Dark Swan Bundle

by Richelle Mead

  “I’m not sure,” said Rurik, clearly enjoying Dorian’s game. “He’s the one who has the gray streak down the middle of his beard, right? And the slightly pointed ears?”

  “That’s the one,” replied Dorian.

  And then, without warning, Dorian’s finger—so, so wet now—slid out and returned to my clit with such fierce rubbing that I came almost instantly. I’d been ready and aching, and that touch was all it took to push me over. My body twitched as waves of bliss radiated through me, and Dorian continued to stroke me, long after it was needed. At last, he pulled away and even went so far as to neatly pull my skirt back before returning his hand to his own lap.

  A very pleased smile tugged at his lips, though his attention was all on Ysabel. “Would you like me to make an introduction?”

  Her expression was cold, her response stiff. “You’re too kind, Your Majesty. I’d hate to inconvenience you.” I hadn’t paid much attention to her but realized now that she’d been paying attention to me. I was pretty sure she was the only one at the table who realized what had happened—and she wasn’t happy about it.

  “No inconvenience at all,” he said. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Edria went out of her way to move conversation away from her daughter being hooked up with someone who wasn’t Dorian. I barely heard any of it, and when dinner finally ended, I returned with Dorian to his room. My post-orgasm languor gave way to anger almost the moment he shut the door behind us.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing?” I exclaimed. “You had no right to do that!”

  Dorian made a scoffing noise as he carefully removed and folded his heavy cloak. “You didn’t seem to mind. Besides, you’re lucky that’s all I did, what with you showing up without warning in that dress.”

  “Hey, I don’t have to consult you on my fashion choices.”

  “No, but you should expect consequences.” He moved swiftly toward me, hands moving to my waist. “It was only out of respect for your silly human prudishness that I didn’t just take you openly. Really, you should be grateful.”

  “Grateful?” I exclaimed. I sounded outraged, but in truth, the closeness of his body was arousing me again. Jesus. It was like I was always in heat.

  “Grateful,” he said, a glint of fierceness in his eyes. “Especially after the favor I did you. A favor you now need to repay.”

  The hold on my waist went tight, and he pushed me down onto the bed. I could easily have resisted—we both knew who’d win in a hand-to-hand fight—but I was more than willing to play this game, particularly when he swiftly pulled off his pants and showed the long, hard erection that had undoubtedly been ready to burst the moment he saw me in the dress.

  I was still wet from earlier and desperately wanted to feel him in me, thrusting as hard as he had with his finger. But to my surprise, it wasn’t my legs he went for. Instead he came forward and knelt, one leg on each side of my head, and pushed himself between my lips. I made a sound of surprise at this, a sound muffled as he filled my mouth and began sliding in and out.

  He was so big, I could barely contain him. He knew and seemed to exalt in it, his eyes holding mine as he forced my mouth to pleasure him. “You can take it,” he said, pumping steadily. “You will take it. I told you: you owe me.”

  It was rough and fierce, but we both knew I didn’t mind when Dorian played dominant. Besides, this change in our sex life was kind of a turn-on. Gentry, while not opposed to oral sex, almost always preferred intercourse because of their obsession with children. Somehow, the thought of him exploding in my mouth, on my lips, drove me wild.

  I could feel him swelling, see the lines of tension as his climax grew closer. His lips parted slightly, a small moan escaping. Then, just as I was certain he would come, he pulled out and shifted his body down and deftly pulled off my dress. With a tight grip on my legs, he pushed my thighs apart and thrust into me with a hardness that made me cry out and arch my body. It was only a few seconds, hard and fast, and then he came, his whole body spasming as he released himself into me, proving he still had the usual gentry urges.

  When he was finally spent, he collapsed beside me, sweating and panting. I found his hand, my own body exhausted for different reasons than his. I rolled against him, kissing his neck and tasting the salt of his skin.

  “I thought for sure you’d come in my mouth,” I murmured, letting my finger toy with his nipple.

