Mastered By Love

by Tori Minard

  Before she could get him out of the country, however, she needed to have him released from prison. Take him to her own quarters, make sure he was in good health. Goddess. Dario was alive. Her heart began to skip and race and her palms grew damp. It had been so long since she’d seen him. So long since she’d thought she lost him forever.

  She straightened, lifting her chin. “Where is he now? Take me to him.”

  “Is that what you truly want?” Rosaria said with a skeptical expression. “He’s a dangerous man. If you give me some time, I can arrange for several more guards to be there for protection.”

  “Now, Rosaria.”

  The guard bowed her head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  The two women marched through the castle toward the prison. Tariza hadn’t been down there in quite some time. There hadn’t been a need.

  The prison was a dark, dank place seldom used except for the worst-behaved slaves. It was a place to break spirits, and bones. A place of despair.

  That Dario had been kept here, in this awful pit, for so long – it made her sick to think of him trapped in the darkness alone. He must have thought she didn’t want him. Maybe he even thought she’d been the one to send him here. She had to force herself not to run to him, to use cool and measured steps, as if he meant nothing to her.

  Her boots echoed on the rough flagstones as she followed Rosaria and her lantern down the narrow corridor, past one empty cell after another. They’d had Dario here for weeks. Weeks, and she hadn’t known about it. How could her mother, her sister, have done this to her?

  Rosaria stopped in front of the last cell in the row. She unlocked the door. It squealed loudly as it swung open.

  “Dario, there’s someone here to see you,” the guard said.

  There was no reply from inside the cell. Rosaria motioned her in, holding the lantern high. Both women entered the rank-smelling little room.

  The light fell on a man huddled in the corner, shaggy black hair covering his face. He had several days’ growth of beard and wore a ragged slave tunic, but she knew him. She would always know him.

  ***

  It was cold in Dario’s cell – it was always cold – yet he felt hot, sweaty, disoriented. A moment ago, he’d shivered with chills. He pushed the rough blanket off his shoulders. His arm hurt where he’d cut it.

  Pain was good. Pain reminded him of what was really important, of the debt he had to pay to Tariza. It reminded him why he was down here in this pit of hell.

  He didn’t know if he’d ever be done paying. He didn’t know if it was possible to make amends for what he’d done. Probably not. As sick as he was, he probably wouldn’t last much longer.

  In the corridor, footsteps. Two people coming toward him. He rested his forehead on his drawn up knees. He didn’t want to see them, whoever they were. He wanted to be alone.

  They would probably force the drug on him again and drag him upstairs to service some nameless woman.

  The door squealed open. Rosaria said something, but he didn’t hear her words. They rattled meaninglessly around the hard walls of the cell and made his head ache.

  “Dario?” said a second female.

  His breath caught. That voice – it sounded exactly like Tariza. But that wasn’t possible. She would never come down here to see him.

  He lifted his head and squinted into the bright light of Rosaria’s lantern. “Tariza?” he said, knowing it couldn’t be her.

  She couldn’t be real. He was imagining things again.

  The owner of the voice took a couple of halting steps toward him. “Goddess,” she whispered into the dark. “I thought you were dead.”

  She sounded so much like Tariza. If only it could be her. He could let her know how much he regretted what he’d done to her, ask for her forgiveness before he died.

  The unknown woman stopped right in front of him, crouched down and put her hand on his shoulder. She even smelled like Tariza. Dario reached out and touched her face, felt her smooth skin beneath his fingertips. So familiar.

  “Your Highness,” Rosaria said sharply, starting forward as if to intervene.

  “It’s all right. He won’t hurt me.” It was Tariza’s voice. It had to be.

  The guard stopped. Dario began to pant against the emotion rising in his chest. His fingers continued to travel over the woman’s face, her face. Tariza.

  “I’m dreaming,” Dario said.

  “No,” Tariza said. “You’re not dreaming. You’re awake.”

  Slowly he drew his thumb back and forth across the high ridge of her cheekbone. “You really are Tariza?”

  “Yes.” She laughed a little. “I’m here.”

  Dario stroked her again in wonderment. “You’re really here.” Then he frowned, remembering what they’d told him. “Why? Why did you come?”

  “To take you out of here, of course. I’m going to bring you to my quarters.”

  “Your Highness,” Rosaria protested. “He’s wild, untamed. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  Tariza lifted her head. “I want him in my quarters and that’s where I’ll have him. He won’t be servicing the court anymore. He’ll be mine.”

  Her voice was devoid of affection. She wanted him, but not as they were before. He was to be her slave, then. He bowed his head. It was justice and better than he deserved.

  “Thank you,” he said in a low voice.

  “There’s nothing to thank me for,” Tariza said. “You’re going to personally make up for everything you did to me.”

  They’d been right. She hated him. That hurt; yet if he could be with her, he could bear her hatred. As long as they were together, he could bear it.

  Rosaria cleared her throat. “Your Highness, I suggest you have a look at his arm.”

  “His arm?” Tariza said.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The guard came forward. She leaned down and grabbed Dario’s left arm, turning it to display his inner forearm where he’d cut himself.

