Myla By Moonlight

by Inez Kelley

  The burgeoning warmth kindled desire deep inside her useless womb. Tonight, she’d gather enough memories to ward off the chill of returning to him as a guardian only.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Elders’ Council celebrated with as much lively good humor as their trial had been tense. Food and wine flowed, plentiful and rich, exposing Myla to delights she had never imagined. She tasted cake so light it was like eating a cloud and puddings so sensuous they embodied lust. The absence of evil heightened everything. Taric fed her bites from his plate he thought she would enjoy. She far preferred the taste of his lips to any offering.

  Musicians crowded the night with rhythm and song. The echo trembling in her belly, Myla laughed. How strange to have a vibration outside that rippled through her feet and up her legs. Beyond the table, dancers enthralled her eyes, swirling and whirling in dizzying patterns, never missing a step. Bryton and his Kat, as he called her, clung to each other. The melody turned frantic, each spinning faster and faster until Myla thought sure they’d fly apart. Instead, he stopped her abruptly and kissed her in full view of all. Katina merely tossed her head back and laughed into the night. The sound of joy rang from her throat and she wrapped her arms about his shoulders.

  “Dance with me, daughter.”

  Balic held his hand out and Myla stared. Dance? She knew no dances. Spinning to Taric, she sent him a pleading request for clemency but he smirked and nodded.

  “You’ll have to do the same at our wedding. Practice now. Just spare his toes.”

  Hard and firm, Balic’s hand gripped hers kindly and pulled her from her seat toward the dance floor. The tune slipped from lively and fast to slow and melodic and he smiled down at her before cupping her waist. His hand was similar in size and shape to his son’s, yet she still felt none of the tingles Taric’s touch created.

  “Relax, Guardian. Pretend it’s a swordfight. Anticipate my moves and follow my lead. Here, hand on my shoulder, but gently if you please. I still carry your wound.”

  “I will not apologize for defending Taric,” she grumped before her eyes shifted to the right. “But I am sorry you are pained.”

  “No matter. You’ve saved him all his life, today included. I owe you a great deal. Tell me what you would like. A jewel? A banquet? A home of your own? What good is being king if you can’t reward those who do the most to serve you?”

  “I require nothing.”

  “Then let me be magnanimous and just say…thank you, Myla.” All traces of arrogance slid away from his somber bronzed eyes. His tongue was thick and gruff when he did speak. “He’s all I have in the world. The crown owns everything, but Taric is my son, my blood, the only thing truly mine. Thank you, not from a king but from a father.”

  A burst of such overwhelming parental love washed over her, her eyes moistened. Tears clogged her throat and she nodded her head in acceptance rather than try to speak. She did as he requested and followed his moves as if in battle and found dancing rather easy, with its gliding grace and symmetry.

  A tension began to creep into Balic’s shoulder and she tilted her chin, studying the monarch who suddenly would not meet her gaze.

  “You have questions to ask which burn your tongue but you are fearful to voice them.” Her probing firmed his lips.

  “Yes.” The melody surrounded them and they moved in accordance for several moments before he swallowed with difficulty. “She died alone, except for an infant and you. Did she blame me for not being there?”

  “I sensed no blame in Queen Tarsha that night.”

  “I tried. The storms hit so fast. She wasn’t due for another few weeks. There was a logging accident along the east line. I was helping… I left the instant I got word and rode straight through the gale, fast and hard, but I—”

  “She knew. She called for me to protect Taric but she knew that you would love him. It made her death easier, to leave her child with the one person she trusted without doubt.” His eyelids snapped closed. “After I came, as she faded, she sang to him, stroked his cheek like this.” Myla drew the side of her thumb along his temple down to his short beard. The king drew a shaky breath and tightened his jaw.

  “She always did that…to me.”

  “Rest easy, Your Majesty, Queen Tarsha had no pain and no blame, only love in her last moments in this world. Love for her son and you that she carried with her beyond this life.”

