When she’d bathed, she found that Charrisa had laid out a sleeping gown for her. “Master Nigel thought you might want to rest before dinner.”
Khalia was a little surprised, but the plain fact was that she was worn to the bone from the trek and the idea was a welcome one. When Charrisa had helped her to don the gown, she climbed into the bed gratefully and slept until Charrisa woke her to dress for dinner.
Damien met her at the foot of the stairs. Dismissing Charrisa, he escorted her to the dining room. Nigel was nowhere in sight. Thinking he must be delayed in arriving, Khalia didn’t comment on it as Damien helped her into her seat at the table. She realized then that the table was only set for two. It seemed strange that they would be dining alone.
“You are beautiful this evening, your highness.”
Khalia was pleased with the compliment. Charrisa had evidently spent the time while she’d been sleeping cleaning and pressing the clothes that Damien had packed for her. When the servant had awakened her, she’d had an outfit laid out that consisted of and emerald green band that covered her breasts, tying at her shoulder blades and around her throat; a matching swatch of fabric to, mostly, cover her genitals; and a sheer shirt that tied just below her waist on one side. “Cleanliness becomes me,” she said jokingly.
He chuckled, but shook his head. “A queen accepts such compliments graciously … and there will be many. Not only are you truly beautiful, but there will be those who try to ingratiate themselves with you.”
Khalia sighed, her good humor vanishing. “I’m familiar enough with insincerity and lies, thank you. I appreciate the warning, but it really isn’t necessary … Why is your brother not joining us?” she added, to soften the shortness of her retort.
Damien frowned. “We have need of eyes and ears at the court. He has gone to meet with Samala to see what has been discovered since the attempt on your life. My younger brother, Basil will join them later, and bring word.”
Khalia frowned, turning her attention to her meal. “Who is Samala?”
“He was your grandfather’s chief advisor. He is old now, but still active at court … and his loyalty to your family is unquestionable.”
“My grandfather?” Khalia echoed, dismayed. “He must be ancient by now!”
Damien shrugged. “As I said, he is old, but he is still sharp … and he is the only one at court at the moment that I felt it safe to trust. I have no more qualms about his devotion to you that my own.”
Khalia’s heart skipped a beat, but disappointment followed as the realization sank in that he was speaking in a political sense. Nodding, she focused on her meal. “An advisor and a council member are not the same thing?” she asked after a while, not because she was particularly interested in the workings of the government of Atar, but because she was uncomfortable with the silence.
Damien shook his head. “The members of the council are nobles of Atar who represent the people. They act as a … balance to the Regent’s powers. His advisors are there to keep him informed so that the Regent, or King, can make decisions based upon facts rather than hearsay, or whim.”
“So … this isn’t a total monarchy? The ruler is not all powerful?”
Damien flushed. “The council was set up in the time of King Caracus’ father. We had felt no need for a council in Queen Shamara’s reign. She was a just and benevolent queen. When her son took the throne … he abused his power. It was … necessary. As queen, you may disband the council, if it is your wish to do so. The people would not rebel.”
“But they would’ve rebelled if any of the male rulers had tried to disband them, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
Khalia thought it over and found it almost amusing. “A queen could be just as stupid, self-centered and abusive to her subjects as a king,” she pointed out.
“You would not,” he said with conviction.
Pleasure welled inside her at the compliment. She’d never been particularly comfortable with compliments, however, and cast around in her mind for another subject.
“This place seems strangely thin of company for such a large holding.”
Damien frowned. “This is a secret fortress below ground. It was built during the reign of Imarthia the terrible, son of Queen Shamara. My family has improved and expanded upon it many times since then. It is situated below the fortress that guards Nigel’s least significant holding. I had planned to take you to his main seat, but I thought this best … under the circumstances.”
Khalia’s brows rose. “There is that much danger …even here?”
They’d finished their meal. Damien rose and moved behind her chair, pulling it out for her as she stood. “Until we have uncovered the extent of the rebellion … yes,” Damien said as he escorted her from the dining room and toward the stairs once more. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and Khalia turned to look at him questioningly. “There is also your personal situation. Until you have chosen a mate, bulls will be drawn to fight for your favor. This will intensify to a dangerous level when you once more approach the time of peak fertility.”
Chapter Twelve
Khalia sent him a startled look, feeling blood flash into her cheeks hotly before it receded. “You know very well that I find that offensive. Lower animals might behave in such a way, but it’s inconceivable that educated, intelligent beings would behave like… like beasts.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we are not so civilized as those of that other world, but all creation feels the need to spawn … Some perhaps more …intensely than others, but just the same….” He frowned. “There is something … unique in you that I have sensed in no other. It disturbs me. I have wondered if I should yield my position as your guardian to someone less … susceptible to your charms, for I cannot think rationally much of the time and I fear … I know my guard suffers for it.”