  The lantern light showed all the markings he’d made on his skin, a pattern of linear welts, red and angry. The whole area looked swollen, the skin shiny and tight. It was infected; he knew that and until this moment he hadn’t cared.

  Tariza stared, frowning, at Dario’s face. “You carved my name into your arm?”

  “I belong to you.” His voice sounded rough, scratchy. He took her right arm, where he’d tattooed her. “Only you. Now we’re both marked.”

  “Goddess,” she whispered. “Oh, Dario.”

  “They can take me, but they can’t make me theirs. I belong to you.”

  “Take you?” She glanced up at Rosaria. “What is he talking about?”

  The guard shifted, her gaze not quite meeting Tariza’s. “The courtiers ... some of them have been using him. And I’ve heard the slaves ... have used him, too.”

  Her eyes widened. “Used him? You mean against his will?”

  “A slave has no will, Your Highness,” Dario said, flushing hotly. Surely she knew that.

  “Yes, that’s what I mean,” Rosaria said. “When I saw what he’d done to his arm, I knew I had to contact you. I hope I did the right thing.”

  “You did. Thank you. I will reward you. For now, though, I have to get him out of here. His arm is infected and needs doctoring.”

  Her hands trembled as she smoothed the hair from his face. “Who knew about this? My mother? Did she give the orders? Does Princess Lenora know?” She sounded furious, probably at being cheated of her chance to punish him.

  “They thought they were protecting you,” Rosaria said. “Avenging you.”

  “No-one asked whether I wanted to be protected or avenged.” Her voice shook. “If revenge was to be had, it ought to have been mine. They almost destroyed a person I ... someone in whom I have a personal interest.”

  He blinked. A personal interest. It’s better than no interest at all.

  Tariza fixed Rosaria with a gimlet-eyed stare. “You must not speak of this with anyone. Not one person.”

&n
bsp; “I will say nothing, Your Highness.”

  “Good. Come to my quarters this evening and I’ll have a reward for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For now, help me get Dario up there. I don’t think I can manage by myself.”

  He wasn’t a cripple or an infant. “I can walk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I walk every few days.” Every time some woman summoned him to one of the sex rooms.

  “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  He had to let go of her so she could stand up. It was difficult, releasing her when he wanted nothing more than to hold her for hours, but he did it.

  Tariza scrambled to her feet. Dario followed more slowly, his chains clanking. He stood, swaying a little from lack of food. Damn his weakness. She rested a gentle hand on his wrist, frowning. She was no doubt impatient with his slowness.

  “We have to leave the chains on for now,” she said.

  Dario nodded mutely. He’d expected to die with them on.

  She led the way from the cell, walking slowly. Rosaria brought up the rear, either to provide Tariza protection from him or to give the appearance of it. Was Tariza afraid of him, then? She hadn’t seemed afraid. She’d touched him.

  The slaves and servants of the household were accustomed to seeing him in the service corridors on his way to the sex rooms, but they hadn’t seen him in the main rooms and corridors with their thick, luxurious carpets and fine paintings. Every person they passed stared at him, some with open mouths.

  Tariza’s rooms had grand double doors and two armed guards – female, of course. The guards blinked when they saw him, exchanging bewildered glances. She gestured toward the doors and the guards opened them, bafflement still plain on their faces.

  The air in her room felt warm as a summer afternoon. A fire burned briskly on the hearth. Through the windows he saw the trees and shrubs of what looked like a walled garden, still bare and leafless in winter.

  “Thank you, Rosaria,” Tariza said. “I’ll handle it from here.”

  “Are you sure, Your Highness? It might not be safe.”

  Dario drew himself up in indignation. He would never harm Tariza.

  “We’ll be fine,” she said. “On your way down, send for the doctor and some food. Enough for two.”

  Rosaria bowed, her long black braid sliding over her shoulder. “Very well, Your Highness.”

  When they were alone, the door shutting out guards and idle passersby, Tariza threw her arms around him. “I didn’t know. They let me think you were dead.”

  What new trick was this? Did she mean to taunt him with their former closeness? He set his hands lightly at her waist, his body trembling at the contact. “You are well?”

  “I’m getting better.”

  He longed to touch her everywhere, but he restrained himself, keeping his hands where they were. “Were you injured in the carriage accident? I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “My arm was broken.”

  He groaned against the crown of her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t crash the carriage on purpose.”

  “No, but it wouldn’t have happened if not for me.”

  “Many things wouldn’t have happened if not for you.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  Tariza stepped back from him and he let his arms fall to his sides. She took him by the hand, leading him to a sitting area with a Concordian-blue couch and a couple of chairs in front of the hearth.

  She curled up on the couch. “Come and sit by the fire. Food will be here soon.”

  Dario settled stiffly on the carpet at her feet. Her hand rested on his head. God, her touch felt good, even through his shame. He closed his eyes, savoring the pleasure of it. But his grimy, oily head – which hadn’t been washed in days. They didn’t let him bathe unless a woman had demanded his services. She shouldn’t touch something so dirty.

  Dario flinched and pulled away. “My hair is filthy.”

  “Yes, it is. Didn’t they let you bathe?”

  “Not very often.” He fought the urge to look up at her face. “Will you feed me from your hand?”

