by Kit Tunstall
“Yes, m’lord.”
Anca followed Demi into the castle, and she was pleasantly surprised to find electric lights. She had half-expected torches on the wall and candles in holders, judging from the time warp the rest of the country seemed to be stuck in.
As Demi led her through the castle, she absorbed it all with wide-eyed wonder. Threadbare tapestries hung on the walls, portraying people and events she assumed were from the history of the country. Her shoes made a clunking sound when the soles landed on the hard stone. An occasional fur or woven rug was scattered throughout the entryway.
Three large dogs napped near the fireplace. As they walked past them, the dogs lifted their heads and sniffed. Their eyes seemed more intelligent than any dog’s she had ever seen, and she realized they were wolves. The smallest, palest brown one growled low in its throat, until the dark-brown wolf nudged it with its head. The palest one subsided into silence, though its gaze still seemed watchful.
Demi glanced over his shoulder. “Sorin, Lucian, and Starr. They are loyal to your family. When you win their trust, they will never leave you.”
Anca nodded, pretending she wasn’t terrified of the wolves behind her, and pretending she didn’t think it was strange to have them as pets.
As they left the main chamber, dominated by the large table and a dozen sturdy chairs, Demi walked up a set of winding stone stairs. The wooden banister glowed, indicating years of care and use. She grabbed hold for support and found it smooth to the touch.
The stairs seemed to go on forever before they emerged onto the next landing. “This way.” Demi walked down the hall and turned in front of a set of double doors. He pushed one open, and they stepped into a hall with another set of stairs. “Your wing is on the next floor.”
Her eyes widened at the word wing. Never in her life had she had a room bigger than fourteen feet by fourteen feet. She followed him up the stairs—this set climbed straight up at a steep angle—and they stepped onto the third-floor seconds later. A dark-red rug, bordered with green and gold leaves, covered the expanse of the hallway.
Demi turned to the right, and Anca followed. He stopped before a massive set of dark mahogany doors farther down the hallway and twisted the gold handle. The door swung open without even a creak, and he stepped back to allow her to precede him.
She stepped into the chamber, finding it lit with the soft glow of a lamp on the mahogany nightstand. The bed was larger than any she had ever seen, and it was in a wooden frame with steps leading up to it. A black comforter covered the bed, and matching curtains hung from the posts of the bed frame. The rest of the furniture matched the nightstand—mahogany, sturdy, and polished to a high sheen.
Demi walked to a pair of doors against the far wall. He touched the nearest. “This is your dressing room.” He moved his hand to the second. “The en suite bathroom. If you want to bathe, I’ll return for you in one hour.”
She nodded, overwhelmed with nerves at the thought of meeting her father. Would she hate him on sight? Would she revert to the child who wanted to scream all the angry words she had saved up during a lifetime of disappointments? Would she be able to forgive him?
Demi walked to the door, but he paused near a cord hanging from the ceiling. It looked like braided gold. “Ring for Helena if you need anything. Pull this once, and she’ll come.”
Anca nodded again. She watched as he stood by the door for another few seconds, seeming intent on speaking. Finally, he shook his head and left her without another word. He closed the door behind him.
She sagged as soon as she was alone. She was trembling, and focused on breathing deeply to calm herself. No matter how the meeting with her father turned out, it couldn’t be as bad as she was imagining it. It was better to get herself in hand so she was prepared to meet him.
She glanced down at her soiled outfit and grimaced. It wouldn’t do to wear such an outfit for an audience with the king. By the time Anca bathed, her cases would be in her room. A hot bath might be just the thing to sooth her ragged nerves. Maybe several baths, as frazzled as she was right then. It wouldn’t hurt if Demi joined her, to wash her back.
She swallowed down a moan as the erotic thought translated to an even more erotic image in her mind. She couldn’t recall ever having been drawn to someone so quickly in her life. Her two casual affairs had been born more from a reaction to the peer pressure of her girlfriends in college than any real interest on her part, and both had been less than satisfying.