  Without a word, he took her palm and led her to the dance floor’s edge. Taric was dancing with Lunian, both of them laughing. They stopped when Balic thrust Myla toward his son and briskly left the hall without a backward glance. Lunian hefted her heavy skirt hem and scurried after him.

  Taric’s troubled gaze followed their fast steps. “Myla, what—?”

  “At times, the pain of your mother’s passing is an awesome weight and even broad shoulders buckle.”

  The catch in her voice was not for the king but for the man beside her. Balic proved to her that love lasted beyond death, beyond absence. It endured. The love she and Taric shared would endure forever, but like the monarch, he would have to face each day without her. She would rather see Taric saddened than dead.

  Immediately, they were jostled from behind and Myla reacted, stepping in front of Taric and lashing out. Bryton and Katina had accidentally twirled into them, laughing and wrapped in their own world. Myla’s instinctual shove skidded Bryton’s backside several feet along the stone floor. Katina squeaked and then hid a laugh behind her fingers.

  Taric had no compunction and his hearty chuckle sounded over the music. He strode to offer Bryton a hand.

  The captain glared at her before accepting the outstretched palm. “Lady Myla, you and I have to come to some sort of truce if we’re both to guard the prince. He’ll never have anything to fear from me and I’d prefer to stop being at the receiving end of your wrath.”

  “Wrath? Sir Bryton, you’ve yet to see an inkling of my wrath. I, however, see quite a bit more than I believe you wish me to.” Arching her brow, she pointedly looked at his leggings.

  His rough skid had torn a large gap from his waistband to his knee and the flesh of a tightly muscled buttock flashed bright against the blue material. Flushing red from the roots of his hair to his tunic edge, he gripped the fabric with a curse. He muttered something which made Taric snicker.

  Katina sidled to his side, hiding his exposed leg with her long skirt, and saucily offered to escort him to his chamber to preserve his modesty.

  “Bry has no modesty,” Taric teased. “I remember once in a tavern in Brisc—”

  “Shut up, Your Whine-ness. I’ve a few tales of your debauchery I could share myself if you like.”

  Wickedness gleamed in Taric’s maple eyes. He leaned close to his friend and whispered. Myla’s feline-sensitive ears heard the exchange. “An altogether different magical ‘cat’ seems to have caught your attention, my friend. Trying for your own piece of make-believe ass?”

  “Nothing make-believe about those breasts.” Bryton smirked but the gaze he settled on the young woman was gentle. “Release me for the night. My ass is hanging out here and…well, you’ve got Myla. I want to concentrate on something other than your ass for a while.”

  “Consider yourself released from duty.” Stunned disbelief lifted Taric’s brows and hushed his already soft voice. “You’re really taken with her.”

  “Taric, shut up. You really are the Crowned Prick, know that? You talk too much.” Without another word, he led Katina from the hall.

  Impatience hardened Taric’s jaw as he made the rounds, speaking with every member of the Elders’ Council. Each man wished them well in their marriage, spoke of attending the wedding or issuing invitations for stays at their own homes.

  Myla dragged her feet. Bit by bit, their good wishes added guilt to her soul. Taric would have a mess to sort through when it was announced there would be no wedding. But no mess was as daunting as leaving Taric unprotected. He would have to muddle through it. She could not swallow the knot
which stuck in her throat and simply smiled blankly at all who congratulated them.

  Nimon Luta stiffened at their approach but Taric didn’t hesitate. He strode to the younger man and stood poised above his seated near-captor. The slick, gaunt man rose to his feet, swallowed and stuck out his hand. Internal struggle twanged from Taric but he gripped the hand.

  “Thank you, Nimon. Today you proved yourself more of an honorable man to me than your father has ever been. You voted with the evidence and not…allegiances.”

  Lips trembling, Nimon raised his chin. “I am my father’s son but I’m a man in my own right and will think for myself. I—I believe in honoring your promises but I made no promise to anyone except the crown. I will honor those commitments and no others.”

  “Honor is always a good policy.” Taric smiled. A half bow and he turned to leave but Nimon’s hand shot out and gripped his arm.