  “Wasteful,” he murmured, running a hand over my hair.

  “Is it?” I pushed myself up, looking down into his eyes. I kept my voice low and dangerous. “Are you saying you wouldn’t like that? Letting yourself come in my mouth, filling it up, forcing me to taste you … swallow you? Or maybe you want to come on me? Spread yourself all over me?”

  There was a slight widening of his eyes, a rekindling of his desire. He gave me an enigmatic smile. “Maybe. Maybe next time.”

  I gave him a playful push. “Tease.”

  He yawned and took off his shirt. “It’ll give you something to wonder about and look forward to, something more cheerful than the battle’s outcome.”

  “What battle?” I asked. I’d been feeling tired too, but his words jolted me to alertness.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. He shifted me off of him so that he could pull the covers over us and then took me back into his arms. “I received word earlier about some Rowan movement tonight. I’ve sent an army to meet them, and I’ll join them myself in the morning. It’s near my villages at the river’s bend. I think Katrice hoped to take them by surprise, but a spy tipped me off.”

  “Which army did you send?” We had them divided into units.

  “The first and third.”

  “Both?” I exclaimed. “That’s huge.”

  He shrugged. “So is hers. We have to answer in kind. Besides, those villages are crucial. They supply a lot of food—to both of us.”

  I repressed a shiver. Those villages were full of civilians as well. Dorian’s civilians, farmers and fishermen who could have been looted and killed if he hadn’t gotten the warning. He and I were allies, but again, I couldn’t shake the guilt of my own people being in danger over this dispute—let alone his.

  “I should go too,” I murmured. “I should help.”

  Dorian stroked my hair. “No need to put us both at risk. Besides, don’t you have more mundane human tasks?”

  Yes, I’d promised Lara more jobs tomorrow. “They’re not as important—not like this.”

  “Only one of us is needed,” he said firmly. “Honestly, probably not even that. We have good leaders, but the fact that one of us always shows up boosts our armies’ confidence—and demoralizes hers. She won’t set one dainty foot near the battlefield. So stop fretting. We’ll take them. We have greater numbers.”

  He kissed the top of my head and took my silence as acquiescence. Soon, I felt him sleep, with that ease so many men possessed after sex. Not me. I was a longtime insomniac, and this was the kind of thing that could keep me up all night. I was tired of the armies endangering themselves. I was tired of Dorian endangering himself. I wanted the killing to stop. Kiyo had acted like it was so easy. If only that were true.

  After a while, I gave up on sleep altogether. I slid out of Dorian’s arms and got up from the bed. Knowing my party would stay overnight, I’d packed casual clothes but nothing more. Searching through his wardrobe—twice the size of mine—I found a thick green satin robe. It was way too big but served fine as a cover-up. I left the room, needing to walk off my thoughts.

  The castle halls were silent now, all the revelers having gone to bed. I walked barefoot along the stone floor, trying not to trip over the too-long hem. A few stationed guards nodded as I passed, murmuring, “Your Majesty.” I’d long ago learned that while some of my human behaviors would always baffle the gentry, most of a monarch’s actions—no matter how bizarre—weren’t questioned. No one thought much of me wandering around in Dorian’s robe.

  I reached a set of glass doors that
led out to one of Dorian’s exquisite courtyards. I knew it’d be chilly there, but sitting outside suddenly seemed like a good idea. Another guard stood there watchfully and opened the door at my approach. I knew this courtyard and knew where a gorgeously colored mosaic-tiled table stood in the corner. It was dull in the night, but as I sat in a chair, the spot gave me a good view of the garden and the thick stars above. Flickering torches set on poles were scattered around, just enough for guidance but not enough to ruin the night’s charm.

  The beauty and peacefulness soothed me a little but couldn’t shake away my worries about the war. I’d spent so much of my life fighting that I’d thought I was immune to blood and killing. I now knew there was a very big difference between an individual kill and death en masse. One—usually—had a point. An individual kill punished the guilty party. Armies dead on the battlefield punished no one except the innocent.

