The road to the harbor was thronged with people surrounding them as they rode down to see the attacking fleet, where her brother awaited her. It had been arranged for them to parley on neutral ground on a small fishing boat not far off shore. As she approached the docks she could see the boat out near the harbor entrance.
She boarded the simple vessel that would take her to him, Niyol by her side was all she needed. They left the loud cheering behind as they set off to the meeting with the Emperor, her brother. She wondered if she should trust this meeting, was it a trap? She had Niyol by her side but was she just leading him into danger too? If her brother was as powerful as these people believed, then they both may perish here today.
The smell of the sea air and the wind on her face felt good, calming her nerves and somehow pushing aside her doubts. She liked the weather, all elements of it, sun, rain, wind and snow. She had always loved the feeling of whatever kind of day it was, in her modern world, weather felt so good on her skin.
As they neared the rendezvous she could see a single figure stood on the deck of a boat. At last, there he was, and she was not impressed. He was not an old man, but nor was he a youth. Yet he carried his body like a young man. As they stood opposite each other, she could see the hatred in his eyes.
“Sister,” he said, greeting her with the one word. “You are as beautiful as I have heard, I only hope you are also wise,” he threatened.
“I cannot call you brother, as you don’t feel like a beloved brother,” she dared say to him.
He laughed at her.
“Nor can I call you Emperor,” she interrupted his laughter, “you are not my Emperor as I don’t have one,” she said, honestly. “I will simply call you traitor, and murderer,” she finished, not wanting this meeting to linger on.
A deathly silence surrounded her, as those who could hear awaited the response of the Emperor. He looked at her and laughed again.
“Such a shame that our first meeting should end in your death, and with it all the hopes of these foolish people gathered here. I shall kill you this day, sister,” he informed her. “Then you will not need to call me anything, as you will be no more.”
With that he turned to go, but before he left he mumbled something under his breath and a dark ominous mood fell over her.
“I leave you a gift, sister, I wish for you to see the people cower before me, before I kill you. I have cast the same spell that I cast on all of the islands, and I have you to thank for that. I have never been able to get so close to Citheera to enable me to enchant them fully, but now thanks to you, they will soon fall under my thumb. Observe, as your people all cower under my rule. Watch them,” he said, waving his hand at the island. “When you return I think you will find that you are, once again, alone.”
Chapter 11 Discovery of Magic
True to his word, the people had lost all hope as she returned to the island. His spell was spreading like a disease as she watched even the soldiers backing away. The people were leaving, they did not wish to battle any more.
She turned to view the ships as they neared the harbor. This was it, this was how he simply took ahold of the people and its lands. It must use much of his energy to keep this evil deed going. Anger began to boil within her as she saw the self-same people, who only an hour ago were joyous and hopeful, become fearful and were now running. The elders remained unscathed by his spell, but what use would the old be in battle. Even Niyol remained untouched, yet he could not fight a battle single handedly, but she could.
Yes, she knew now what she had to do. It was clear in her mind, so much so, that she wondered why she had ever been uncertain. The image of her parents came to mind, smiling over a new born baby girl, her. The kindness of her father’s face, the love in her mother’s eyes. For the first time in her life, she knew who she was, and what she was capable of.
Now, it was time for revenge. She would rid this world of the evil Emperor, and no one would mourn.
Niyol watched as his lover stood and raised her arms with an ethereal glow around her body, she emanated a power that had never been witnessed before. As she did so, the very air changed, the atmosphere felt heavy and clammy on his skin. The skies yellowed and black clouds suddenly covered the previously clear blue skies. The angry clouds surrounded the ships as lightening shot out of her raised fingers and into the darkened skies. He knew then what she was, and he knew that she would win this day. She was a Weather Mage, she could control the very seas, the skies, and the air within the world. It had been said that such mages were only myth, yet here he witnessed one, first hand.
She stood on the harbor and controlled the skies. The waves began to rise, but not a single drop of water touched her body. The people witnessed their Princess as she crashed the waves into the Emperor’s ships, and he was powerless to stop her. His magic to control the minds of the weak would be of no use, with the forces of the elements crashing against his fleet. Niyol stood in the rain and rejoiced as he was drenched by the winds that howled around the harbor. Yet still, she stood in pure sunlight as she sank each and every ship, saving her brother’s until last. The people stood on the cliffs and watched in awe as the Emperor’s ship was risen in to the air by a huge maelstrom, and then it was spun around and around, until it smashed into millions of small pieces that fell across the sea. The Emperor was gone. Princess Tamara was truly their savior, how could they ever have doubted her?
She collapsed onto the ground as the winds died down and the rains ended. The dark clouds dispersed instantly and the sun reached everywhere, hot rays cast a warm glow over the assembled people. Niyol rushed to her, bending down as he scooped her into his arms, before chanting his well versed words.
The people witnessed her body guard lifting their leader from the ground, they gasped as they suddenly saw them disappear into thin air.
