The Queen's Bargain

by Anne Bishop

  “I wasn’t wondering, but that’s good to know. So you’re here because . . .”

  “You need a second opinion. I’m here because of you, Jillian, and the little prick who was feeling her up in public. I might like him for being so ballsy. It’s not quite like whipping out his cock and pissing on your boots, but it’s close.” She waited a beat. “I heard you choked the shit out of him.”

  “Nah.” Lucivar dismissed that with a wave of his hand. Then he considered. “Did choke the piss out of him.”

  She started to laugh, then realized he was serious. Shit shit shit. “Why did you do it?”

  Lucivar shook his head. “You’ll be influenced by what I say and will no longer provide an impartial second opinion.”

  Well, Hell’s fire, he was serious about that too. “You and Jillian. Was anything said that can’t be forgiven?”

  He shook his head. Didn’t even hesitate. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “All right, then. I’m going to go talk to Jillian and arrange a time when she and I can meet with this young Warlord.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Feeling wary, Jillian eyed Surreal SaDiablo. Not only was Surreal a Gray-Jeweled witch, but she was Daemon Sadi’s wife—and his second-in-command. She was also half Dea al Mon, which meant she was skilled with a knife.

  “Why do you want to meet Dillon?” she asked.

  “Do you like him?” Surreal asked in turn.

  “Yes.”

  “You want to spend time with him?”

  Jillian nodded. She wasn’t sure Dillon would want to get anywhere near her again, but just the thought of him still filled her stomach with butterflies.

  “Then I, as the intermediary, need to meet him so that I can form my own opinion.”

  “What if you agree with Prince Yaslana?”

  “Then you’re out of luck. But if I don’t agree with him . . .” Surreal leaned toward Jillian, and there was a wicked twinkle in her gold-green eyes. “Why him? What is it about him that makes this so important to you?”

  “He’s so pretty!” Jillian felt her face heat. She hunched her shoulders. “You think that’s stupid.”

  “I’m married to a man who is so beautiful, women stop on the street and stare at him, and if he were to give them even the mildest look of encouragement, they would follow him around like he was a juicy steak and they were starving puppies. So I can appreciate why a woman would be attracted to a man because he’s pretty.”

  She called me a woman, Jillian thought. She understands. “It’s not just that.” She was testing an emotional cliff edge, not sure the ground would hold, not sure she would be able to get out of the way if the ground crumbled beneath her and started a rockslide. “He’s smart and has a proper education and he reads all these books and knows social etiquette and how to do more than country dances, and he makes me feel . . .”

  No. She couldn’t talk about how he made her feel. Not yet.

  “First kiss?” Surreal asked.

  She shook her head. “Tamnar and I did a little kissing.” Kisses that had barely broken Lucivar’s rule.

  “But Dillon is the first to give you a lover’s kiss?”

  She nodded. Those kisses had definitely broken the rule. Not something she would say to anyone.

  “You didn’t feel what you wanted to feel when Tamnar kissed you? And you feel that way when Dillon kisses you?”

  “Yes.”

  At least, she had felt that fluttery excitement until Dillon had thrust his tongue in her mouth as if letting him do it once a few days ago meant he could keep doing it anywhere and anytime. And yesterday, his hand on her breast had hurt, changing the pleasure of seeing him into uneasiness when he wouldn’t stop. But if her moontime had started an hour earlier, she wouldn’t have gone to the market and she wouldn’t have seen him while she was feeling so tender, and he wouldn’t have hurt her.

  Surreal smiled. “Then this is what we’ll do. From what Marian told me, tomorrow is still a quiet home day for you, so write a note to Dillon and invite him to join us at the Sweet Tooth the day after tomorrow at three o’clock. Do you know the place? It’s a cake shop located in the aristo part of Riada and is supposed to have the very best treats.”

  “That place is expensive.” Yaslana had taken her and Nurian there for her birthday last year. She’d been impressed by the pretty, delicate decor that was in keeping with the intricately decorated cakes. And while she hadn’t seen the actual bill that had been eased onto the table, she had seen the number of gold marks Yaslana had left on the table to pay for the outing.

  “I imagine it’s the kind of place Lord Dillon visits all the time.” Surreal stood. “Now let’s see what you have in your wardrobe that would be appropriate for an afternoon outing.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Lucivar stared at Surreal and wondered how he had allowed himself to be cornered this way. “You’ve arranged an outing with the prick-ass. Not just a meeting, an outing.”

  “Yes,” Surreal replied with maddening calm. “The three of us—meaning me, Jillian, and the prick-ass—are going to the Sweet Tooth for coffee and cakes. A perfectly respectable public place.”

  “Why there?”

  “It’s pretty?”

  He prowled behind his desk and snarled, “Pretty isn’t the same as good. You know why they make the cakes look so fancy? So you won’t notice the damn things are dry and don’t have much taste.”

  He needed to fly. He needed a fight. He needed to tear into someone who wouldn’t—couldn’t—be hurt, who could handle not just the temper but the power. Mother Night, how he missed his sister at times like this. Jaenelle Angelline could have fought him into the ground, slammed strength against strength until he could put what he understood instinctively into words.