Adam, her first, had lasted all of two weeks, and then he had gone onto a girl who was more enthusiastic. The relationship had ended so quickly Anca hadn’t realized they never clicked on a level beyond physical until she analyzed it years later, after Barry.
The sex had been nice with Barry, boyfriend-number-two, but there had been a vital emotional connection missing. She had never felt like she really knew him, and vice versa. They had both tried hard to make it work, but at the nine-month mark, when he pressed for a deeper commitment and gave her a ring, she had walked away.
So it was alarming to feel this physical and emotional connection with Demi after such a short acquaintance. For the last three years, she had believed she would never find anyone who suited her, so it should be a relief to know she could connect with a man.
It would have been, if he didn’t live halfway around the world. If only he had been a New Yorker, and they met on the subway, she would be rejoicing. She probably would have taken him to her bed at their first meeting under those circumstances.
Here in Corsova, it wasn’t safe to give into her desires. If she fell in love with him, she would have a hell of a time walking away. Without having to feel him out, Anca knew Demi would never leave his country, and she wouldn’t be content to stay.
Another doomed relationship, she thought with a sigh, as she walked into the bathroom. She must have the magical touch where men were concerned.
As she took in the grandeur of the bathroom half-heartedly, she tried telling herself she was worrying for nothing. She knew he was attracted to her too, but that didn’t mean he was looking for a commitment. He would probably run away if he knew how serious her thoughts were. He might be involved with someone or married.
She remembered the feel of his mouth on hers—in the dream and real life—and the way his heart raced when he held her earlier. The earnestness in his vow to protect her came back to her, and Anca knew he wanted her with equal fervor. Based on the other qualities he had displayed, that ruled out the possibility he was already in a relationship, meaning he was available.
Which was why she would have to keep her distance, she decided. One of them would have to be sensible, and she didn’t think Demi was sitting around agonizing about his growing attraction for her. Being sensible fell to her. Too bad she wasn’t so good at being sensible in her personal life.
Chapter 5
Nikia squirmed as the tongue in her pussy probed deeper. She arched her hips, bringing her clit more fully against Sian’s tongue. She dug her hands into her lover’s long hair, pushing her face deeper into the crux of her legs. She groaned as Sian’s teeth raked across her swollen clit.
She was so engrossed in what was happening in her pussy that she didn’t hear the door opening. She didn’t open her brown eyes until the door slammed shut. She grimaced when she saw the cowering posture of the servant. As the silence lengthened, she propped herself on her elbows. “Did you have some reason to disturb me without knocking, Helena?”
The girl nodded slowly.
“Well, spit it out,” she snapped.
Helena bobbed into a curtsey. “She’s here, m’lady.”
With a snarl of rage, Nikia rolled out of bed. She snatched her robe from where it lay over the footboard and thrust her arms into it so violently the delicate silk shredded under the onslaught of her fingernails. “That bastard.”
“Who, m’lady?” Helena’s dark eyes clearly reflected her confusion.
“Nicodemus. How dare he bring her here?” H
er eyes narrowed. “Stupid bitch. She’ll be sorry she came.” She turned her head as Sian moved from the bed. She lunged forward and buried her hands in the other woman’s hair. Nikia dragged her from the bed, ignoring her cry of pain when her knees hit the stone floor with a dull thud. “You aren’t finished,” she hissed.
As Sian knelt before her and returned her mouth to her pussy, Nikia beckoned the young maid closer. She didn’t miss the girl’s hesitation, and the fear only added to her ire. When Helena was close enough, she slapped her. “Be quick when I summon you.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she cupped her cheek as she nodded.
“Have you seen her?”
“Yes, m’lady. Sian’s mother says she’s the very image of Katrine.” She bowed her head. “I’ve been assigned to serve her.” She cringed, bringing her arms up to shield her face, evidently expecting a reprimand.
Instead, Nikia caressed her cheek, the same one she had slapped. “Excellent. You’ll keep an eye on the bitch-princess for me, until I can deal with her.”
