The Rose of Shanhasson

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  He could not bear such fear in her. “Peace, na’lanna. I would rather cut off my right hand than harm you.”

  Her chest heaving, she gulped for air. “Release me!”

  “Do you concede this challenge?”

  Calmer now, she tested his grip, squirming against him to see if she could break free.

  He felt the wild tumult in her heart as his own. Great Vulkar, she inflamed him. Pressing his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “You are mine, Shannari dal’Dainari, Rose of Shanhasson. You can’t deny me.”

  Tension drained out of her and her shoulders slumped. “You won. Again.”

  Sliding his mouth down the graceful column of her neck, he grazed her with his teeth. “Aye.”

  She jumped as if he’d bitten a chunk out of her, and her scent smoked hotter.

  Chuckling, he released her. “I’m prepared to accept my first winning from this challenge.”

  “A kiss,” she muttered darkly. Dropping her gaze to her bloody sword on the ground, she heaved a huge sigh. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Despite her words, the pulse leapt in her throat and desire trembled through her scent. Suppressing his amusement, Rhaekhar cupped her cheek and tilted her face up to his.

  Reluctant and mulish, she tried to hide the quiver of her chin and failed miserably.

  “You have no wish to kiss me?” Closing her eyes, she tried to turn her head, but he held her steady. “No hiding, na’lanna.”

  She scowled at him. “What does that mean anyway?”

  Lowering his mouth toward hers, he breathed the words against her lips. “My beloved.”

  Averting her mouth as much as he would allow, she closed her eyes, her jaw clenching. “You have no right to call me some foolish endearment. You don’t know me. You certainly don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  “Do you not feel it, Shannari?” He brushed his mouth against her straining jaw and she flinched. Fisting a hand around her thick braid, he gently tugged her head backward to bare her throat. “Do you not hear my heart whispering to yours?”

  He swept his tongue across the small cut. The taste of her sweet blood hit him like a na’kindre kick in the stomach. Drumming hooves thundered in his head, and his ears roared with rushing wind. Her blood slid down his throat, blazing a path of fire through his body.

  Sagging in his arms, she whimpered. Horrified, he realized he had smashed her against him with his mouth locked on her throat hard enough he would likely leave teeth marks in her skin. Breathing hard, he concentrated on regaining control.

  Great Vulkar, what had he done? She wouldn’t understand how tempting her blood was to him. Such a raw, base hunger very likely re-affirmed her belief that he was only a barbarian. A violent savage who thirsted for blood and ravaged her with no thought of her pleasure.

  She made another low, ragged sound, shredding his heart with regret. He eased the punishing grip on her shoulders, lathed the small wound once more with his tongue to ease the sting of his teeth, and slowly lifted his head.

  Shannari seized handfuls of his hair and dragged his mouth down to hers.

  * * * *

  Silken lips opened immediately, inviting her entrance. His hair, softer and finer than any man’s had a right to be, caressed her face. Smoky and smooth, his taste rolled on her tongue. And she drank him down as though she died of thirst.

  Had kissing always been this explosive? This dangerous?

  Sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, he raked his teeth back and forth. Blessed Lady, the man knew how to use his teeth. The blood on her neck… and the rich, inviting scent of his blood…

  Shame flooded her, souring her stomach and plunging a knife in her heart.

  She shoved Rhaekhar in the chest and twisted from his grasp. Panting, she closed her eyes a moment. Control. She had to stay in control lest she become a monster as dark and perverted as Stephan. Or Theo.

  “Shannari, what is it?”

  She kept her back to him, struggling to smooth the longing and shame from her features. “I’m sorry, Khul Rhaekhar. I forgot myself.”

  “Then I shall pray you forget again very soon.”

  Pressed against him as she had been, she knew exactly how much he enjoyed her kiss. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Fire coursed through her body, weakening her knees all over again. Weakening her resolve. Kissing would eventually lead to other more dangerous activities. Blessed Lady above, how could she resist his advances if she left with him as he demanded?

  “The first portion of my challenge bet has been most adequately satisfied.”

