The Golden Key Chronicles

by AJ Nuest

  The man lunged forward and drove his shoulder into Caedmon’s stomach, propelling them back in a tumbling heap. Caedmon seized the thug’s shoulders and pinned him tight, swinging a heavy leg around the older man’s neck. His hips rose from the floor when the warrior grappled with Caedmon’s thighs.

  “Say it!” Caedmon yelled.

  “I do not yet yield!”

  Her prince pressed his arms to the floor and his entire body tensed, arcing high, the sinewy tendons of his stomach contracting when he crossed his ankles behind the other man’s neck and squeezed. “You can declare it now or after you wake. Makes no difference to me.”

  The warrior’s face flushed a deep red. He gasped and sputtered, clawing at the air. “She’s the fairest in the land! I cede! I cede!”

  Caedmon gritted his teeth and his head rolled back, the sculpted planes of his ribs constricting until each tier stood out in stark relief against the next. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow to his jaw. “Now say it again and mean it, you deflated, old windbag!”

  “Sorceress Rowena is by far the fairest of them all.”

  Her jaw dropped and Rowena slapped a hand to her chest. All of this because of her? She scooted closer to the mirror and rapped a knuckle against the glass. “Caedmon, stop it. What are you doing?”

  He collapsed onto his back and his chest rose as he drew a deep breath. His cheeks expanded when he exhaled toward the ceiling. “Settling a difference of opinion, my lady.”

  “By nearly choking a man to death?”

  The warrior chuckled and tossed Caedmon’s leg off his shoulder. “No fear of this young whelp harming me, Your Radiance. I taught him everything he knows.”

  Caedmon laughed, rolled onto his shoulders and snapped his feet forward, landing in a low squat. He quickly straightened and swept the tip of his sword across the floor, executing a formal bow. “Good morning, my lady. From your rosy cheeks, I trust you slept soundly?” He opened a hand toward the man on his right. “Allow me to introduce Denmar Emsworth, Captain of his majesty’s Royal Guard. Denmar, as you so accurately declared, I present the most heavenly creature known to man, Sorceress Rowena of the Veil.”

  A heady rush of blood heated her cheeks. The most heavenly creature known to man. Yeah, right. Plain Jane was more accurate.

  Denmar suddenly seemed to grow two left feet. He stumbled forward and waved a hand in the air, approximating a poor imitation of Caedmon’s formal bow. “I am forever your humble servant, Sorceress.”

  Rowena lifted an eyebrow. This gallantry made the renaissance fair seem like an episode of Tom and Jerry. “You two should really sell tickets.” She feigned a dramatic sigh and placed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “What damsel wouldn’t swoon at such a heroic proclamation of her beauty?”

  Caedmon grinned and tossed his sword aside before jogging closer to the glass. He placed his hand on the mirror. “Are you hale and well this day, my lady?”

  So close for the first time in the morning light, she paused to better study his smile. His two front teeth overlapped just the smallest degree, but the slight flaw made him more handsome somehow, more real. She smiled, met his palm and the mirror hummed to life and, for the briefest moment, she swore his fingers nearly twined with hers. “You told me the sword was your instrument of choice. You never warned me you played so well.”

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve grown restless locked in my chamber. My thoughts run wild with visions I no longer care to control.”

  She flitted a glance down the firm contours of his torso, a few tantalizing ideas of her own springing to mind. If only she could reach through the glass and smooth her palms across the width of his shoulders. Would those rock-hard muscles quiver under her fingertips? Would his skin taste like salt? Her breath caught as heated desire throbbed between her thighs. The bed reeled when she imagined darting the tip of her tongue along the grooves of his ribcage, sweeping her lips through the downy line of hair near his waistband. Her nipples peaked against the cotton of her nightgown. Every nerve ending tingled and surged with aching need. She would crawl up those long legs and straddle him until she’d had her fill.

  Caedmon pursed his lips and expelled a long, slow breath. A lock of her hair lifted from her shoulder. The warmth of his sigh bathed her skin.