  His beloved sister and Queen wasn’t here, hadn’t been for a lot of years now.

  But Surreal was here, and she didn’t back down either.

  He shot her a hostile look. “Daemon wouldn’t sit down in a place like that, no matter how many aristos filled the tables.”

  “Of course he would, for the same reason you did—to please someone else. And if he shared your opinion about the cakes, he would look around for another place that had the same exterior feel but served better food. Something you might want to look into before you take someone out for the next special occasion. Doesn’t have to be in Riada, you know. There are plenty of cities in Askavi where you could go to the theater or have a fancy meal. You could use a Coach to ride the Winds so no one’s dress gets rumpled during the journey.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Love you too, sugar.” She studied him. “Had you met Dillon before the moment when you were choking him?”

  “No.” As far as he was concerned, that was a serious tactical error on the boy’s part.

  “Then this little outing will be very interesting.”

  TWENTY

  Dillon studied his reflection in the mirror and nodded, satisfied that he would make a good impression on Lady Surreal SaDiablo.

  “You don’t know that family,” Terrence said, worrying a button on his jacket until it hung by a thread.

  “Do you?” Dillon turned away from the mirror and focused on his cousin, curious. He’d never met an Eyrien until he saw Jillian at the lending library and decided she was the answer to his future.

  “Only by reputation. I’ve seen Prince Yaslana around the village, but I’ve never spoken to him. Dillon, Eyriens are a warrior race, and even among them, Yaslana is a law unto himself. He isn’t someone you want to cross. They say he slaughtered an entire army of Eyriens once when they turned against him and tried to take over the valley.”

  He could believe that. What he couldn’t believe was the way Yaslana exploded over him being friendly with a girl who worked for the man’s w
ife. Jillian’s sister was a Healer, and that gave her good social standing, but they weren’t aristos. Unless Jillian was an unacknowledged daughter, he couldn’t figure out why Yaslana paid so much attention to the hired help.

  Until he received Jillian’s note, he’d thought his efforts had been wasted. Yaslana’s display of temper had been too public for him to try again with another girl anywhere in this valley. Thank the Darkness he was being given another chance.

  “And no one even dares whisper anything about Yaslana’s brother,” Terrence added.

  “Who is married to the Lady who invited me to this outing?” Dillon brushed nonexistent lint from his sleeve. Older women usually looked favorably on a young man who paid attention to them and made them believe they were interesting—a sentiment that would have earned him a reprimand if he’d still been training to serve as an escort in a court. Oh, he wouldn’t aim too much attention in Lady SaDiablo’s direction. Just enough for her to think favorably about him handfasting with Jillian.

  “Why are you so focused on this Eyrien girl?” Terrence asked.

  “Because I like her.” That realization surprised him. He did like her. More important, she liked him and listened to him with a shining and apparent belief that he was wonderful and intelligent and educated. He could see himself living with her for the year of a handfast and enjoying the experience of being both lover and mentor.

  What surprised him even more, he could see himself living in Riada for a year. Terrence had turned out to be a lively companion, if a little shy, and his parents had been gracious about having a distant relation show up on their doorstep, looking to visit for a few weeks.

  Until the collision with Yaslana, he had felt safe here in a way he hadn’t felt safe since Lady Blyte and her family had set out to ruin him. Even before he’d met Jillian, he’d begun thinking of what sort of work he could do in order to stay in Riada for a while.

  Of course, now living here with Jillian would mean bumping up against Yaslana for that year. He’d never dealt with a man who thought killing someone was more expedient than handing that person an envelope of gold marks to encourage that person to go away.

  “Everything will work out,” Dillon said. “You’ll see.”

  “You don’t know that family,” Terrence said again. “You don’t know him.”

  No, he didn’t. But he was about to find out everything he could over coffee and cakes.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jillian was right about the young Warlord. He was certainly pretty. Brown hair leaning toward red complemented the green eyes and the skin that had received just enough sun to look healthy instead of pasty. He was trim and moved with confidence, but the trimness came from youth rather than the work a man put in to toning his muscles, and that made her wonder what he’d look like with his shirt off. She didn’t think he would be quite so appealing without his clothes.

  Superficially, he reminded her of Rainier, the Warlord Prince who had been her companion for decades. They had been friends who had loved each other and had shared a house, but they hadn’t been lovers. Yes, similar coloring and a graceful way of moving reminded her of Rainier, but there was something about this boy that lightly scratched her temper.

  Maybe she was a bit influenced by Lucivar’s dislike of the young man. Or maybe it was the hint of something in his psychic scent that made her study him like a Warlord Prince’s second-in-command—or like an assassin assessing her prey.

  Yes, he was definitely pretty, and he knew it. Surreal watched the way he smiled at the somewhat attractive girl waiting tables—and the way he smiled at the beautiful girl working behind the counter, taking care of customers who wanted to bring home a treat. Something going on between those two? No. At least not yet. But the beautiful girl was signaling quite clearly that she would like more than a smile and a bit of flirting from him.

  Would Lord Dillon have responded differently if he hadn’t been meeting her and Jillian that day?