“Yes, m’lady.” She sounded uncertain as she lowered her arms.
Nikia tangled her hand in the girl’s tightly bound hair, pulling her closer. When her lips were near Helena’s, she whispered, “Serve the wench, but remember who your mistress is.”
Helena swallowed audibly. “O-of course, m’lady.”
She stiffened as Sian’s tongue brought her to orgasm. Nikia’s fingernails dug into the young girl’s flesh, and she smiled when Helena winced. She bucked her hips against Sian’s face, and slowly the pleasure faded.
She pulled Helena closer, pressing her mouth to the soft, full lips of the young woman. Nikia ignored her resistance. She kept the kiss light and soon lifted her head. Her eyes bored into Helena’s. “You belong to me, don’t you, Helena?”
Tears splashed down her cheeks as she nodded.
“Good girl.” She dropped her hand from behind Helena’s head and brought her fingers to her mouth. She licked away all traces of the blood she’d drawn. Then she looked down at Sian, who awaited permission to leave her post. “You may rise. I suddenly have the urge to dine with my dear father. Help me prepare.”
Sian got up from the floor and rushed into the bathroom. The sound of running water soon reached the bedroom.
She turned toward the bathroom, but stopped in mid-step. She turned her head to look at Helena. “Be sure your service pleases me, girl.”
Helena nodded. “I live to serve you, m’lady.” Her voice was shaky as she repeated the ancient phrase.
She licked her lips, eyeing the girl’s full bosom. “Not yet, but soon.” She swept into the bathroom, leaving the girl behind her. She could sense her fear and reluctance, and it aroused her again. No conquest was so sweet as one who started out unwilling.
She dropped the robe and stepped into the bath. Bubbles frothed on the surface of the water and hid her breasts when she leaned back in the spacious tub. Sian perched on the rim of the tub, holding a natural sponge. She smiled at her, while imagining how sweet Helena’s pussy would taste. Sian’s neediness was growing tiresome, and she was ready for a change.
Once she did away with Valdemeer’s heir and ridded herself of the old man, she would celebrate her ascension by inaugurating the young woman as her new companion. If the girl resisted, so much the better. She got wet just thinking about forcing Helena into compliance.
As Sian stepped into the tub and knelt between her legs, Nikia leaned back. The first touch of the sponge against her inflamed pussy was rough, but it only enhanced her desire.
Sian’s fingers were gentle as they parted her pussy lips. She swirled the sponge against her clit, and Nikia groaned. Her nipples ached for attention, and she cupped her breasts with her own hands. She traced her fingers across her areole, flicking her nipples gently.
Sian plunged her fingers deep inside Nikia’s dripping pussy. As she did so, Nikia twisted her nipples almost viciously, fantasizing they were her half-sister’s neck.
Chapter 6
Demi bowed to Valdemeer, standing by the mini-bar, before taking a seat in the wingchair across the desk. “Good evening, sire.”
Valdemeer poured him a glass of cognac without asking. He put it on the edge of the desk before sitting in his chair behind the desk. “She is here?”
He lifted the crystal glass to sip the cognac before answering. “Yes, sire.”
“And your journey? Was it…uneventful?”
Demi hesitated over mentioning Anca’s attempted escape. He sighed. “She grew frightened upon learning she is your heir.”
Valdemeer’s gray brows formed a V. “She didn’t know?”
“No, sire.”
He stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. “What does she know of us, Nicodemus?”
“I don’t think she knows anything, sire. Katrine told her you had died, and that she was a Ukrainian immigrant.”
The king swallowed heavily. “I see.” He glanced down at the amber liquid in his glass, seeming to collect his thoughts. “How is Katrine?”
He set down the glass. “She’s been ill. She’s had heart surgery, and Anca said she’s fragile.”
He shook his head. “How can that be? She’s so young.”
“I don’t think she lives by our ways any longer, sire. She has become human.”
Valdemeer leaned back in his chair, looking troubled. “Anca knows nothing of what we are? What she is?”