  She didn’t respond to his lighter tone, for she knew very well what he was about. His easy jesting had worked earlier to distract her, but it would not help him now. Not with this.

  Taking her hand, he tugged her around to face him. She met his gaze briefly, but didn’t dare let him see too deeply. She dropped her gaze to his chest, visibly tracing the trail of blood down from the small cut on his neck to the ugly jagged wound on his side. Still bleeding freely, the wound filled the air with the thick, metallic bite of blood, enhancing the scent of sweet hay, horses, and wildflowers.

  Swallowing hard, she averted her gaze to the ground. So much blood. So much temptation. Her sword lay discarded at her feet. She picked it up, grateful for the distraction of cleaning the weapon.

  “I fear I made a grave error, na’lanna.” He spoke softly enough she doubted her father, still arguing with the High Priest, heard him. “Forgive me for tasting your blood so quickly without explaining my people’s ways. As I said, blood sacrifice is a very great honor among us.”

  Her heart pounded harder. Torn between hope and shame, she couldn’t meet his gaze. If he looked at her the same way as Stephan had, she would hate herself even more. “My people consider tasting blood an abomination.”

  “To me, it is a thing of great honor to be enjoyed and treasured. Tasting your blood was not a thing of darkness.” He hesitated and touched her arm lightly. “You— ”

  She turned away, trying to decide how much to admit. Perhaps it would be best to scare him away now. If he knew how honor could be tarnished, how she would inevitably corrupt him, how love could be used to destroy, then perhaps he would leave her in Allandor without a backward glance.

  “Shannari, you may trust me with your life.”

  The fool believed in love. Of course he believed in trust as well. The two weaknesses went hand in hand.

  Facing him, she looked him squarely in the eye and let all the dead coldness in her heart reflect in her gaze. “This morning, someone tried to assassinate me. I killed him and then met with another man, my country’s closest enemy, to form an alliance. I would have married him despite my hatred in order to secure the alliance for my country. Instead, this man asked to taste the blood on my hands.”

  Stiffening, the barbarian wiped all expression from his face. “Who have you shared blood with?”

  The remembered lust on Stephan’s face made her stomach heave. She swallowed the rising bile back down. “No one. He disgusted me.”

  Rhaekhar flinched as if she’d buried her sword in his stomach.

  Her poor scarred heart ached, surprising her. She didn’t know him well enough to regret his loss, but Leesha forgive her, she couldn’t let him think she felt the same way about him. “You do not.”

  Relief eased his stony expression and he took a step toward her. Immediately, she backpedaled out of his reach.

  He deserves to know the truth.

  The wall locking away that old, shameful memory quivered, threatening to splinter away and leave her drowning in an endless sea of regret and humiliation. Forcing the words out, she whispered, “I’m afraid you will be disgusted by me.”

  He stared at her silently as if he weighed and measured her heart. What was he thinking?

  The argument between King Valche and Father Aran had escalated to the point of shouts and threats. Rhaekhar glared at them and then at the handful of other barbarians who never seemed to
let him out of their sight. “Can you not quiet them so I might have this discussion in peace?”

  A hopeful smile brightened the dark-headed barbarian’s face. “Permanently?”

  “Nay,” Rhaekhar snapped. “Great Vulkar, what else do they require before we can return to the Plains?”

  Barely daring to breathe for fear of bursting into tears, Shannari wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or not. Had she succeeded?

  “You!”

  Both arguing men jumped and turned their attention to the irate barbarian. Now, he would refuse her as tainted goods. Perhaps he would even request her execution. He had every right as conqueror.

  Rhaekhar seized her hand in a punishing grip and marched her over to the King’s party. “What else do you want?”

  Always the consummate tactician, King Valche’s mouth fell open with shock.

  “Well? I wish to retire without delay. We return to the Plains at first light on the morrow.”

  King Valche’s gaze flickered back and forth between her and the barbarian. “You— you’re not invading Allandor?”

  “Great Vulkar, what would I do with your Green Lands?”