  “My lady Thorn Queen?”

  I jumped at the hissing voice that spoke to me from the darkness. At first I saw nothing and wondered if I had a ghost on hand. Then, a dark shape materialized from between some trees. It came closer, revealing a wizened gentry woman. She was small, shorter than Jasmine, but her white hair was thick and lustrous, her clothing rich. She came to a halt before me.

  “Who-who are you?” I asked. My words came out harsh, mostly because of my surprise.

  She took no offense. Again, a queen’s behaviors weren’t questioned. “My name is Masthera.”

  I shivered, not from the night’s chill. There was something unsettling about her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I’ve come to speak with you, Your Majesty. You’re worried about the war. You want to end it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She spread her hands out. “I am a seeress. I sense things that are, sometimes things to come. I also offer advice.”

  This chased a little of my fear away. “Seeress” was a fancy way of saying “psychic,” as far as I was concerned. When you dealt with the supernatural as often as I did, you ran into a lot of so-called psychics. Most were frauds, and I suspected that was as true among gentry as humans.

  “Have you come to offer me advice?” I asked wryly.

  Masthera nodded, face grave. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ve come to tell you how to end your war—without any more bloodshed.”

  Chapter 6

  I glanced around uneasily. I knew there had to be guards on watch in the garden and wondered what it would take for them to come tackle a crazy old woman. Unless she openly jumped me or something, I had a feeling I was on my own.

  “Unless your power extends to some kind of mind control over Katrice, I don’t see how that’s going to happen,” I said finally.

  She crooked me a grin. “No, that’s not a gift the gods have chosen to bestow on any of the shining ones. Even they know the limits of mortals.”

  I pulled the robe more tightly around me. Seeing as I couldn’t sleep, I might as well humor her. “Then what’s your plan?”

  “You need to find the Iron Crown.”

  “The what?”

  “The Iron Crown.”

  She said it in a grand, ominous way … one that really deserved an echo chamber to give it its full effect.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s the Iron Crown?”

  “An ancient artifact. One worn by the greatest, most powerful leaders in the shining ones’ history. Leaders feared by all, who ruled many kingdoms.”

  “I have a crown. A few of them.” Only one was my official “crown of state,” but designers had crafted me others to coordinate with my outfits.

  “Not like this one,” she said.

  “Let me guess. It’s made of iron.”

  She nodded and looked like she was waiting for me to be impressed.

  “Sorry. Like I said, short of mind control power, I’m not going on some magic object quest. My life is already like a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.”

  Masthera frowned. “Dragons haven’t lived in the Otherworld in centuries.”

  “Forget it. Thanks for the, er, advice, but I’m not interested.” I shifted uncomfortably. “I should really get to bed.”

  Masthera leaned forward, undaunted. “You don’t understand, Thorn Queen,” she hissed. “Only a few are capable of completing the tasks required to gain the crown. Most would not even be able to wear it.”

  That was easy to figure out. “Right. Because it’s made of iron. I don’t think an ability everyone already knows I have from being human would be that impressive.”

  “Queen Katrice would think so. Many of her people would too. Her armies might revolt. She herself would be afraid and back off.”

  “All because of the reputation of a crown that doesn’t have any power?” I asked skeptically. “Where is it?”

  “Far away, in a place unknown.”

  “Oh good grief. If no one knows where it is, then how am I supposed to get it?”

  “That’s part of the challenge. Find it, and you end the war.”

  I eyed her carefully. “If this is such a great idea, why not bring it to Dorian? Your king?”

  “He knows of it,” she agreed. “He’s old enough to remember the legends. But he couldn’t wear it. Only you.” Now she eyed me carefully. “Your father sought it—and failed.”

  I stiffened, my voice turning to ice. “Is this part of the prophecy? Some way of marking me as the conqueror’s mother? Is it something I’m supposed to give to my hypothetical son?”