There could be no doubt of what he was referring to and still she was reluctant to speak of it. She didn’t want him to abandon her to someone else’s care, however. “I’m not so sure that would be helpful …leaving someone else to protect me …,” she said slowly, feeling her face redden once more.
He frowned thoughtfully. “I’ll admit I’m reluctant to do so.” He smiled wryly. “But my judgment cannot be trusted with you.”
Khalia studied him uncomfortably for several moments and finally took the plunge. “I don’t know if you really can tell, but my cycle has started again.”
He stared at her blankly. “Cycle?”
Khalia sighed. “I told you I …we didn’t come in season. My cycles are monthly … every month … every twenty eight days it begins all over again.”
Damien looked appalled. “This is not possible,” he said slowly.
“It is possible. It is true. Why would I make up something like that?”
“I thought I had imagined it.” He shook his head. “This complicates matters dangerously. It multiplies the chances of detection of our movements tremendously.”
After a moment, he lifted her hand and saluted the back of it. “Sleep, sheashona. I will give some thought to what must be done to protect you.”
Khalia watched him stride across the hall and shut himself into a room across from the dining room. Finally, she turned and ascended the stairs. Charrisa was waiting for her in the room and Khalia allowed the woman to help her ready herself for bed and dismissed her.
Late as it was, she found she wasn’t tired, no doubt because of the nap she’d taken earlier.
It wasn’t entirely because of the nap, however, and she knew it. The truth was, it hadn’t taken more than the one incident to convince Khalia that the males of this world had a sixth sense when it came to the female reproductive cycle. Despite her nasty remarks about their animalistic behavior, she knew the dragon folk were at the mercy of instincts developed specifically for their species. For whatever reason--probably the longevity of the species--they had limited opportunity to reproduce and it was understandable that their mating practi
ces would reflect that in the intensity of the hunt and the ferocity of competition between the males for fertile females, particularly since it seemed there were far more male than female offspring. From the things that Damien had told her, that seemed indisputable, despite the fact that she’d had little opportunity to observe it for herself.
She wasn’t angry and disgusted so much as she was hurt. She’d always considered herself a modern, independent woman. She’d felt no burning need to find a husband in her old life. She thought she might have been perfectly content to remain a spinster, until or unless she found a man who had the ability to change her mind. She certainly wouldn’t have considered marrying merely to prove her attraction to the opposite sex … or because it was expected.
Damien had changed her mind. As often as he irritated her, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else or wanting to. She was not a slave to her instincts.
The problem was, he was so resistant to the notion of choosing her that she couldn’t help but feel that the only thing that drew him to her at all was the instincts he had so much trouble controlling. She wanted more than that. She wanted the sort of bond that she’d sensed between him and his brother, unconditional love. The fact that she’d never had it, in any form, made it all the more desirable.
Despite her strong sense of independence, she had never had any respect for the wild young women who called themselves flappers and no desire to follow in their footsteps. She’d always considered that her morals were above reproach, but she knew better now. Even knowing she would never be completely satisfied with less than everything, she would be perfectly willing to accept Damien as her lover if that was all he was willing, or able, to give her.
The problem lay in convincing him.
And then there was the other little drawback. She was not a seductress. She had virtually no experience with men at all, and none at all in trying to entice a man. Her experience was limited to rebuffing unwanted advances. If strolling around one daily the next thing to naked didn’t push a man over the edge, exactly what would it take to do so?
* * * *
Damien paced the study restlessly, trying to cool the fire in his mind sufficiently to think clearly. As often as he had faced the temptation of seducing Khalia into taking him as her lover, he had managed to fight the lure with the certainty that it would be the death of him. In his heart, he knew he would never be able to give her up once he had taken that step, and he also knew he would have no choice once she became queen and selected her mate.
As time wore on, that last thread of sanity had worn thinner and thinner and presented less of a deterrent. For days, he had been wavering, knowing that the longer he stayed with her the greater the chance that he would reach the point where nothing else mattered but having her.
Now that he knew of the threat to her, he’d begun to see it as his duty to protect her and he couldn’t decide whether it was actually a logical conclusion or if the knowledge had so neatly aligned with his desire that it had succeeded in pushing him over the edge into insanity.
Once he had marked her as his own, though, he knew few would challenge his possession. There would no longer be the danger of bulls vying for her attention.
Her assertion that this was a monthly occurrence made it all the more dangerous … for both them … for her if he did not take her … for him if he did and succeeded in siring a child on her.
He could have been more comfortable with his conclusions if he had been able to put some distance between them so that he could think more clearly. He knew, however, that that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t leave her unprotected, and leaving the secret fortress would increase the chance that he would be spotted and she would be found by those bent on assuring that the power of the realm remained as it was.
Finally, in desperation, he left the study and descended into the dungeon. It wasn’t much of a compromise, but it was all that he could allow himself. He found that even such a little distance helped. After pacing the dungeon like a caged beast for the better part of two days, he realized that, as neatly as need fit with desire, it was no less true and it was not something he could ignore only because he knew it meant almost certain death.
