Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowlegements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
Other Works
Connect With Nicola M. Cameron
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowlegements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
Other Works
Connect With Nicola M. Cameron
© 2015 Nicola M. Cameron
www.nicolacameron.com
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Michelle Muenzler
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For Lila Moon, who drew with me and gave me Luna.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book was not written in a vacuum. I wouldn’t have started it if A Certain Author hadn’t thrown out the following: “I’d like to challenge each and every one of these wonderful women to a writing contest. How about an 80K (that’s 80,000 words people, not dollars!) novel. It needs to be fully edited, proofed and a professional cover designed for it. Oh, and they have only 6 months to do all this. Ok, go.”
I did it in six weeks. Booyah.
It could not have been completed without the awesome beta talents of Ceit Kelly, Peter White, Lisa Trainor-diNorcia, and Cecilia Tan, the mad editing skills of Michelle Muenzler, and the gorgeous cover by the talented Jay Aheer. A ginormous hug and kiss are due to my husband, who said, “Petal, you don’t have it in you to write crap,” when I was freaking out about going well outside my wheelhouse with a high fantasy MF erotic romance.
And finally, a huge thank you goes out to Florence + the Machine, whose album How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful formed the soundtrack for this book.
1
A ROYAL WEDDING
The plume of dust grew out of the east, tracing a trail across the plains that surrounded the city of Mons like a golden sea. Anyone familiar with the geography of Ypres knew that the plume followed the trade route known as the Kasterlee Road, heading straight towards the capital city and the palace that lay at its center.
Matthias IV, King of Ypres stood on the palace’s parapet and watched the plume with narrowed eyes. There she is. By his estimate the bridal cortege would be in the city in a few hours, if not before nightfall.
After that, there would be no more delays. All the preparations had been made, food and drink distributed throughout the city, the Cathedral of Rebben readied for the ceremony. In the morning Queen Danaë of Hellas would don her bridal gown and be escorted to the cathedral where Matthias would be waiting for her. There, a priest would bind their lives together in holy matrimony.
If you could call it holy matrimony. As far as he was concerned, it was a necessary evil to uphold his honor and fulfill the terms of the treaty with Hellas. There was nothing holy about it. Hanne, I’m so sorry.
The other man on the parapet stirred, letting out a long sigh. “If I may be so bold, sire, you don’t seem all that pleased with the approach of your bride.”
Matthias closed his eyes against the headache he felt coming on. Ferdal Bardahlson was a superb leader of men, but his understanding of women began and ended at the brothel door. “Why should I be pleased?” he asked. “There’s twenty years between us. She’s young enough to be my daughter—gods, man, she was supposed to be my daughter-in-law. Instead, I have to make her my wife. Is it any surprise I’m not leaping for joy?”
The commander of the Ypresian army shrugged. “There are those who would consider that to be a happiness, sire,” he rumbled. “Winter will be here in a few months, and a young wife to warm your bed is no bad thing.” He paused. “And with luck there will be an heir by next year.”
Matthias stiffened. “I already have an heir.”
“Yes, sire. But there is still no word of Prince Lukas. You must assume—”
“What?” His eyes snapped open and he glared at Bardahlson. “Pray tell me, lord commander, what must I assume?”
Bardahlson stood his ground. “That Prince Lukas does not wish to come back. Or cannot come back. In which case you must have a new heir for Ypres.” His walrus-like mustache twitched. “And forgive me, sire, but you aren’t growing any younger. You must look to the future of your country, for the good of your people.”
“I have,” Matthias said, voice flat as he nodded at the far plains. “And there it is. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
“I—”
“Perhaps, Lord Bardahlson, you should see to the preparations at the city gates,” a baritone voice said.
Bardahlson gave a flat look to the fat priest who had appeared behind them, but grunted agreement and left.
“He’s trying to help, you know,” the priest added.
“I’m aware of that. And you needn’t start in on your own reassurances, thank you very much,” Matthias said sourly. “I’m marrying her, aren’t I? That should be enough for you.”
Bushy eyebrows went up at that. “Am I that annoying?”
“Yes. The single reason I agreed to this damned union in the first place was to stop your nagging.”
As a member of the King’s Council, Patriarch Jonas Reniel had been one of the driving forces between the decades-old trade treaty between Ypres and the island kingdom of Hellas. A canny politician as well as head of the Ypresian Church, it was Reniel who had taken charge of the situation when a letter arrived from Hellas six months ago requesting that Ypres fulfill the final term of the treaty and deliver a royal husband for Queen Danaë.