“I don’t think so.”
He stroked his graying beard again. “Damned impossible position, eh, boy?”
Demi smiled at the unintentional use of the endearment. “Yes, sire.”
“How should I tell her? Can she deal with it all upfront?”
He hesitated, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. She seems to be resilient, but it isn’t exactly the kind of thing you blurt out over dinner, is it?”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.” Valdemeer shook his head. “How would you handle it?”
“I really can’t say—“
“Nonsense, Nicodemus. You know more about her than any of us, except maybe Ylenia. You have a stake in how this happens. Tell me what I should do.”
“I think you should ease her into acceptance. Don’t rush her. She’s already had several surprises in the past few days.”
Valdemeer grimaced. “Difficult to do, with time growing short. The blood-moon is only a few weeks away.”
Demi shrugged. “You asked my opinion, sire.”
His king nodded. “Yes, I did. I suppose you’re right.” He leaned forward, slapping his hands together with a meaty thud. “Tonight, I won’t mention it. I deserve a chance to get acquainted with my daughter for the next few days, before we have to talk about her future.”
“Yes, sire.” He wondered if Anca would let the discussion wait though. She was terrified of her father trying to keep her in Corsova. Would that cause her to speak up, or would she be careful and discreet?
Valdemeer nodded, and he seemed more energized. “Go fetch her, dear boy. After waiting so long, I can’t wait another moment to lay eyes on my daughter.”
Demi rose from his chair. “I live to serve you.”
Valdemeer chuckled. “How many times do I have to tell you not to say that, Nicodemus? You’re a member of the family.”
“But, sire…”
His dark eyes twinkled. “Or you will be.”
Demi swallowed down his nausea as nerves assailed him. “If she’ll have me.”
* * * * *
Anca attempted to steady her shaking hands as she followed Demi into a lavish sitting room. She didn’t think the Persian carpet was imitation, nor were the Chippendale chairs knockoffs. She focused solely on the ormolu clock on the mantle for a few seconds, struggling to remember how to breathe.
When she felt calmer, Anca turned slightly to face the man standing in the corner of the room, near a mini-bar. Her father. She could barely fathom that. She stood frozen to the spot as she stared at him.
He had lo
ng, dark hair secured in a leather thong. Strands of silver liberally streaked his hair. Dark eyes dominated his chiseled features. His skin bore wrinkles as testament to his age, but he looked handsome and vital. His posture was straight, and his shoulders were broad. He didn’t look sick.
He was staring at her just as intently. Silence reigned in the salon for long seconds, until he broke it with a harsh exhalation. He stepped toward her, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “You are your mother.” He smiled. “I can almost believe Katrine is standing before me.”
“I have your nose,” Anca said, and her voice emerged as a croak. She had always wondered where it came from, since it was straight and narrow, unlike her mother’s pert little nose. She touched it unconsciously, while staring at his. She saw a tear slide down his cheek and realized her own cheeks were wet.
Later, she wouldn’t remember who moved first. When thinking about it, all she could recall was the feel of her father’s arms embracing her in a hug that was twenty-six years past due.
He smelled of cognac, pine, and a trace scent of copper. His beard was rough where it pressed against the top of her head. The scratchy material of his tunic tickled her skin when she buried her face in it and sobbed. He murmured words in a language she didn’t understand as he stroked her hair.
For a moment, Anca forgot about everything, even Demi’s presence. She was too overwhelmed with emotions to suppress the harsh sobs. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, allowing his soothing tone to wash over her. Slowly, the tears lessened and dried up.
She lifted her head and gazed into her father’s eyes. She blurted out the question on her mind without thought. “Why didn’t you come after me?”
Valdemeer flinched, and a hint of color swept into his pale cheeks. His hand in her hair stilled. “I wanted to.” He shook his head. “You were safer in New York.”
She swallowed a lump of moisture in her throat. “Demi told me that. I don’t understand why you couldn’t at least come see me in New York. Why pretend I didn’t exist for twenty-six years?”