She stiffened her spine against the tears clogging her throat and pricking her eyes. She had given away her innocence last night, so pride was the only thing she had left.
No, that was wrong.
Her mouth lifted in the corners. She’d given nothing away, only gained something. Some power. Some control. She had exercised a deeply personal right. To choose her first lover. Before one was chosen for her.
Did she regret it?
She pressed her thighs together, the movement causing the apple to wobble, and thought of the gentle caresses, the soft sighs, as natural and calming as the falling night rain.
The sight of her lover, tall, broad-shouldered, filling her vision as he held himself levered above her. The hot, heady smell of his skin. The contrast of her pale hand against the bronze of his hard-muscled arm.
She shivered.
No. She did not regret it.
She looked out over the arena, at the crowds filing into the stalls for a good seat to the spectacle. Above her, a bird cried, the sound haunting, and she shaded her eyes and searched the skies for it. Yearned to leap from the glass peak and fly to join it, leave the crowds and her fate behind her.
As if on cue with her thoughts of fate, one by one the knights arrived. They were a rainbow swirl of blue, green, yellow and red plumes and banners, polished metal shining almost as much at the glass mountain.
They paraded, playing the crowd, racing in a loop down the length of the course and around the mountain. Getting the measure of what they were up against.
She recognized a few of them. Some were her father’s own men—men she’d known since they were boys come as knights-in-training—some were in service to other kings, princes and lords. All were here for one thing.
Power.
Winning her was the means to get it.
They intended to use her, to take this opportunity offered by her father and exploit it, and by dint of taking part in this contest at all, they had her unreserved contempt.
They obviously felt the same way about her, as not one so much as glanced her way. She was but a means to an end, and for her father to put her in this position was unsupportable. Incredible.
She’d thought she’d managed to control the bands of steel that tightened across her chest when she thought about what he’d done to her, but she’d been wrong.
Kayla gasped for air, every gulp like breathing the poisonous smoke of a tanner’s fire, burning her throat, all the way down to her lungs.
The trumpet sounded, and Kayla saw her father standing in his box, dressed in rich red robes, his crown in place. He lifted a hand.
Silence fell, rippling out from the crowd until the only sound was the creak of leather saddles and the huff of horse breath.
“Welcome, gentlemen. The rules are simple. You will each have a chance to ride your horse up the glass mountain, and pluck the golden apple from my daughter’s lap. Whoever succeeds will have my daughter’s hand and become the heir to my kingdom.”
The knights let out a cheer—dogs barking as their master threw them a bone. Kayla wondered how happy they’d be to know the bone had been tasted already. Her lips curved. Oh, she did not regret last night for even a moment.
“Is every competitor present?” the herald called out.
There was a murmur of assent, and then a shuffle of horses near the gates. A late-comer?
Kayla almost deigned not to look. What did she care how many and who? But the murmurs of the crowd piqued her curiosity, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes and saw him.
A knight all in black, on a black horse.
Her heart gave a traitorous lurch at the figure he cut, his mount dancing through the crowd, moving towards her shimmering perch.
He was the first to approach her. Acknowledge her.
And when he was close enough, he raised his visor.
The breath caught in Kayla’s throat. Her heart stuttered.
Bright blue eyes looked up at her. No longer warm and laughing as they had been last night, but cold with purpose.
He turned with a salute and rode back to the waiting pack, and she clenched her skirts with white-knuckled fists.
Whatever she had to do, she would make sure he was the one.
* * *
“What in hell is that thing?” Jasper stood with Rane in the knights’ holding pen and eyed the glass monstrosity with dislike. Rane knew it was an unwelcome obstacle to Jasper’s plans.
Usually anything that was a problem to Jasper was cause for celebration in Rane’s view, but in this instance, Jasper’s goal was his own. For the last time, though.
“A glass mountain.”
“I can see that, but where’d the king get it?” Jasper’s plump face was unusually pale.
“Dark magic,” Rane answered shortly. He could feel magic coming off the thing. Crackling the air around it. Snapping at him. And Kayla sat on top of it, her face blank and white. At its mercy.