If his queen had sent him into battle, he would not have questioned it. He would have gone even with foreknowledge that his life was forfeit. It was his duty to die for his queen if necessary.
The logic of his conclusions was no more questionable, whatever his personal desires. He must protect her by whatever means necessary. He could not allow her a choice in the matter, or apprise her of the situation and allow her to make the decision. He knew her well enough by now to know that she would not willingly sacrifice him to save herself.
He would not allow her to chose another to sacrifice in his place. His loyalty to his future queen did not extend that far.
* * * *
Khalia was furious … and truth be told, more miserable than she could recall being in her life. It was almost as if Damien could read her mind. No sooner had she decided to seduce him than he had promptly locked himself away from her in the dungeon. She’d had no company but her own and Charrisa’s for days and she was sick of both.
If she’d had something to do it wouldn’t have been so bad, but she was as much a prisoner here as she’d been in the other fortress. Aside from books and needlework, she didn’t even have anything to entertain her. She supposed she should have been grateful for that little bit. Charrisa had gone to a great deal of trouble even producing that much to entertain her, sacrificing her own basket of needlework. The books Charrisa had managed to find had been more dull, if possible, even than the needlework. Most of her time had been spent pacing, bathing, eating and sleeping. She’d explored the secret fortress, but that hadn’t consumed more than a few hours of her time.
She’d finally come to the conclusion that she was ready to face whatever was in store for her at Caracaren. Nigel’s defection to ferret out the conspiracy had neatly removed any possibility of finding an ally willing to take her home. She’d more than half expected that Damien would decide that she was more trouble than she was worth when she admitted that, unlike the females of this world, she was ‘in season’ all the time. Instead, he’d defected. She was afraid it was just a prelude to a complete defection, that he would hand her over to someone else to guard.
She supposed, if she’d been an optimist, that prospect wouldn’t have seemed so grim. There was some possibility that she might be able to convince her next jailer/protector to take her back to the passage to her own world.
She couldn’t convince herself of it, unfortunately. She thought it was far more likely that she would find herself in the hands of a lesser man, one not as devoted to queen and country and duty … one who might force her to accept his attentions.
She didn’t suffer any illusions that rebuffing would dissuade a dragon male in the heat of mating or that she was physically capable of enforcing her reluctance.
Growing weary of pacing, she moved to the vanity and sat down. Lifting the brush, she raked the tangles from her hair and began braiding it. As she looked up to search the dressing table for something to secure the ends, she saw Damien’s reflection in the mirror behind her.
A shock wave went through her. She felt the blood rush from her face only to flood back with a vengeance. Without a word, he lifted the braid from her suddenly lax fingers and began working the locks of hair free while she stared at him mutely, her mind completely chaotic.
He smoothed her hair when he’d finished and finally took her hand, drawing her to her feet. Dry mouthed, Khalia watched as he lifted her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back and then turning it over and pressing his lips to her palm. A tingle of sensation vibrated along her arm as she felt the warmth of his mouth on the sensitive flesh of her palm.
When he lifted his head once more, he merely stared at her, as if waiting. Confused, hesitant, Khalia lifted her free hand to his cheek, stroking her fingers over it. He was clean shaven, but
there lingered a very faint roughness of stubble from his beard. The contrast intrigued her.
Truth be told, everything about him fascinated her. He was a study in contrasts. Even in his human form, he had the strength of three men, and yet he was amazingly gentle. He was capable of behaving with purely animalistic savagery one moment and like the most refined of gentlemen the next. He was handsome enough to be a young god, perfect enough to make her acutely conscious of every tiny flaw she possessed. Yet he had a way of looking at her that made her feel like the most beautiful, desirable woman in creation, and if that were not enough, his intelligence and his strong sense of honor and duty commanded absolute faith and respect.
By rights, he should have been pompous, overbearing and conceited. She could have hated him then. Instead, every flaw was balanced with a virtue, and she could neither hate him nor dismiss him as being too good to be true and thus, unbelievable, untrustworthy .. a fraud waiting to be discovered.
He closed his eyes as she explored his cheek and jaw with her fingers, tensing noticeably. Doubt shook her. Had she mistaken his intentions? Had she spent so many nights hoping and dreaming that she’d only imagined his overtures suggested a desire for intimacy? Embarrassment climbed into her cheeks while she tried to think of a way to gracefully withdraw and still save face.
He stopped her when she would have withdrawn. Placing a hand over hers, he held it to his cheek and lifted her other hand to his lips again, then moved up her arm, kissing the pulse point at her elbow before he placed her hand on his shoulder and encircled her waist with his hands, pulling her closer.
Khalia swallowed, staring up at him wide eyed in sudden anxiety, uncertain of how to proceed. She realized she needed to know where she stood, however, and as difficult as it was, she moistened her lips to speak. “You want to be my lover?”
His features tightened. “With every fiber of my being … as long as you, and the gods, will allow,” he said huskily.
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