Everyone, including Matthias, had always assumed that his son and heir Lukas would fill that role. But Lukas had disappeared three years ago after the tragic death of his mother Hanne. Rumors had swirled around his disappearance, everything from Lukas going mad from grief to a tremendous argument with his father over his inheritance that sent him boiling out of Mons. No one knew the truth of the matter, not even Matthias. And despite the best efforts of Reniel’s spies, no one had been able to find a trace of the Crown Prince of Ypres.
Which left one royal male available for a wedding—Matthias himself. And so he would marry the woman meant to be his daughter-in-law, despite the aching grief he still felt for his lost Hanne.
Oblivious to all this, Reniel shook his head. “Your union isn’t damned, believe me. I performed all the sanctifying rituals myself. There won’t be a god or goddess who frowns on you and young Danaë tomorrow.”
Matthias leaned on the stone balustrade, staring out at the fields of tall grass bending in the wind. “The gods will bless us,” he muttered. “
Then why do I feel so cursed?”
“Because you enjoy torturing yourself, I suppose,” the priest said with a sigh. He leaned next to Matthias, thick arms resting on the honey-colored stone. “I had hoped that you would be more amenable to the idea by now. It’s not as if you’re marrying a foul-tempered crone. Danaë’s supposed to be quite pretty, and she’s an excellent ruler. King Cresus would have seen to that, of course.” He paused, then plunged on. “And it’s been three years since we lost Queen Hanne.”
“Hanne still lives in my heart,” Matthias said, curt. “And no woman will ever take her place, is that clear?”
A small sigh. “Yes, sire.”
“This is a marriage of political convenience. I understand it, Danaë understands it. It will never be anything more.”
Reniel bowed his head. “Of course, sire. Forgive my impertinence.”
Matthias snorted. For Reniel, impertinence was the element in which the priest thrived. “Besides, all we have is her envoy’s word that she’s pretty,” he said. Even to him it sounded petulant. “She couldn’t be bothered to send a portrait. And I haven’t seen her in person since she was little more than a child.”
“What was she like then?”
Matthias thought. “Fat. A little partridge of a girl. Sweet enough, I suppose. I didn’t spend much time with her.”
He never thought he’d have to. But now, thanks to his feckless son, he would have to marry that little partridge of a girl to maintain the valuable trade agreement between their countries.
Out on the plains, the tiny plume of dust grew closer.
****
“My rump feels like it’s been beaten with oars,” Danaë, Queen of Hellas and Empress of the Eastern Seas, grumbled. Underneath her, the bay mare snorted, as if in contempt for its rider. “Do the Ypresians have to ride horses all the time?”
“It’s the easiest way to get around the countryside with any sort of speed,” her brother Darius said, sitting atop his own mount with ease. “You’ll have to get used to them if you’re going to rule a country of mainlanders.”
“Mrrgh.” She shifted in her saddle, wincing at the ache. “I hope they don’t expect me to walk far after this.”
“You’re a queen, sister dear. You can always have some nice sturdy servant carry you.”
She glared at him. “Tell me, brother dear, have you always been this much of a jackass?”
He tsked, splaying a hand over his breast. “You wound me, my queen. And just when I was about to compliment you on handling the tedium of queenship so well. Better than I would have, if our positions were reversed.”
“Yes, I can’t see you filling out a dress all that well,” she drawled.
He gave her a wicked grin. “You’d be surprised.”
Danaë bit her lip to smother a smile. She loved her twin brother, but it was true that he had nothing of a king in him. Their father King Cresus had understood this and encouraged Darius to act as a roving ambassador while Danaë was tutored in the art of ruling. As a result, the study of statecraft, debate, economics, and warfare filled her days while Darius made a name (and something of a reputation) for himself at the other royal courts on the continent.
The brisk plains wind tugged at the curls escaping from her cap, tickling them across her nose. Against her black hair one curl of deep royal blue stood out, the sign of a mage with control over the elemental power of water. Frowning, she tucked it back into her cap.
When the blue lock appeared in her ninth year, her father had been beside himself with pride. Mage training became part of her schedule along with her education in statecraft. She’d passed through the novice and apprentice classes, becoming an adept in her fifteenth year. After another decade of training interspersed with her duties as King’s Heir, she would have become a magistra, qualified to perform magic on her own.
And then Cresus died, and everything changed.
She pushed the old pain and frustration away. Governing Hellas was her main duty now, and maintaining the trade treaty with Ypres was vital to her nation’s economy. A collection of islands that spread out from the edge of the continent into the Eastern Sea, Hellas engaged in very profitable trade with the Han Empire and other countries on the far side of that noble body of water. In an irony of geographical placement, the continental mainland just west of Hellas was much more challenging to reach, located as it was behind a very long mountain range called the Arpinnes. The easiest access was through Ypres, which had well-established trade roads and maintained routes through three mountain passes. For the last twenty years Hellas had been given free access to the Ypresian passes and roads as part of the treaty that would wed their countries together in the persons of Danaë and Prince Lukas of Ypres. And now that she was in her twenty-fifth year, it was time for that wedding to take place.