***
Tammy awoke to the aroma of pizza. As she breathed in the wonderful smell of pepperoni and cheese, she could hear the television playing an animated film, one of her favorites. Lifting her head, she saw that Niyol was in the kitchen, singing along to the movie.
She stood, her legs a little shaky, as she made her way to the kitchen and stood by his side. As soon as he saw her, he grabbed her in his strong arms, and swung her around and around.
“You did it, by the gods you did it. The Emperor is no more, and the people are free.”
“What about your world, Niyol, shouldn’t we be there celebrating?”
“Our world, Princess Tamara, or should I say Queen Tamara? No, we are on holiday, leave it to the politicians to sort out the mess. We will be home soon enough. For now we have all the pizza we can eat, and you should see the supply of chocolate I have for you.”
She leaned her head on his strong shoulder, she loved pizza and chocolate, but most of all, she loved Niyol.
THE END
Into The Duke’s Arms
Katie Maddox
Copyright ©2016 by Katie Maddox. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter One
Florida, 2016
“If I see one more piece of friggin’ lace, I am simply going to hurl. And hurl good.”
Standing at the center of a lavish Victorian style sitting room, Jasmin Lawrence did have to take a moment and admire her surroundings; her bespectacled gaze perusing the room’s shining wallpaper of scarlet brocade, plush ivory carpeting, and central tables doused in reams of pure white lace and topped by a lavish setting of floral print china. Overseen by the glow of bras
s chandeliers and the spectacle of a hand painted mural that depicted angels in flight across a gem blue sky, the room did boast a lovely, resplendent décor was meant to promote a certain air of serenity and grace.
At this moment, however, Jasmin felt about as graceful and serene as….
Well, something that’s not very graceful or serene at all, she mused in silence with a sigh, rolling her eyes heavenward. I am in no mood to be witty or clever. I just want to clear out of here and grab a Big Mac.
At this point, however, the only edibles in her future took the form of those Victorian era delicacies that she would not be eating herself, but instead, would be serving to patrons at Chez Victoria, the elegant Florida area tea room where she had sought gainful employment for the past year.
Each day, she pushed a silver cast food cart that came complete with piping hot scones topped by clotted cream and jam, finger sandwiches, decorative iced fancy cakes, and, of course, tea.
Lots and lots of tea.
Didn’t those pesky Victorians ever drink anything else? she queried silently, continuing her tortured but nonetheless cathartic internal monologue before adding, as she winced in acute discomfort, And didn’t they ever lower themselves to the wearing of clothes that were remotely—I don’t know—wearable? Or at least comfortable?
Again, she did have to admit that her work uniform—a true to life, cream colored reproduction of a classic Victorian gown—absolutely stunned with its fitted, lace-bordered floral print bodice with a matching flowing skirt and puffed, lace-lined sleeves. The soft cotton gown served to flatter and accentuate her rubenesque curves. And when she adorned her long mane of lustrous dark hair with a smooth floral print ribbon, she did indeed feel every inch a prim and proper Victorian lady.
Cha! Got them fooled! She smirked now, rolling her eyes heavenward. I full well realize that this gown is infinitely preferable to my last work uniform, worn during my college days while toiling away as a head bun dresser at Cal’s Coney Heaven. Sorry, but it seems rather odd to wear a polyester Coney dog costume while one actually serves Coney dogs to perplexed looking customers. It seems almost fatalistic, to a point.
Yet, no more fatalistic, she presumed, than the everyday wearing of hoop skirts, pantaloons, not to mention those ancient mummification devices known as corsets.
Sheesh, no wonder those ladies were always ‘swooning,’ she reasoned as she felt her rib cage protract. Again. Who can breathe and function worth a darn while wearing a blasted corset?
As she continued to use her tortured inner thoughts as a surefire distraction from the painful—or, at the very least, irritable—truth of her everyday life, Jasmin struggled to remember the time when she loved and lost herself in Victorian lore; those blissful teen-aged years when she lost herself in the novels of Jane Austen, also in the numerous filmed adaptations of her timeless books.
I was bound and determined to marry Mr. Darcy, totally ignoring the three major obstacles standing in our way, she recalled now. Number one: Mr. Darcy is a total and complete fictional character, no joke. Number two: If he was not indeed a total and complete fictional character, he would be long dead by now. Number three: Mr. Darcy is already married. And Elizabeth Bennet is just tough enough to kick my heiny—though, I am certain that, with her velvet tongue, she would come up with a far more proper term for my defeated posterior than ‘heiny’.
It was, in fact, her great love for Victorian literature that had inspired her to pursue a degree in English literature at Clearview State University, the premiere—okay, so the only—collegiate institution located in her Florida hometown.
After working her way through school via a food service job, she graduated cum laude and immediately, scored a job—in food service.