  “But you defeated us! We surrendered! Don’t you want anything else?”

  Rhaekhar headed toward the main street of Dalden Bay, dragging her along. “This village is mine. The Rose of Shanhasson is mine. I have all that I want.”

  She was too stunned to argue or protest. If the blazing heat in his eyes was any indication, she’d failed to scare him off. In fact, she’d accomplished the opposite. Inwardly groaning, she tried not to think about what the barbarian might wish to do in privacy.

  “Shannari!”

  She glanced back over her shoulder at her stricken father. “Promote Fenton to Captain and send him with a few hundred troops to make sure the Duke and his soldiers leave Allandor without trouble.”

  “But— ” King Valche ran his hand through his hair. “What am I going to do without you? There must be a way we can prevent this travesty!”

  “Our Blessed Lady hears your prayers, Your Majesty.” Frail and shrunken, Father Aran had aged twenty years since dawn. “Never doubt Her hand in your life. I know you don’t understand, but remember this. Sometimes She washes our eyes with tears so we may see Her truth.”

  The High Priest walked away, leaving her father alone in the street, lost and forlorn. “What can I do to help you?”

  She made a low sound of anguish. Her father, her country, her people. She couldn’t bear abandoning them.

  Rhaekhar drew her against his side. “Shannari is my concern now. You may tell her goodbye on the morrow.”

  Defeated, she contemplated her options. The barbarian was unlike any man she’d ever known before. She threatened him and he laughed. She defied him and he let her try to gut him. He apologized for offending her and she nearly devoured him. He apparently enjoyed the corruption she tried so hard to suppress. The worst mockery though, was that he truly believed in love.

  My beloved.

  The knife in her heart twisted deeper.

  It would be so much easier if he simply killed me as I deserve.

  * * * *

  “How does a June wedding sound to you, Theo?” High King Rikard asked, his ancient voice a dry rasp that set the younger man’s teeth on edge.

  Crown Prince Theo dan’Regis dan’Rikard glared at the doddering old man. Dry and leathery, his skin had sagged into wrinkles and pockets of flesh. Dark brown age spots splotched his shaved head, completely bald except for the royal lock at the base of his skull. Yellowed with age, the lanky rope curled into a disgusting pile on the throne beside him.

  Theo’s throne, not this thin, withered, incompetent old man who should have died years ago. “Are you finally demanding the bitch show up for our wedding as she promised two years ago?”

  High King Rikard cackled. “Ah, youth is wasted on the young. You have no idea what to do with a woman like her. If I were even twenty years younger, I would wed her myself.”

  “She’s an arrogant, ice-cold whore, and I refuse to share the High Throne with her.”

  “Then you’ll not have my throne at all.” The old man’s voice sharpened, his pale eyes gleaming. Rikard’s body might be infirm, but his mind was as sharp and twisted as ever. “We’ve been through this, Theo. You’ll marry Shannari or I’ll name her my sole heir.”

  Rage pulsed through Theo, dark and icy hot. “Why must I marry her? I’m your grandson! I’ve done everything you asked.”

  “As well as dozens of vile things behind my back that would turn all of the Green Lands against you like a pack of starving wolves.”

  Theo gritted his teeth but remained silent. His grandfather might pretend outrage, but the old man had his own dark pleasures. He might be too decrepit to sneak down into the prison cells, but that didn’t stop him from having the guards bring certain young prisoners to the secret room in his private quarters.

  “You need her, boy. Valche’s an incredible strategist and he’s taught her everything he knows. If she’s not legally bound to you, some noble will always be willing to turn on you for her hand. The Rose Crown is a heady lure, and it’s hers by law. No one but a Daughter can wear the Rose Crown and live.”

  The endless talking and postulating on this and that alliance made him want to scream. Once the High Throne was his— as his rightful due— he would ensure the high and mighty princess met a most suitable end.

  With her gleaming, flawless skin and luscious body, she was made for a man’s pleasure. He might despise her, but he couldn’t deny the near violent desire he felt for her.