  “No,” she said. Her demeanor turned humble, but those eyes still looked shrewd. “It is merely a means to help you end your war.”

  “I’ve heard enough of this ridiculousness.” I stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

  Masthera started to call after me as I strode away but then bit off her words. I wondered if she had accepted my refusal or simply feared the guards’ responding to continual harassment of me.

  I returned to Dorian’s room and slipped back into bed with him. His arm unconsciously wrapped around me, and although it took a while, my troubled mind finally calmed enough to allow me some brief sleep. It was his movements that woke me a few hours later. I sat up in bed, watching as he dressed. Through the windows, the sky was barely a pinkish purple.

  “You’re going to meet the armies already?” I asked quietly.

  From a chaise, he lifted a breastplate made of fine copper chain. Normally, he had attendants dressing him, and I knew he was doing it alone so that a group of people traipsing through his room wouldn’t wake me. Watching him fumble at fastening it, I hurried over to help.

  “Katrice’s forces will attack as soon as they have enough light. They may have already. It’s only the unfamiliar terrain that stopped them from doing it overnight.”

  I finished hooking the chainmail, trying not to think about how rare it was for him to wear any sort of armor. It was a sign of the danger he walked into, even if he avoided the front lines.

  “I wish you weren’t going.”

  He gave me that easy smile and rested his hands on my bare hips. “Me too. I’d much rather be back in bed with you. Stay a couple hours. I’m sure I’ll be right back.”

  That brought a smile to my lips, though I felt no humor. “Yes, I’m sure that’s all it’ll take.”

  He released me and turned to a cabinet on the wall. Opening it, he revealed a number of weapons. One of them was an exquisitely made copper sword, crafted by a metalsmith in my employ named Girard. Dorian touched it reverently, then slipped it into a scabbard he fastened around his waist. While dangerous in and of itself, the sword possessed an extra threat because of Dorian’s connection to the earth and its elements. He could infuse it with power.

  “Dorian …” I hesitated, afraid to ask my next question. “Have you ever heard of the Iron Crown?”

  “Of course.” He finished fastening the scabbard and glanced back up at me. “Why?”

  “I ran into a woman named Masthera last night, who told me about it.”


  “Ah, Masthera,” he said fondly. “Every court should have a seeress. Her predictions are right about half the time—which is quite remarkable. You should see the farce of a seer they’ve got over in the Maple Land. I’d be humiliated to keep someone like that around.”

  “Hey, focus,” I chastised. “This Iron Crown. Masthera claims it could end the war. That by winning it and proving our—er, my—power, I could make Katrice back down.”

  The smile faded as Dorian frowned, looking deep in thought. “That’s a very real possibility. And you could wear it, couldn’t you?” A sense of wonder lit his words. “The iron wouldn’t bother you. In legends, some shining ones could wear it through strength and force of will. But you’d need none of that. It’d just be in your nature.”

  I could hardly believe he was speaking about this seriously. “And you think she’s right? This crown—with no power except a reputation—could end the war?”

  “Well, it’s not the crown’s reputation, exactly,” he said. “It’s the reputation you gain by fighting the many obstacles to get it. Show you can do it, and you show your power.” It was similar to what Masthera had said.

  “If others have possessed it—”

  “Not for ages,” he interrupted.

  “Okay, even if it hasn’t been for ages … why would I have to quest for it? Wouldn’t the last owner have just kept it around? Passed it through the family?”

  His smile came back. “It doesn’t work that way. The crown won’t stay with anyone unworthy. Once its owner passes, it returns to its home—a home that kills many who seek it.”

  “You didn’t answer the earlier question,” I pointed out. “Could it end the war? Peacefully?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. But as much as you fear me going out today … I’d worry more about you going after this trinket.”

  I caught hold of his hand. “You wouldn’t help?” I teased, though I still wasn’t buying any of it.