  She gasped, her heart tripping rapidly to catch her surprise, and placed her palm on her cheek. “I just felt your breath, Caedmon.”

  He cocked a dark eyebrow. “’Twould be ungentlemanly for me to speak of what I feel at this moment.”

  Exhilaration skittered through her stomach and she grinned. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who longed to reach through the glass, explore their connection in a more up-close-and-personal way. Caedmon chuckled and she joined in, sharing a private laugh.

  Denmar cleared his throat. “Tits of the nine goddesses, boy,” he mumbled. “You’re as doe-eyed as a newborn calf.”

  Caedmon dropped his hand and slowly withdrew, wicked delight dancing in his gaze. He crossed toward the windows and a washbasin sitting atop a wooden dresser. “Reason confounds me in the presence of one so exceptional, Denmar.” He lifted a porcelain pitcher and decanted some water into a bowl. The heated stare he trailed from the base of her throat to her hips nearly singed her skin. “And not a man in this kingdom could blame me.”

  He scooped some water into his hands and doused his face, scooped a second time and rinsed off both shoulders. Water droplets trickled down his sculpted back as he slid a towel off the dresser and patted his face dry. She followed the damp trails down to the shallow indents in his lower back until they merged with the leather waistband of his pants. All the moisture left her mouth for regions south. The man was like some demigod straight out of Greek mythology.

  “’Tis the warding of the Council which begot this debacle.” Denmar balanced the tip of his sword between his feet and rested his hands on the pommel. “Insipid pompadoured fools. Daily our enemy advances and yet my best man remains imprisoned like a common thief, courting disaster. Female distractions undermine the most levelheaded of men, no matter how sweet the reward. If we fail in planning our defense, the Council will have no one to blame but themselves.”

  “Guard your tongue.” Caedmon darted a sharp glance at his friend and tossed the towel onto the dresser. “Apologies, my lady. Master Emsworth speaks out of turn.”

  Daily their enemy advanced? Rowena eased back from the mirror, studying the stubborn set of Denmar’s jaw. Oh shit, he was right. Guilt descended and came to rest on her shoulders like a sopping wet blanket. She’d been so preoccupied with uncovering the truth, she’d forgotten that first night Caedmon said their country was on the brink of war.

  “No, he’s right, Caedmon. I’ve been selfish with your time.” How could she have been so thoughtless? She’d gotten completely distracted, assuming Caedmon had nothing to think of but her…most likely because she’d spent the past twenty-four hours thinking of nothing but him. Hopefully it wasn’t too late to rectify the situation. “You must have a million things to do. You should go with Denmar today. Take care of your responsibilities.”

  “I would not forsake you in such a way. My duty lies here.”

  Denmar grunted and rolled his eyes, but his reaction spoke volumes. Caedmon’s “duty” would be better served elsewhere.

  “You’re not forsaking me if we both agree you should go.”

  Caedmon needed to take care of his obligations. Letting him leave was the right thing to do, but she didn’t want her consent to cause him trouble, either. Rowena crossed her arms. “This defense planning, is it really critical you attend?”

  He studied her a moment before his shoulders sagged and he shook his head as if resigned to admitting a hard truth. “Denmar assures me, my presence during the strategizing will be sorely missed.”

  “That is put lightly.” The captain spoke from the side of his mouth.

  Rowena huffed, but she wasn’t about to live
up to her namesake. By no stretch of the imagination did she desire to fulfill the role of a seductress who used people for some perverted personal gain. “Well, you can relax, Master Emsworth. Caedmon is yours. Me and my distractions will be leaving for the day.”

  Caedmon spun toward the mirror. “You willingly present me leave?”

  “You’re trying to defend your country. That’s a fairly high priority in my book. If helping your kinsmen is important to you, then it’s important to me.” She gathered her robe from the end of the bed and shrugged her arms into the sleeves. “Besides, I was planning to head out, anyway. I have work to do. Saturday is our busiest day at the shop.”