  Then Jillian saw him and lit up, a flower opening for the sun. And the smile he turned on Jillian when he noticed her standing in the doorway . . . She’d expected a calculated smile, but the boy seemed genuinely pleased to see the girl. A point in his favor.

  “This is my lucky day,” Dillon said, getting to his feet as they walked over to the table. “I get to sit with two beautiful women.”

  That, however, sounded like every man she’d met who wanted to ingratiate himself enough to ask for a favor—usually a favor that required some assistance from her husband.

  “Lord Dillon, this is Lady Surreal SaDiablo. She’s visiting from Dhemlan.”

  Surreal held out her right hand. She had chosen to wear the ring and pendant that held her Birthright Green Jewel. Being one rank darker than his Opal Jewel, it wouldn’t make him as cautious as seeing her Gray. And she didn’t want him cautious; she wanted to let him play his game—if he was, in fact, playing a game.

  Dillon bowed over her hand, almost, but not quite, touching his lips to her skin. When he looked up, she saw his anxiety, quickly hidden.

  She’d seen that look plenty of times before, but usually from young men when they were testing their training in a social setting: Am I making a good impression? Am I sufficiently pleasing? In a court, it was understood that men Dillon’s age were practicing and that the witches in the court would offer gentle correction when required or acknowledgment of lessons well learned.

  Had he received formal training to serve in a court? If he had, why wasn’t he trying for a position in a small court where he could acquire some polish and experience? Had he been wounded in some way during the training and was now too damaged either emotionally or physically to serve in a court?

  Why invest so much time on a girl Jillian’s age?

  “I’m delighted to have this opportunity to meet Jillian’s friend,” Surreal said once they were seated.

  He winced at her choice of words, but he was smart enough not to claim to be something more.

  The somewhat attractive girl approached their table and handed out menus that were written in a script with so many curlicues it was almost impossible to make out the words. Surreal knew ornate writing. Saetan had never written anything in any other way. But the flourishes that had been natural for him never interfered with a person’s ability to read the message.

  “We’ll have the variety platter—the large one,” Dillon said. “And three coffees?” Now he looked at Surreal and Jillian.

  “Sounds lovely,” Surreal replied. Was there a reason he had placed the order before she had a chance to look at the menu?

  “My treat,” Dillon said, giving her a smile that made her itch to call in her stiletto. His smile, his manners, made her think of someone singing just a little off-key—nothing deliberately malicious but still grating.

  “That’s not necessary,” she said. “Meeting here was my idea.”

  “I insist.”

  She inclined her head, noting how Jillian looked at him, as if offering to pay were the most brilliant thing a boy could do.

  The platter of cakes and the coffee arrived. Dillon included her in the conversation, but the effort was heavy-handed. Not that Jillian noticed. Then again, when he focused on the girl, he sounded at ease. It was like watching someone sliding on ice—moments of grace followed by flailing limbs. It made her think again of young men trying out social skills and revealing their lack of experience. It would seem Lord Dillon’s polish was still superficial, and that made her wonder why it was still superficial.

  Surreal took a sampling of the cakes on the platter—nothing excessive and less than a third. Jillian, following her example, made different choices but took the same number. After a moment, Dillon took the same amount.

  She wasn’t trying to read his thoughts, because that would be a serious breach of the Blood’s code of honor. But emotions flowed beyond a person’s inne
r barriers. Some people were better at self-control and concealing their feelings, or stood so deep in the abyss their feelings couldn’t be read. This Warlord had neither the power nor the control, and the flash of annoyance that followed her taking the selection of cakes made her wonder what game he was really playing—and what role he thought Jillian filled in that game.

  Then he seemed to shrug off the annoyance and entertained them with talk about books he had read and plays he had seen.

  “I saw Lord Beron in a play recently,” Dillon said. “He’s worked his way up to second male lead and was quite good in this new part.” He nodded sagely. “Quite good.”

  “We go to see him whenever one of his plays comes to the theater in Riada,” Jillian said.

  “I doubt he’ll be playing small theaters like the one in Riada for much longer. When we had dinner after his last performance, he hinted that he’ll have the male lead in the next production.”

  “Really?” Surreal put a seed of doubt in her voice. “That seems a bit presumptuous, since he hasn’t auditioned for the role yet.” She gave Dillon a puzzled look, as if she wasn’t quite smart enough to understand him. “I’m sure if Beron was on the threshold of such a significant step in his career, he would have mentioned it to my husband. After all, Prince Sadi is Beron’s legal guardian, and the Prince also had dinner with Beron recently.” She took a sip of coffee. “Since he knew I was coming to Ebon Rih, I’m surprised the Prince didn’t mention you. He makes it his business to know about all of Beron’s friends, so he would know that you’re currently staying in Riada.”

  “We’re not friends, exactly,” Dillon said hurriedly. “More like acquaintances who have some friends in common.”

  “But you had dinner together.” She didn’t look at Jillian. The girl still looked at Dillon as if he were the yummiest cake in the shop—which she could believe, having tasted one of the cakes on her plate—but there was a hint of bafflement under the adoration. Good.