As she was at yours just last night, his conscience whispered. And did you not take from her her only bargaining chip?
He fisted his reins in the heavy black gloves and his mount moved uneasily beneath him, sensitive to his mood.
Of all the stains on his soul, letting Kayla of Gaynor think she was seducing him while he reeled her in as finely as any master would be the hardest to wash clean.
She’d been determined to give away her virginity last night and oh, she was sweet.
He had no excuse.
He could have walked away, but he did not. Even as she whispered her joy at the taking, moaned his name, knifes of disgust tore through his heart.
Why had he not walked away?
He’d meant only to gain her favor. Become her favorite, even while she thought he was not participating in the contest. So when he did appear, it would seem as if he’d come to save her.
He’d been here days before the others, and he knew full well the task set was impossible. The only way to succeed was with help.
And who could help him more in this than the princess herself?
“Rane? Are you listening?”
He jerked his head down, saw Jasper’s impatience in his stiff bearing. “Yes?”
“You said dark magic. Who would oblige the King so?”
It wasn’t impatience making Jasper so tense, Rane realized—it was fear.
He shrugged. What did he care whose power the king made use of for his strange husband-choosing?
“I’ve heard whispers that a few of the kings in the Middleland have a sorcerer obliging them, these days. Now the King of Gaynor?” Jasper rubbed the side of his face, and Rane noticed his fingers trembled.”You suspect some plot?” Rane controlled his expression as Jasper flinched at his words. He’d never seen Jasper this rattled.
The sheer size and magnificence of the mountain, the strangeness and the power of it, pointed to someone of immense power. And Jasper was in the business of power. Rane knew Jasper thought he had an edge with a sorcerer for a brother, but if the King of Gaynor had a sorcerer of this calibre on his side, there were few who could stand in his way.
“No . . . No. I wonder who the sorcerer is, that’s all.”
“The question should rather be, why is the King making the trial so difficult? Why does he want a fighter and a madman for his daughter?”
Jasper’s eyes widened. “You think he wants a bodyguard for her?”
Rane had not, but it was a good point. One to ponder. “I thought he might have a further quest in mind. One that would take more than a spoilt prince to accomplish. A quest he could trust only to his future heir.”
“With this trial he can sidestep the rules of royal marriage, and find the best man for the job, even if he is a commoner.” Jasper nodded his head slowly.
“Only a theory.” Rane’s eyes swung back to the magic hill, back to the woman in her white gown, her dark hair woven with tiny white flowers and flowing over her shoulders. Hair he’d grabbed in fistfuls, felt like silk between his fingers as he expo
sed her throat to his mouth. Hair that twined round his arms as he’d taken them both to a better place for a while.
Jasper’s gaze turned curious, and Rane regretted his thoughts. Regretted what must have passed across his face.
“Just get me the apple, and you can have your brother back, and all the pleasures that come with marriage to the royal house. Or not.” Jasper shrugged. “Walk away from it all if you choose, if the king has a more dangerous job in mind for you than impregnating his daughter. I don’t care.”
Rane didn’t clamp down on his hatred fast enough. Some of it must have flashed across his face for Jasper’s eyes to narrow.
“Any hint of a double-cross, Rane, and you’ll never see your good-for-nothing brother again.” Jasper paused and his face hardened. “Except maybe in little pieces.”
Historical Fiction by Michelle Diener
Susanna Horenbout and John Parker series:
In a Treacherous Court
Keeper of the King’s Secrets
In Defense of the Queen
Regency London series:
The Emperor’s Conspiracy
Banquet of Lies
Other historicals by Michelle Diener:
Daughter of the Sky
Learn more at: www.michellediener.com
About the Author
Michelle Diener was born in London, grew up in South African and now lives in Australia with her family. She was bitten by the travel bug at a young age and has managed to feed her addiction with numerous trips to exciting places all over the world. She writes historical and fantasy fiction, and loves traveling to other times as well as places through the pages of a good book.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Excerpt—The Golden Apple
Historical Fiction by Michelle Diener
About the Author
Mistress of the Wind Page 22