  “But, our time is short. And the Council forbids either of us depart during the Gleaning.”

  She flipped the sides of her robe closed and cinched the belt at her waist. Based on Denmar’s previous statement, the men in those positions didn’t have a clue what they were doing. Who cared if their pantaloons got wedged in a knot? “Well, the Council can shove their objections up their tight, puckered asses.”

  The captain tossed his head back and laughter roared from his barreled chest.

  Rowena slid her hairbrush off the nightstand, chuckling along with him.

  Caedmon squinted, glancing between them. “Are you suggesting I purposely disobey the Council’s decree?”

  “Please.” She ran the brush through her hair. “When is the last time a politician got anything right?”

  Denmar bobbed his head in curt agreement. “The Sorceress speaks sense, lad. Listen to the woman.”

  Caedmon eyed them critically before crossing his arms. “How do you propose I slip past the guard?”

  Chin lowered, she fluttered her lashes to emphasize her sarcasm. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought your friend here was the Captain of the Guard.” She blithely flipped her brush in Denmar’s direction. “Get Denmar to run some interference. Then all you need to do is put on that horrible get-up you wore yesterday and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble sneaking out.”

  Denmar strode across the room and clapped his hand on Caedmon’s shoulder. “I like this girl, Caedmon. I like her a lot. She’s got a diabolical mind.” He tapped a thick finger against his temple. “Much sought after in the art of war.”

  Rowena stood and tossed her brush onto the bed. “I’m off to hit the shower and get dressed. Should we meet back here in, say, half an hour? To sort of…check in before we say goodbye?”

  Caedmon’s lips curved in a devilish smirk. “You surprise me at every turn, my lady. A rarity such as you should be treasured above all others. But, I’m curious. How do you recommend I remain otherwise diverted while you dress?”

  A heady rush of arousal weakened her knees. Though dressing—or undressing—in front of Caedmon definitely held a certain appeal, any attempts at a striptease would be better served outside Denmar’s company. She flicked a brow and snatched a pillow off the bed. Caedmon’s protests became muffled when she plopped it in front of the glass and patted the edges in place. “And no peeking.”

  Chapter Six

  “Where are you today?”

  Rowena jerked out of her reverie and glanced at Oliver. “Obviously, not here.”

  She’d expected a busy Saturday at the shop. She planned on catering to the usual browsers, the occasional interior designer. Maybe even one of her more affluent customers would stop in for a visit. But she’d never imagined this steady stream of activity which seemed to bustle on without end. Overnight she’d received calls from all over the world. The British Museum, the Tate, the Smithsonian, Christie’s, Sotheby’s, even some archbishop from the Vatican was on her callback list. Regardless of the subtleties of Violet’s research, word of the key had officially hit the streets. And yet, if Rowena had let her heart decide, she would’ve gladly marched straight back to the safety of her condo so she would be ready and waiting for Caedmon’s return.

  When the Channel Seven news team had pulled up in front of the shop, she’d thrown her hands in the air and retreated to the sanctuary of her studio.

  “The insurance underwriter just called.” Oliver tossed a message slip onto her already overcrowded desk. “And we just received our first formal offer from some snooty Earl in England. He’s offering five hundred thousand if you personally deliver the key.”

  “Hmmm.” Rowena searched the murky sky through the window, twirling the chain at her neck. She couldn’t decide anything until she talked more with Caedmon. Somehow the mirror, the key, the fate of his country were all intertwined, and until she was certain how her actions might affect him, everything had to remain status quo.

  “Hmmm?” Oliver propped his fists on his hips. “All you’ve got to say is ‘hmmm’?”

  “Tell them I’m not interested.”

  He extended his arms to the sides. “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  He strode across her studio and flopped onto the couch. “Okay, talk. The Rowena I know is an astute business woman. She would’ve jumped at this chance for notoriety. She would’ve carefully weighed all her options and then sold that key for a boatload of cash.”

  She smiled softly. “I am carefully weighing all my options.”

  A tense moment stretched between them while Oliver searched her face.