  “Prince Taric…your bride? Isn’t she…wasn’t she at… I mean…”

  “I have known my bride since childhood,” Taric explained with no real answer at all and left the younger man gaping in confusion.

  A giggle tickled Myla’s lips. Leaving those you don’t fully trust bewildered was also a good policy.

  ab

  “You’ll need a maid. When we get home, I’ll talk to Lunian and see who she recommends for you.”

  “A maid?” Myla stopped the silk from sliding off her hips and turned to Taric. He’d unlaced her gown, the back ties being too cumbersome for one person to undress alone.

  “Well, as much as I like undressing you, you’ll need a woman to help you with some things, like laces. I’ve never dressed a woman, only undressed them.” His sheepish grin carved his dimple deeper into his cheek and she grabbed the image, holding it tight. She would need no maid. There would be no more gowns.

  The silk rustled like leaves in autumn when Myla draped it over the chair back, unsure what to do with it. She supposed a maid would take care of that duty, too. Her fingers shook, skimming the sleek fabric. It was a beautiful gown.

  Taric had already shed his bright tunic and gleaming boots and now crawled to lounge on the bed, watching her move about the room in her loose shift. She touched this object and that, weighing some in her hand, fingering others lightly. How lovely these things were. A room designed for a young woman, it contained glass bottles in a myriad of colors, each one holding a different scent. She paused to sniff them all.

  The silvered brush set on the low table was far heavier than it looked, the bristles firm and tight. She pulled it through her loose hair with a sad smile. Taric loved to brush her hair. How she would miss that. Rich velvet fabric the color of the ocean’s waves cascaded from the high ceiling to hide the night sky. She pushed it back. The glass window was clear and small. It creaked slightly when she shoved it open, the perfume of night blooms heavy in the air. Flowers. How she would miss the fragrance.

  From below, the faintest strains of laughter wafted from the barracks. Everyone was celebrating. Marchen had been cast out and most assumed this war was over. She knew it was not. His venomous rage still seared her skin. No, it was far from over. It was in fact, too close.

  Eyes closed, with her face to the night wind, Myla searched for Marchen. He was still in the castle, deep in his chambers on the other side. Brewed hatred bubbled in his aura, turning it black. No, he could not be dismissed so easily. Dimly, she heard Taric speak her name and began pulling back from the evil stain when something else caught her mystic eye.

  Celebrations meant life and living meant loving. Lovers were entwined everywhere throughout the castle, young and old, noble and servant, married and enamored. Her breath jerked, a bounty of physical expressions flooding her soul. Many of the acts she recognized. A blush warmed her skin as she recalled enacting several of them with the man behind her calling her name.

  One unfamiliar but stirring scene snagged her vision and she let it linger voyeuristically. This was to be her last night in Taric’s arms. She wanted to taste every pleasure she could before the bitterness of pain soured her.

  Taric called her by name again and her bones quivered, her essence knocking back into her temporal body. The night had begun and her time in this world careened toward an end. Recalling the flirtations of Bryton and his Kat for the past two days, Myla turned from the window and fixed a sultry stare on her beloved. When he locked eyes with hers, she lowered her lashes primly before raising them once more.

  “What are you doing, my love?” His tease was laced with yearning and she chose not to answer with words.

  Instead, she tossed her head back, allowing the full waves of mahogany to shimmy across her shoulders. Her fingers went to the loose ties at the neckline of her shift, playing idly with them.

  His maple eyes followed her movements and darkened to chestnut. “Myla, were you spying on others again? Using your magic to see…private matters?”

  “Perhaps.” Rolling her hips as she had seen Katina do, she strolled to the edge of the bed and took her lower lip between her teeth. Taric’s glance shot immediately from her waist to her mouth. This flirting is quite provocative, powerful.

  Sitting beside him, Myla walked her fingers up his arm, from wrist to elbow before speaking. “I did sense something that intrigued me.”

  Her walking fingers climbed past his shoulder and traversed the plane of his chest. A prominent ridge formed in his breeches.

  Taric growled deep in his chest, his brows dipping with brewing lust. “It’s impolite to intrude on others with magic, even harmlessly.”