So now I know the true and full meaning of the term ‘literary irony’, she mused, heaving a deep sigh as she wheeled her cart, with sluggish slippered steps, between endless rows of lace afflicted tables. Now instead of asking, ‘Would you like fries with that?’ I ask customers, ‘Would you like clotted cream and chutney with that?’
Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sudden entrance of her supervisor; a tall, slender woman with distinguished silver hair and a flowing day dress of pure blue satin, adorned with lace and sleek ruffles.
Although Jessymyn O’Reilly generally had the tendency to float into a room, she, on this day, seemed to trudge a bit as she dragged a large and rather unwieldy portrait into the main dining room of Chez Victoria.
“Can I help you with that, Jessymyn?” Jasmin queried, rushing forward to grab up the right edge of the brass bordered frame that enclosed the mysterious portrait; righting the painting as she did to take a closer look at its surface.
She froze then, and gaped outright, as she beheld the image of the most beautiful man she ever had seen.
His tall muscular frame was dressed resplendent, in a long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and tight fitting taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons. The subject of this portrait boasted a chiseled face featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and eyes that shone as bright and azure as the image of the bluest sky.
This face came framed with a shoulder length mane of thick ebony hair that fell free across muscled shoulders, and came adorned with a soft, subtle upturn of his full moist lips.
“Who’s the beb?” she asked Jessymyn, all the while never tearing her gaze from the captivating man captured in the frames of the ebullient oil painting.
Jessymyn let loose with an undignified snort, rolling her eyes heavenward as she considered her most unique turn of phrase.
“The beb, for your information, is Lord Nathaniel Barrett; the man who originally made his home in this very building—or, at the very least, a reasonable facsimile,” she informed her employee. Adding with a proud smile, “A local historian is writing a book about this area and he interviewed the lovely elderly couple that owns this fine establishment. And, as it turns out, the structure of this tea room is based on the floor plan of a manor house they visited while on a trip to London. They had seen the home of a stately nobleman named Nathaniel Barrett, a widower who lived the gist of his days alone and miserable in his big old house. They thought that it would be a fitting tribute to build a house, much like his, then fill it with laughter, good food, and lots of company for his lonely spirit.”
I’d be more than pleased to provide him tons of company for his lonely spirit, Jasmin mused in silence, saying aloud, “Well that sounds like a really nice story, Jessymyn; one that we will have to share with our customers. In the meantime, let me help you hang that portrait—maybe right over the fireplace, where everyone can see it? Me, especially?”
Soon, Jasmin found herself back at work on the floor at Chez Victoria, rushing from table to table as an endless line of customers made demands on her services.
“Could we have more tea over here?”
“Could we have more scones over here?”
“Could we have more raspberry jam over here?”
Could I have a life over here? Jasmin felt like barking in kind return—especially at the man who apparently considered it his mission in life to get just a little bit more of that blasted raspberry jam.
“Coming, Sir.” She smiled through gritted teeth at the balding old man who visited the tearoom at least once a week; and always on the days that she was on shift. Lucky her. And to make things worse, today, he seemed unwilling to await her apparently less than timely arrival at the side of his table.
“I’m a goin’ to that front counter myself and get my own raspberry jam,” he told his rather depressed looking wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, at this point in time.
Swinging his feet out from under his table, he stuck his leg out in front of Jasmin’s food cart, tripping up the cart’s motion and sending several pieces of priceless floral print china flying forward off the crystalline tray that lined its top.
The server’s eyes
flew wide as she lunged forward in an impulsive attempt to catch the flying flatware; her feet leaving the floor as her body soared like a rocket across the surface of the cart.
The rocket crashed unceremonious seconds later, as Jasmin’s form flattened atop the cart; her head falling forward to hit the hard brass handle that lined its northern border.
“Fab-ulous,” she muttered, feeling her eyes cross in her head as her entire world went black.
Chapter Two
She was pretty passing sure that she was dead. Dead as a doornail, in point of fact.
And, for that matter, she was loving every minute of it.
Her body relaxed in the soft cushion provided on the surface of a plush luxurious carpet; her senses bathed in a veil of silence that soothed and coddled her addled psyche.
For once, she reasoned, she wasn’t straining her feet and stressing her knees in an endless effort to serve her customers at Chez Victoria. She wasn’t trying to fill an insistent and compelling need for more raspberry jam.
Now she could simply bask, full and free, in an air of peaceful tranquility; laying blissfully motionless as her tired limbs relaxed and luxuriated.
Things got even better, she mused, when she finally did open her eyes; witnessing firsthand what just had to be the vision of an angel.
Aside from being strikingly beautiful, the man before her seemed somehow familiar to her wide, dazed eyes. Immediately, she recognized the tall, muscular frame dressed in the long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and oh so delightfully tight taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons. She also recalled the chiseled face framed by the glorious mane of long, thick ebony hair and featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and the biggest blue eyes she ever did see.
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