  “Oh…my…God.” He slapped the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Please tell me this indecision has nothing to do with your handsome prince.”

  As her self-appointed big brother, of course Ollie would doubt her ability to see clearly where Caedmon was concerned. Not that she blamed him. Her growing belief she was spending her evenings with an actual prince from another realm had her wondering if she’d purchased a one-way ticket to crazy town. But she’d simply run out of excuses to explain away all the strange things that were happening between them. Hell, after everything they’d shared last night, she no longer wanted to explain them away.

  Rowena stopped toying with the chain and joined Oliver on the couch, sitting with her knee bent on the seat so she faced him. “I wish I could say that. I really do, but a lot has changed in the past couple of days.”

  Oliver studied her eyes and then tossed his head back in disgust. “Ugh. You’ve fallen in love with him.”

  “No.” Rowena quickly fingered a crease in her jeans. “Not love.”

  Ollie crossed his arms, one eyebrow lifted in shrewd assessment of her denial. “Oh, so you’ve already taken the test?”

  “What test?”

  He sighed. “How many times in the past twenty-four hours have you thought about your Prince Charming?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.”

  “Uh huh. And how many times have you thought about yourself?”

  She shrugged. “None, why?”

  “Well, that proves it. The person we spend most of our time thinking about is the one person we truly love.” Oliver adjusted his Windsor knot, clearing his throat. “Which also explains why I only think of myself.”

  Rowena chuckled. “Okay, fine. I’m infatuated maybe, but not in love. A person doesn’t fall in love in one day, right? Right, Ollie?”

  Compassion filled Oliver’s sky-blue eyes and he cupped her cheek in his palm. “You know I think of you as family, kiddo, but you’re fooling yourself. One day is more than enough time to fall in love. Although, I gotta tell you, I worry this Caedmon character is messing with your head.”

  He reached down and squeezed her hand. “You’ve got a good heart, doll. Better than anyone I’ve ever met, but you’re also incredibly naive. You believed every lie Brad told you, remember? Even when the truth was staring you straight in the face.”

  She closed her eyes and lowered her head, bracing her forehead on her fingertips. Oliver was right. Even after catching Brad with his pants down around his ankles, boinking the assistant of one of her clients, he’d still talked her into taking him back. Two years she’d listened to his lies, desperate to believe he cared for her the way he always professed, des
perate to believe in love.

  Fear spiked in her stomach over all the self-deprecating decisions she’d made. The strength and energy she’d expended just to get herself back to ground zero. No matter what her future held, she did not want to become that girl again. “I know.”

  “I worry this guy is feeding you a line, and you’ve bought into his scam hook, line and sinker.”

  Caedmon’s face flashed before her eyes and Rowena shook her head, struggling to reconcile the man she believed him to be, with the caution in Oliver’s advice. “There’s just something about this whole mirror business I can’t explain, Ollie. It’s so incredibly real.”

  “Maybe it seems real because you want it to be real. But in the end, a lie is still a lie.” He patted the back of her hand. “There’s absolutely no harm in having a bit of fun, and God knows no one deserves a little sexual diversion more than you, but you also need to protect yourself, sweetie. You need to set your heart aside and consider your next move with a level head, before you make a decision which could ultimately harm your future.”

  Violet whisked the velvet curtain aside. “I could really use a little help out here.” She jerked her head toward the showroom. “And Channel Seven is asking for an exclusive.”

  Rowena nodded and pushed up from the couch. Time to face the media frenzy. “Okay, tell them I’ll be right there.”

  “No, you’ll tell them we need fifteen minutes.” Oliver pointed at her and stood. “If you’re going live, I insist on doing something about your hair.”

  ***

  After the press conference, Rowena stole through the back door of her studio, leaving Oliver and Violet to deal with the last of the unruly fortune seekers. A quick stop at the corner deli for a fortifying bottle of Merlot, and she navigated the rain-soaked streets of Chicago, her thoughts mired in deep deliberation, her heart heavy as the gray clouds scudding across the sky.