  There was no rebuff to his words. His tone was more awed expectation and she tugged the loose gown over her head. Lust traced her skin with whispered breath. She allowed the cotton fabric to pool to the floor and his throat bobbed with a swallow. She leaned closer, her dark hair feathered across her shoulder to graze his stomach.

  “Yes, it is. But I didn’t set out to peek in. I was just curious.”

  “About what?” Husky, his voice flowed like melted cream along her bones. “What did you see that intrigued you?”

  Her face close to his, she smiled wickedly. “Shall I show you?”

  One stolen kiss led to another in place of his answer. His roughened hands buried deep in her hair and pulled her across his chest.

  Above him, she delighted in the freedom. Angling back, she made him rise to reach her kiss. Power filled her. Although lying under him was exquisite, having him beneath her sent tingles vibrating through her. This she had not seen but she liked it, reveled in it, took advantage of the newfound liberties.

  One knee crept along his leg for balance. He gripped her hips and lifted her to straddle his thighs like a saddle. This perch she delighted in with a hearty laugh smothered beneath a deepening kiss. She resisted, too filled with the intoxication of flirtation to submit just yet. From the arch of his brow to the thrust of his jaw, she lavished light, caressing kisses. She nipped the corners of his mouth, caught his lip in her sharp teeth and slicked her tongue inside his mouth.

  Taric’s hands rose from her hips to cup her breasts but she tugged them away with a lilting smile, lacing her fingers in his and placing them on the pillow beside his tawny head.

  He grinned up at her. “You’re teasing.”

  Myla licked her upper lip. “I am…exploring.”

  “Exploring? I see…and I approve. Explore at your leisure, my guardian.”

  She did. From the hard knot of his shoulder to the taut curve of his bicep, across the bump of his Adam’s apple to the valley below, along the ridge of his collarbone to the plane of his chest, Myla explored with tongue and taste. He grew from firmness to hard iron between her wide-spread thighs.

  Age-old knowledge inborn in all women spread through her blood and she circled her hips, riding him through the linen saddle. His groan spiraled though her belly like a tornado, churning longing and lust into a storm she could not contain.

  His fingers tried to slip from hers and she tightened her grip around his wrists, h
olding him. Shock turned his eyes to amber. They had both known she was stronger but she’d never used that strength on him until now.

  “Stop, Myla.” The command in his tone was firm but not unkind and she chose to ignore it. Rather, she rocked her hips, grinding her warmth along his length until his jaw turned white. The cords of his neck tightened and he snarled another groan. She rocked harder, still confining him. Sweat beaded on his brow and his groin arched toward her, raising her off her knees. “Myla, let go.”

  The hard peaks of her nipples bit into his chest and she swooped her tongue along his earlobe.

  “No.” She sank her teeth into his neck.

  Her simple defiance made lust blaze hotter in the room and he arched harder, nearly bucking her off his body. Her laughter trilled like a bird but she did not release her hold. Thighs clamped tightly, she moved with him, wet heat fused to iron.

  Moist lips left his neck and scored a pathway to his bondmark. The rough edges felt strange under her tongue, knobby and coarse compared to the smooth expanse of flesh around it. Her tongue lapped at the mark, a cat lapping milk from a bowl. Beneath her hands, his forearms twitched and tugged, fighting her. She would not concede. Taric was wasting his strength.

  “Myla, I mean it, stop, I don’t like this.”

  Her laugh purred against his skin. “Settle, Taric. You said I could explore and I am.”

  A frustrated growl broke from him. From his bondmark, she peppered kisses to the flat male nipple that puckered under her lips. A sharp nip jolted him and he leapt against her core. He pulled against her palms and she relented, trailing her fingers down his arms before reaching for his waistband.

  These breeches were in her way. She slid off his legs and tugged them downward with too much force. He sprang from confinement like a rearing stallion and captured her attention. Neither had doused the candles and the light filling the room fell full on his naked flesh. Unlike the darkened shadows of his tent or the shaded pitch of his bedchamber, now she saw everything with clear vision.