps it had all been an act to deflect suspicion of alliance. It was all that made sense.

  “I—I would like that. Very much.” Lynx remembered Lukan saying people who did not swear allegiance would die. “But is it safe? For all of us? Should we not leave, instead?” Even as she suggested leaving, she cringed inside.

  “And where would we go, my dear? I doubt we would make it past the wolves.”

  Stubborn relief flooded Lynx. It was backed up by fact. She had faced this problem before when she had thought about visiting Uncle Bear in Cian.

  Only now it was worse. The palace was stuck in the middle of the Heartland, thousands of miles from Norin. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, missing her feathers and braids. Just because they were gone didn’t mean she wasn’t a raider. Raiders fought on, regardless of the odds.

  Tatiana brushed her cheek with a ringed finger. “Whatever happens, you will be safe.”

/>   Lynx shot her a questioning look.

  “They—you know who I mean—will never let anything happen to you while you are—” Tatiana made a crude gesture with her hands that Lynx assumed meant pregnant.

  “But what about the two of you?”

  “Two women?” Tatiana scoffed with her familiar bitterness. “Such seemingly insignificant creatures in a vast cast of all-important men? Who will even notice?”

  “Felix.”

  “Malika is his daughter. He and I go back decades. Felix will do us no harm. Get yourself dressed.” Tatiana grunted. “I know you hate me doing that for you. And then come to my apartment.” Without waiting for an answer, she swept out of the room.

  Chapter 9

  Lukan careened through the passages and hallways of his palace, boots clutched in his arms, top button on his trousers gone, and waistcoat gapping. Thankfully, given the early hour, no one walked the halls other than patrolling guardsmen. The soldiers knew better than to stare at the palace residents they protected, no matter how ludicrous those residents looked.

  Lukan crashed into his apartment door. He flung it open. Boots tossed aside, he slammed it closed behind him and collapsed onto the floor. Tears coursed down his face, hot streams of regret and self-loathing. Using the balls of his hands, he kneaded them away. It barely stemmed the tide.

  Which was worse? Lynx rejecting him, or the conception of the Dmitri child?

  He didn’t know.

  The only certainty was that he had lost. What did it matter if he neutralized Axel, Felix, and Lynx if he had a son waiting in the wings to kill him?

  He clutched his knees, letting the tears drip down his nose. Only when his breathing faltered did he sniff. It didn’t help, so he wiped his nose and face on his sleeve. Just like he had done as a child recovering from his father’s beatings.

  “I’m not a child! I’m a grown man.” He leaped to his feet and half-strode, half-staggered across his room. The reflection in his huge ebony-framed mirror caught his eye.