  The things he would do to her…

  He wanted to own her, debase her, ruin her in every way possible.

  Rikard cackled again. “I see you like the thought immensely.”

  Theo made no effort to conceal the bulge in his breeches. “Who knows, she might like my dungeon room. Some women do.”

  “If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll run as fast and far as she can. More’s the pity.”

  “Then why are you talking about a wedding again?”

  “Our very good friend in Pella has agreed to approach her and Valche with my latest threats. They met in Dalden Bay sometime this morning. I expect confirmation from Stephan very, very soon.”

  Theo wanted to wail and kick someone into a bloody pulp. Stephan was his most trusted confidante. Why had he made a secret arrangement with the High King and not told him? He was supposed to be working on a way for Theo to eliminate the old fool without causing any repercussions.

  “A messenger, Your Majesty.” The Lion Guard at the door let in a travel-stained man who hurried down the red-carpeted aisle and dropped to his knees before the dais.

  “Your Majesty, I have urgent news from Dalden Bay.”

  Rikard took the sealed parchment, his beady eyes flitting over the words. “Leesha’s tits!”

  Smiling with nasty glee, Theo very nearly laughed out loud. The arrogant princess and her father must have rejected his grandfather yet again. The only way they were going to get Shannari out of Allandor was to invade, just as Stephan kept telling him.

  Rikard pounded his bony thigh with a fist. “After nearly two hundred years, the barbarians come out of the Plains and ruin everything! The Sha’Kae al’Dan defeated the Allandor Guard this morning. Shannari herself surrendered to them! According to Stephan, the barbarian warlord was very taken with her. He’s carrying her off to the Plains first thing in the morning.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “Are you a Leesha-damned fool? If Shannari’s not married to you, she’d best be dead.”

  Biting back a petulant response at the tone of his grandfather’s voice, Theo took the parchment and scanned the Duke’s brief missive. “What does it matter? This way, she’s out of the picture. She can’t stir up the nobles, and she certainly can’t make a bid for the High Throne.”

  Rikard rubbed his eyes wearily. “I sometimes despair of ever teaching you anything. The fi
rst thing that warlord is going to do is rape her. She’s an attractive young woman, certainly finer than anything a barbarian has ever seen, with enough fire to fight him tooth and nail. He’ll use her again and again and again, until he tires of her or breaks her spirit.”

  Theo reached over his shoulder and pulled his royal lock in front of him. He absently tugged on the thick shank of hair. Shannari was his to ruin, his to break. Now, some barbarian would spoil her before he ever had a chance.

  He jerked harder, letting the fury build inside him. His hands trembled and he snarled under his breath.

  Rikard’s breathing became shallow and difficult. “We can’t risk a pregnancy outside of the bloodline. Surely you understand.”

  Maybe the old man would keel over right here. “What are you going to do?”

  “We were so close.” Rikard sighed, shaking his head regretfully. “Now we have no choice. Shannari dal’Dainari must die.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jerking awake, Shannari automatically reached for the sword beside her on the bed. The familiar leather sheath calmed her enough to allow her to recall her surroundings.

  After the battle, surrender, and subsequent challenge, the barbarian had dragged her away only to pause in the middle of the street, confused by the sights and sounds of the village. Not willing to sleep on the ground when a bed was available, she’d brought him to The Slumbering Lion and ordered a bath and food. As soon as the hot water arrived, he’d left her to her privacy. Clean and relaxed from the bath, she’d lain down on the bed, intending to rest just a moment, but the previous night’s long vigil had taken its toll after so much fighting.

  The darkened room indicated she must have slept for hours. A low fire and candles on the table gave a soft, comforting glow to the simple room.

  Water sloshed. Naked, the barbarian stood washing himself beside the copper tub. Thick slabs of muscle banded his back and waist. Damp hair slicked midway down his back. His buttocks were firm and round, his thighs columned granite. He raised an arm to wash beneath, drawing her gaze up broad shoulder, bulging biceps, corded forearm to his large warrior hand, fingers curled against his palm.