Except that Prince Lukas was nowhere to be found. His absence had laid a tremendous burden on the diplomatic corps of both countries as they tried to answer the question of how to hold a royal wedding when the groom had dropped off the face of the earth.
The answer, of course, was to find a new royal groom in the person of Matthias IV, the widowed Ypresian king. She’d been the target of no small consolation from various advisors and royal retainers, all of them assuming that she had no interest in marrying someone who was, in truth, old enough to be her father.
The irony was that this assumption couldn’t be farther from the truth. A portrait of King Matthias had hung in the palace gallery as long as Danaë could remember. After her courses had begun and she realized that boys were more than just nuisances, she would stop in front of it when no one was watching and study the lines of his face. He wasn’t what the other girls giggled over; his features were rugged with a nose thickened from an old break, his eyes were an unsettling silver blue, and his ears did have an unfortunate tendency to jut out from his skull. But his hair was thick and dark blond, and there was a set to his mouth that appealed to Danaë. As she grew older she began to fantasize about situations where she had no choice but to kiss that mouth. The fantasies and kisses became more sensual, becoming entwined in her exploration of her own body as she grew older. Once in a while she felt some guilt about involving Matthias in such activities. He was to be her father-in-law, not her husband, and he was besotted with his beautiful queen in any case.
But to her pubescent mind he was worthy of desire. The tall, regal man was well-known as a brilliant ruler, ruthless during war and even-handed during peace, and her father considered him to be a friend as well as ally. Their last meeting in person had been over ten years ago, well before Queen Hanne’s death. She could still remember standing with her parents and brother in the palace courtyard to greet the Ypresian royal family. She had smiled at Prince Lukas as expected, giving him her cheek to kiss. He was a handsome youth, tall and strong with his father’s hair and his mother’s hazel brown eyes.
King Matthias was something else, moving with leonine grace as he leapt from his horse to greet King Cresus and Queen Clarae. And when the Ypresian king took her hands in his own and gave her a chaste kiss, Danaë prayed that the color burning on her cheeks would be taken as regal reserve and not a sudden flush of desire.
But she had been betrothed to Lukas. And so she had danced with him, and walked with him, and laughed at his amusing chatter, and allowed him to kiss her in one of the palace gardens. There were worse fates than being married to a handsome prince, she had reminded herself. Even if Lukas did strike her as somewhat immature and boisterous, he had more than enough time to mature into a man as impressive as his father. Her girlish dreams about Matthias were just those—dreams.
Until Queen Hanne’s death, and Prince Lukas’s disappearance, and the approach of her twenty-fifth birthday and its treaty-mandated wedding. Then her secret dream was plucked from her head and given political approval. Instead of marrying Lukas and becoming Crown Princess of Ypres, she would marry Matthias and become Queen of Ypres. It was the fulfillment of both her father’s effor
ts for their country and her deepest fantasy.
She wished she didn’t feel so apprehensive about it.
****
It was dusk when Matthias trooped down to the courtyard with his guards and a puffing Reniel in tow. He didn’t need anyone to tell him the royal Hellene cortege had wound its way through the city and was about to pass through the palace gates; he could hear it from the roaring cheers that echoed throughout his capital.
Arriving at the courtyard, he noted with some surprise that the entire party was on horseback, with the luggage carried by donkeys. It was a subtle touch, and one that he had to appreciate. The Hellenes weren’t known for their riding skills, so this nod to Ypresian habits was an unexpected honor.
Hanne had a wonderful seat. Gods, I loved riding with her. He pushed the thought away. It was unlikely that Danaë would be in the country long enough to develop an affinity for riding. Once the wedding was over, they would spend a few days letting his new queen get to know her people before heading back to Hellas for another wedding there.
Matthias’s lips twitched. I hope her bottom is up to the trip. Then again, if she’s still as plump as she was when she was a girl, it should provide more than enough cushioning.
Reniel glanced at him. “Be civil,” he warned.
Sometimes he wondered if his Patriarch was a mindreader. “Of course,” he said as they entered the courtyard. The Hellene contingent were busy dismounting, some of them requiring help with the process. A round, feminine figure in a midnight blue cloak was helped to the courtyard cobbles, giving a low groan of relief as she rubbed her bottom.
Matthias headed for her. “Greetings, Queen Danaë, and welcome to Ypres,” he said. “I hope your trip wasn’t too wearing.”
She turned, flipping back her hood and revealing a middle-aged woman, black hair threaded with silver. “I fear my rump will never be the same, but thanks for asking, your majesty,” she said. “As for my lady, she’s over there.”
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