  “No.” She sounded surprised. “I’ll give you your own plate.”

  “I’d like to take food from you,” he muttered. The Concordians had given him two stripes for every one Tariza had received, yet it wasn’t enough. He would do all the things she’d done during her time in Saturnios.

  “You would?”

  “Yes.” He rested his head on her knees. “It would be right.”

  She patted the cushion next to her. “Come up here with me. You can put your head in my lap.”

  No woman had invited him to sit or lay with her. They’d only used him and left him alone. He climbed onto the couch, his chains clanking and sliding around, banging into Tariza’s legs. She held them out of the way while he arranged his long body on the shorter sofa and laid his head in her lap. Her fingers threaded through his hair, so gently.

  Dario turned on his side and put his arm around her waist, holding her to him. His face pressed into her lower belly and for the first time since his capture, he felt true desire stirring within him. God, just to taste her again, to hear her moans.

  “You’re so thin,” she said, running her hand down his ribs. “Haven’t they been feeding you?”

  “Not much.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sounded genuinely distressed.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Did they – did they hurt you very badly?”

  “Two stripes for every one you received at my hand.”

  Her hand clenched in the fabric of his tunic. “You never striped me.”

  “No. But Mateo did.”

  “Take your shirt off and let me see.”

  She’d certainly recovered her autocratic ways. He smiled as he sat up and pulled off the tunic, turning his back so she could look. The marks must have faded by now, but perhaps looking at them would help her achieve a sense of justice.

  She gasped. Her fingers trailed lightly over the healing welts on his skin. “This is terrible.”

  “It’s not so bad anymore.”

  “It’s far more than twice what I received. What were they thinking to be so brutal? This is not the Concordian way.”

  Wasn’t it? She’d said she wanted to take out her enslavement on him, yet now she quibbled about the punishment her people had already given him. Her words made no sense.

  Behind them, the guards opened the doors. “Doctor Holla, Your Highness.”

  Dario glanced over his shoulder at the newcomer.

  The Queen’s private physician entered Tariza’s chambers with a regal sweep of the long coat she habitually wore over her Concordian trousers. Her dark hair, shot with silver, lay in a long Concordian braid that draped over her shoulder. Dario froze, his stomach turning to ice. It was her.

  “What can I do to help, Your Highness?” Holla stopped short as she rounded the sofa and her gaze fell on Dario. “Him!” Her shocked eyes met Tariza’s. “What is that barbarian doing in your quarters, Princess Tariza?”

  “He’s mine. I brought him here.”

  “Yours! But he –” The doctor flushed crimson.

  Could it be she felt shame for the way she’d treated him?

  Tariza laid a protective hand on Dario’s shoulders. “Mine. He has an infected injury I want you to treat.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to look at Holla. As she came closer, a wave of shamed heat washed over him, from his ragged tunic up his neck all the way to his hairline. His lips set in a hard line. Damn that woman.

  Holla sniffed. “Very well. But I have to protest at his presence here. He belongs in the prison.”

  “I disagree. Will you treat him or not?”

  “Yes, I’ll treat him.” The doctor set her bag next to the sofa. “Show me the injury.”

  He’d rather she didn’t touch him at all; howeve
r, he needed the infection tended and apparently Holla was the most qualified person. Dario extended his left arm, still without looking at the woman who’d raped him. Holla frowned, bending down to inspect it more closely. She touched the cuts lightly with the tip of her finger.

  “What is this? It looks like ... is that the Princess’s name?” She sounded even more shocked than before.

  “She is my Mistress,” he said flatly.

  “Did you make these marks, Your Highness?”

  “No. He did it.”

  Holla shook her head. “That was foolish. But what do you expect from a man?”

  “Skip the criticism and tend my slave, if you please,” Tariza said.

  He could have kissed her. Instead he flicked a short glance at Holla.

  Now it was the doctor’s turn to flush. “Yes, Your Highness. My apologies.”

  She rummaged in her bag, drawing out a bottle of liquid, bandages and a sharp instrument. “I’ll need you to hold him down, if you can. He’s awfully big. Maybe we ought to chain him to the floor. If he moves, I could injure him further.”

  Dario straightened his back. Did she think him a monster? “I don’t need to be chained,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Silence, slave,” Holla said.

  “He’ll hold still.” Tariza frowned at the doctor. “He’s not a child. He’s a Saturnian warrior.”

  The doctor blinked. “Yes. I suppose he is.”

  She bent to her work, cleaning Dario’s skin and the blade with liquid from the bottle. Using the blade to open the infected flesh, she doused the cuts with more liquid. When it hit the raw flesh, it burned like fire. Dario hissed between his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist as his whole body went rigid with pain. But he didn’t move.

  Holla bandaged him with clean strips of linen. “You’ll need to apply heat to speed healing. Several times a day for at least three days. That’s all I can do for him. If his body fights off the infection, he’ll be fine. If not, we might have to remove the arm.”

  “There’s no way you’re cutting off my arm,” he growled.

  Holla recoiled slightly. “He’s a most ill-behaved beast. He’s too dangerous for you to keep here. Won’t you send him back to prison where he belongs?”